chapter 23

WHEN I PULL UP AT the address Ashton gave me, I have to double-check I'm in the right place. There's a number on the gate out front, and past it is a long dirt driveway disappearing into a thicket of overgrown trees. I linger there for a moment, trying to decide if I should call her or just swallow my fear and see where the road leads. Holding that anger for Dex in my heart, I decide to throw caution to the wind—to be brave.

The dirt road is rutted, so I have to maneuver my Civic slowly. Branches and bushes reach out to trail their fingers over my windshield, and I'm just starting to think I may be driving into a real-life horror film when the road opens up to reveal an old manor surrounded by a bustling film crew. Ashton is standing in a patch of sunlight, talking to a few people I don't recognize, and seeing her settles my nerves somewhat.

But then I spot a black Range Rover in the distance, and my stomach squeezes so hard it makes my sides ache.

At least I know I'm in the right place.

I park next to a few normal-looking cars, which I assume belong to the film crew, then step out into the sunlight.

It's a perfect spring day, warm and sunny with a slight breeze that chases the bugs away. Now that I can see the manor more clearly, I realize it's obviously dilapidated, with bricks crumbling from the exterior and vines snaking up the walls toward the roof. It's the perfect place to film this video.

The song is called "Ghost," after all.

"Are you Nora Miller?" a friendly voice asks, and I turn to find a round-faced woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard.

"Yeah."

"Great. You can follow me to the trailer, and we'll get started on hair and makeup."

"Okay." I pause to grab my violin out of the back seat, then trail after the woman, trying not to look around for Dex. I haven't seen him—or any of the band members—yet, but I know he's around here, and I certainly won't be able to avoid him all day.

The woman leads me into a trailer with a paper sign on the door that reads Hair and Makeup . Despite it not being overly warm outside, the AC is running in the trailer, and I get goose bumps on my skin in the cold air.

"Nora!"

My gaze snaps up, and I find Sebastian sitting in one of the chairs, skin awash in light from the vanity mirror. Quickly, I search the rest of the trailer, suddenly terrified to be trapped in this tiny space with Dex, but he's nowhere to be found. I sag, relieved .

"Hey." I put my violin on a table in the corner before taking a seat in the chair next to Sebastian. He reaches over to wrap me in a warm hug, his big arms strong around me, and I hug him back.

"You okay?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" I'm distracted by the movement in the trailer. There are a couple makeup artists and hairdressers, and one of them is already approaching me with a hairbrush in hand. She reaches for the braid I have my hair in, and her touch is soft as she unwinds the strands and starts pulling the brush through my hair.

"I mean you and Dex."

My stomach squeezes up. The hairdresser pauses momentarily, brush halting halfway down my head. Yeah, I'm sure even she has seen the hate I get online. The thought makes me clam up. Does everyone here know what's happening? Have they all read the scathing comments and hurtful gossip articles? Do they pity me for not being as beautiful as Serena? For going toe to toe with her when everyone knew I could never win?

"I'm fine," I say, flashing Sebastian what I hope is a convincing smile.

His brow furrows. I don't think he's buying it.

Thankfully, he drops the topic, and the hairdresser resumes the brushing.

Sebastian chats with me and flirts shamelessly with his makeup artist—who blushes bright red at his attention—and when he's done in front of the mirror, he reaches over and squeezes my hand.

"See you out there," he says .

Somehow, it feels like I'm preparing for battle, like Sebastian is wishing me well before I step into the arena.

I just nod, my throat tight, and then he leaves the trailer, a splash of golden light illuminating the doorway before he closes the door again.

With him gone, the space is quiet. My hairdresser doesn't make small talk, which I appreciate, especially once the makeup artist swoops in. She rubs a sweet-smelling moisturizer into my skin, then begins dabbing foundation and concealer across my face, hiding my acne scars and the freckles sprinkled across my nose.

Working together, the two artists transform me into a version of myself I didn't think existed. When they both step away from the chair so I can see into the mirror, my brown eyes go wide.

"Wow," I whisper, blinking in surprise at the woman staring back at me.

My skin is dewy, glowing. It shines in the vanity lights, and the contour makes my cheekbones look sharp and pronounced. The makeup artist worked some kind of magic, and the green flecks in my eyes pop against the brown eyeshadow swept along my lids.

Soft curls drape across my shoulders, and the dull lifelessness my hair had when it was in the braid has been replaced with bounce and vibrance.

"You look gorgeous," a familiar voice says, and I turn from the mirror to find Ashton standing near the trailer door. I'm not sure how she got in here without me realizing, but I smile gratefully. "Are we ready for wardrobe?"

The hair and makeup artists confirm they're finished. Next thing I know, Ashton is whisking me out of the first trailer and into another one. This one is full of clothes on racks and in bags, and Michael is currently standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the sleeves of his crisp navy suit. When he looks up and catches my eye in the mirror, a combination of looks crosses his face. Surprise, anger, pity. Or that's what it looks like, at least.

