Chapter 26

Hayden

Victoria's beenon set all afternoon, leaving her regular job early to get here to prep the extras for our handful of big scenes we're filming this week, but I've barely seen her.

I've been hanging back out of the way, letting everyone else deal with the crowds, but I emerged from my trailer about thirty minutes ago to wave at people and sign a few autographs. Considering how small the area is, they've managed to draw in plenty of people to be the background crowds for the assassination scene and the important speeches Antony and I give.

These are significant, pivotal scenes, and I've been running my lines, rehearsing my monologues, and psyching myself up for the emotion needed to pull this off well. But as I sit on the sidelines, my eyes are inevitably drawn to Victoria. Sometimes I lose sight of her amongst the people, but she always reappears, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and now-muddy hiking boots. She weaves in and out of the costumed crowd, checking fit, making adjustments, helping a few people with stubborn or improperly closed fastenings.

She's a miracle worker, really. I can't understand how she manages to look at clothes and see what's wrong and how to fix it with barely a glance.

And her actual sewing is genius. She's shown me pictures of things she's made from scratch—Halloween costumes for her and her daughter going back years, costumes for community and school theatre productions she's helped on, and various commissioned dresses for weddings and fancy events. I know she also makes at least some of her own clothes. She casually mentioned that she made a jacket she was wearing and that when Erin was younger, she'd had a matching one. "She doesn't like matching her mom like that these days," she'd said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. "Preteens." As though that one word summed up everything that needed to be said.

Maybe for another parent, it would. But I don't have lots of experience with preteens outside the ones I sometimes act with, and our interactions are mostly limited to our scenes together. I don't know a whole lot about age-appropriate behavior for them. And often as not, the young actors are actually mid to upper teens and just playing younger characters, so that gives me even less of a frame of reference for normal ten-year-old kid behavior. Plus, no one knows better than me that growing up on set doesn't exactly produce a normal childhood.

"Ugh," groans Aurora as she settles into one of the seats next to me. She plays my wife, and even though she doesn't have any lines in the scenes we're filming today, Brady wants her in the shots. "This week is one of the worst for this whole film."

Lifting my eyebrows, I turn to face her. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She gives me a playful shove, grinning. "Please. I know that you have all your big speech scenes this week, and you love that shit. I can't blame you, either. I would if I were you. But my job this week is literally to stand around and look pretty." Shaking her head, she makes a derisive sound. "Bo-ring!"

That makes me laugh. "You sound like a spoiled little kid." Speaking of preteen-appropriate behavior …

She laughs with me. "Like you'd be any better if you were in my shoes. You really enjoy just sitting around so you can be positioned like a doll and not say anything?"

"At least you don't have to worry about flubbing a line and making everyone have to do thirty-five takes until you get it right." That was me last week. I'd been up late wishing Victoria were still with me after we'd managed to steal most of an hour together that evening, and the next day I was a disaster. I couldn't remember my lines to save my life, and no amount of coffee or energy drinks made a difference.

"I suppose that's true," she muses, her eyes following my line of sight, which is once again drawn to Victoria like iron filings to a magnet. "What's so interesting that has you out here?" she asks.

The question sounds more rhetorical than genuine, but I shrug. "Just tired of being cooped up in my trailer. And I like to give the extras a fun memory. Say hello, sign a few autographs, you know."

Pursing her lips, she stares thoughtfully at the crowd. "How are you so kind?"

That surprises a laugh out of me. "I'm sorry?"

She shrugs, glancing at me. "That's a nice thing to do. But I never would've thought of it. To me, they're all a necessary evil of this week. We have some big crowd scenes, and at least Brady's smart enough to put out the cattle calls for a limited time and get all those scenes done in one go instead of dragging it out throughout the course of production. I might have issues with some of his directing choices, but at least he runs an efficient schedule." I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from interrupting or defending Brady. "But you." Now she turns to look at me again, her blue eyes narrowed as she really studies me. "You grew up surrounded by Hollywood royalty, and still you think about the little guy. Why is that? How does that happen? Why aren't you a self-centered asshole like everyone else?"

