Chapter 2

TWO

Sawyer Kingston satin his make-up chair in a corner of what must have been some sort of old-timey study in a distant wing of Wodehouse Abbey, trying to remember to breathe.

“Look up,” Aoife the buxom make-up artist asked him, nudging under his chin with one finger as she held the small palate containing eye shadows in her hand.

Sawyer did as he was told, using the movement as an excuse to breathe while Aoife lined his eyes so they’d show up under the glare of the lights. He imagined this was what astronauts must have felt like moments before the final countdown hit zero and they were rocketed into the stratosphere.

Everyone kept telling Sawyer his career was about to rocket him into a whole new orbit. He believed it. He’d seen the early reviews of Start at the Beginning, and he’d heard what people were saying on social media. He’d read between those lines, too, and straight into the gossip.

What was it about celebrity that meant people made up rumors and pried into one’s private life with an intensity that mirrored critical acclaim? And why did those rumors increase in proportion to the number of offers for work one got? Couldn’t he just have an exciting, engaging career without turning into the meme of the day?

“Cheer up, boy-o,” Aoife said in her lilting accent. “It might never happen.”

Sawyer laughed humorlessly. “It’s already happened, love,” he said in dire tones.

It had started with a few people on social media, people who had seen him coming out of the Chameleon Club in London after a production meeting with Gerry Tyburn and Heath Manfred from Storm Productions, the company producing After the War. There had been whispers before that, speculation about who Sawyer might be dating and what that implied. Sawyer had always kept his sexuality tightly under wraps. Mostly because he didn’t want to think about it himself.

He didn’t want to think about it at all, which was a worse sin than being gay in Hollywood.

Then came the candid photographs, snapped when he’d left the Chameleon Club again, late at night after a particularly fun party he still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone to. There had been some speculation that he was dating a member of the club. Several social media outlets had linked him to Walt Severance, especially after he filmed an episode of Walt’s new show. But Walt and Kit were very public about their relationship, so those rumors had died down.

Then came Start at the Beginning, the film he’d been shocked he’d booked a featured role in. It was the vehicle that everyone was telling him would catapult him to an entirely different level of fame. In the film, he played the gay best friend of the heroine, a friend whose story had been expanded after the director had been so impressed with his work. He was already being called the front-runner for every Best Supporting Actor award the film industry had.

It was the first time he’d ever played a gay character, and now here he was, playing another in what was pegged to be the costume drama television show of the year.

Everyone from the most popular chat show hosts to the lowest social media scum-scraper were having daily debates about whether he was actually gay or whether he was using sex to advance his career.

It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“Barb is going to do your hair now, sweetheart,” Aoife said, patting his shoulder and giving him a sympathetic look, like someone had died.

“Thanks, Aoife,” Sawyer said, giving her one of his trademark smiles. Aoife reminded him of his older brother Derek’s wife, Colleen. His second wife, that is. Not the current one, who was number four? Possibly five?

His smile vanished as soon as Aoife stepped away from his chair and his mobile buzzed in his lap. Sawyer took a deep breath when “Dad” appeared on the screen, as if thinking about his cringe-worthy family had summoned one of them, then tapped to answer the call.

“Hello, Dad,” he said, holding the phone away from his made-up face.

“Sawyer,” his dad’s deep, cigarette-smoke gravelly voice snapped on the other end of the line. “I’ve got a job and I need your help.”

“What sort of job?” Sawyer asked in a flat voice, already knowing the answer.

“You know that big lot of tower housing they’re putting up out there past Ealing Broadway?”

“Yes,” Sawyer said warily.

“Well they’ve contracted yours truly to do all the interior painting for the place.”

“Congratulations, Dad.”

“And that means I need all hands on deck to get the job done on time and under budget,” his dad finished.

Sawyer sighed and reached to pinch the bridge of his nose before remembering he was in full make-up for the scene he was about to shoot. It didn’t matter how long Sawyer had been pursuing acting or how many jobs he’d booked in the last few years, his family still saw the whole acting thing as a lark that was keeping him from doing his part in the family painting business.