He turns to face me. "Look at you," he says. "You're red-carpet ready."

I roll my eyes, but I can't stop a smile from creeping across my face.

He steps forward, and then his arms are wrapping around me, and I'm being careful not to smudge my makeup on his handsome suit.

I feel like this hug is his apology for Dex, though he doesn't say so. He doesn't need to.

"Is Jordan here?" I ask. I'm hoping she and Alisha might be lingering around somewhere. It'd be nice to have them here, if only for subtle emotional support.

"Yeah. Last I saw her she was at the buffet bar."

"There's a buffet bar?" I'm hungry from not eating breakfast. My nervous nausea has calmed down enough that I could probably eat something now.

"I'll grab you a bite," Ashton says. "Best to eat now before you get your dress on." Then she's gone, and Michael and I are left alone.

"Where's the wardrobe person?" I ask, not seeing any movement in the racks of clothes.

"Went to get a coffee. He should be back any minute now." Michael slips one hand into his pants pocket, and his eyes soften. "Nora..."

Here it comes. I can see it written all over his face .

He knows.

"I'm sorry about Dex."

The words hang there between us. I think about giving him a fake smile like I did Sebastian, but somehow, that doesn't feel appropriate here. So instead, I nod, wrapping my arms around myself.

"I don't know what the fuck he's doing," Michael continues. "He won't talk to me. He's shut me out."

"It's fine," I start to say, but Michael shakes his head.

"It's not. I told him not to mess around with you." He raises a hand as if to run it through his hair, then stops. I'm guessing the hairdresser wouldn't be happy if he ruined the perfect dark coif. "I just don't get it."

"What's there to get?" I ask. My eyes want to mist over, so I look away, try to distract myself by counting sequins on the closest sparkly top. "I shouldn't have gotten involved. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Nora. The way he looks at you..." He pauses, seems to search for words. "It's different. That's what I don't get."

I want to ask what he means, but before I can respond, the trailer door swings open, and a small well-dressed man steps in.

"Ms. Miller!" he says. "Finally, the star arrives."

A laugh bursts unbidden from my lips. "The star ? I think you have me confused with someone else."

"Mm-mm." The man shakes his head and makes a beeline for a clothing rack against the wall. There's a single garment bag hanging there, and he takes it down carefully. "Once you see this dress"—he turns to face me, eyebrow quirked knowingly—"you'll understand."

And though I don't want to admit it, he's right. The dress is...

"Stunning."

The stylist, whose name I've learned is Eric, gazes at me in the mirror, clucking his tongue quietly to himself.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?" I ask, voice a bit dreamy. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from my reflection.

"Knew it'd look perfect." He puts a hand on my elbow and offers me a small smile.

The dress is a rich shimmery silver, and it catches the flecks of green in my eyes and makes the contour on my cheeks even more prominent. The silky fabric hugs my figure, tight like a glove. When I turn to see it from another angle, the split in the dress shifts to reveal my bare leg all the way up to my thigh.

And my first thought—my first stupid, stupid thought—is that Dex would like it.

But I shouldn't care what he likes anymore, shouldn't give him a second thought.

Trouble is, it seems like he's mostly my first thought, and everything else comes second to him. Everything is backward and upside down. And I hate it.

There's a small gasp from behind me, and Ashton is standing there, mouth gaping open. She brought me food earlier, as promised, then had to dash away again for something or other. But now she's drifting across the trailer, hands out as if she wants to touch the glimmery silver material.

"Eric," she says, still staring at me, "it's perfect."

He gives me an I told you so look.

"Is she ready?"

"She's all yours."

"Fantastic, because the director is ready for you."

My stomach twists into another knot, which makes me wonder if that yogurt and bowl of fruit were such a good idea. I'm not going to be able to hide in these trailers any longer; I'm going to have to face Dex, have to look into those stormy blue eyes and try not to think of all the times I've looked into them before.

"Oh, one last thing," Eric says, scrambling to fetch a shoebox from the bottom of a rack. "These are for you, my star." Holding the box out, he opens the lid to reveal a pair of silver high heels with a one-inch platform.

Ashton must see the look on my face, because she touches my arm. "You'll do fine. We're not going to ask you to dance in them or anything." Her laughter is bubbly, but it doesn't quite chase the nerves from my stomach.

Eric kneels, and I lift one foot, then the other, to let him slip them on. Now I'm suddenly three inches taller, and even though I'm not a fan of heels, they do make me feel better, stronger.

I glance back at myself one last time, and the woman staring at me in the mirror looks fierce. She doesn't look like someone who would let a man make her feel small. And though I might not feel like that woman on the inside, I'm going to do my best to channel her on the outside. I've just got to get through the shoot, and then I won't ever have to see Dex Reid again.

"All right," I say, catching Ashton's eye in the mirror. "I'm ready."