"Like you, you mean?" I grin to take the sting out of the barb, and she laughs.

"Exactly. I grew up in the Midwest. If either of us should be kind and thoughtful, it should be me. And yet …" She gestures at me, inviting me to respond.

Staring out at the crowd—finding and following Victoria's movements once again—I take a deep breath and shrug. "I don't know, really. I guess when you grow up surrounded by it, it doesn't go to your head the same way it might if you were dreaming of it your whole life and had to claw your way in. This is all normal to me, but I know it's a big deal for them. And I remember how kind my mom was to the extras while working on her movies, how much it meant to them, and how fun it was for people to get that little glimpse of this world, our world. It matters. These people aren't a necessary evil. They're an integral part of the project, even if they're only in a handful of scenes. Without them, those scenes wouldn't pack the punch they need to. We need them. It makes sense to make their experience enjoyable, a fun story for them to tell for the rest of their lives about that time they were an extra in Julius Caesar."

She nods slowly, weighing my words. "I can see that," she murmurs after a moment. "And what about the locals? I don't remember you being that interested in the locals before, but this time seems different. You've gone into town more than once, and"—she nods toward Victoria—"you seem to have hit it off pretty well with the costuming assistant."

Aurora and I have worked on several films together over the years, so I shouldn't be surprised that she's picked up on my work habits. I know hers as well, though for her that means remaining distant from everyone and everything, only emerging from her trailer or hotel room to film her scenes. She doesn't socialize with the crew at all and barely socializes with the other cast members. This is our sixth movie together, and I barely know her. In fact, this is the first time I've heard her mention growing up in the Midwest. I always assumed she was from LA or New York like most everyone else I know. Though, to be fair, I think a lot of people claim LA or New York as home because they made a beeline to get there as soon as they could, so they just chop off the part of their life that preceded that.

They don't know that they're trying to truncate what's probably the best part, the thing that made them who they are, or at least a significant part of it. That I would've loved to have spent at least my early childhood in a small town in Ohio instead of bouncing between nannies and tutors on movie sets.

But her observation about me hitting it off with Victoria has my heart racing. I don't especially care if Aurora knows—she's not going to tell anyone—but I know it would upset Victoria.

I grunt. "She's nice. Good at her job."

Aurora gives me a secret smile. "And she's pretty, too."

"Is she?" I try for polite disinterest, but it comes out more choked. "I hadn't noticed."

That makes her laugh, loud guffaws that catch the attention of the extras nearest where we're sitting. I smile and give them a little wave, which has a few young women blushing and a guy waving back enthusiastically.

"You hadn't noticed?" Aurora squeaks. "Oh, please. Of course you have. You have eyes. And I know you're straight. Even Brady's commented on how pretty she is."

My molars grind in an effort to keep myself from reacting poorly. "Oh yeah?" I ask, managing to keep my tone light. "What's he said, exactly?"

Laughter still threading through her voice, she adjusts in her chair so she's nearly facing me. "Just that she's pretty. And he's also noticed that you seem to have a bit of a thing for her. Is it reciprocated?"

Narrowing my eyes, I shake my head in a sharp jerk. "Nothing's going on with me and the costuming assistant." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but there's no choice but to deny, deny, deny.

Aurora chuckles some more, shaking her head, clearly not believing me. "You're a good actor, Hayden, but I'm better at spotting a lie."

"I'm going to get …" I wave a hand vaguely toward the table of refreshments as I stand, but I veer away as I approach and head to my trailer.

Aurora's noticed. According to her, Brady has too. Who else?

I might be able to maintain plausible deniability for a little while longer, but that ability is quickly running out.

When the jig is up, will Victoria end our relationship even if we're not done filming yet? Or will she be willing to deal with the fallout that's likely inevitable no matter what?