“Dad, we’ve been through this before,” Sawyer said, marshalling all his patience. “I’m an actor. I’m on a set right now, as we speak.”

“Then how come I don’t hear any directors shouting ‘cut’?” his dad asked, as though the lack of any Hollywood clichés in the background was proof Sawyer had been lying to him all these years.

“I’m in Yorkshire,” Sawyer tried another route. “Near Whitby.”

“Whatcha doing all the way up there when I need you down here?” his dad asked, annoyed. “Derek and I can’t shoulder this load all on our own, and you know Kenny is a useless nob.”

Sawyer pinched his face tight before worrying that might smudge his make-up as well.

“Listen, Dad,” he said. “I’ve got a job right now. Ask Mum. That’s why I’m not at home. I’ll be here for another two weeks at least, probably three. I can’t do any painting for you right now.”

“What if I paid you this time?”

“Dad.” Sawyer sighed. There was no getting through to his father sometimes. “Weren’t you paying attention to that show I had you watch that I was a guest on? The one with the chef out in Dorset?”

“Nah,” his dad said. “I don’t got time to sit back and live the good life of watching telly all the time and eating bonbons.”

Sawyer clenched his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Gloria, the assistant director, walking into the room. When she saw him, she gestured like she’d been looking for him all day.

“Dad, I’ve got to go,” Sawyer said, waving to Gloria. “I’m needed on set.”

“On set what?” his dad asked. “Game, set, match?”

“Bye, Dad.”

Sawyer ended his call as Barb dashed over from whatever she’d been doing instead of playing with his hair and sighed. His dad wasn’t really that ignorant. He knew full well that Sawyer had seen some success as an actor. And contrary to what he’d said, his entire family had watched his episode of Walt’s show. Together. They’d watched it all together, because despite everything, Sawyer still lived at home.

Granted, he’d paid for that home. He’d paid for everything his Mum bought to make the family home as comfortable and cozy as it was. Mostly because his father’s painting business wasn’t enough for more than basics. And despite being ridiculously religious, his Mum liked nice things.

“Was that your dad calling to say how proud he is of you?” Barb asked with a broad smile as she took out the hot-rollers that had been in his hair since he’d reached Wodehouse Abbey.

Sawyer laughed. She couldn’t have been farther off the mark, but he answered, “Yeah, something like that.”

His family wasn’t dumb. They knew what he did, and they knew his star was rising. They just didn’t want to believe it. Kingstons weren’t supposed to become celebrities. They were supposed to be hardworking, firmly middle-class people, who didn’t reach above themselves and who followed the path and colored within the lines.

And therein lay the problem. They had a hard enough time with him wanting to be an actor. Finding out he was gay on top of that would be a serious problem. A serious and potentially insurmountable problem, depending on how much his dad had had to drink when he found out.

Which was why every new article speculating about his sexuality, every whisper or sly joke on a chat show, and every unauthorized photo that showed up in a newspaper or magazine brought him one step closer to a blow-up he just wasn’t ready for.

He couldn’t think about it and maintain his sanity. It was bad enough that the film he hadn’t thought would be noticed was about to put his name on everyone’s lips, now he was playing another gay character, and a flamboyant one at that, right when the gossip was about to take over his life. He’d only taken the part because his agent insisted. Well, and because there was something about Percy Montague that he absolutely adored. He and Percy had a lot of things in common.

He had to think about something else. Like the fact that Casper Penhurst, the guy he’d met at Walt and Kit’s supper thing a few months before, had mentioned he was the historical consultant for After the War. Casper had been intelligent and charming at the supper. Sawyer had felt a real connection with him—a connection that had been made sweeter because, unlike most of the people he met in situations like that, Casper hadn’t been trying to get in his pants.

God, it was such a relief to meet someone who didn’t want to get in his pants!

He wondered if Casper was already at Wodehouse Abbey. It was Sawyer’s first day on the set, and he’d only arrived at the grand estate—where he would be staying in the wing that was not being used for filming—a few hours before. He’d looked around as he’d been shown to his room for the duration, then taken down to wardrobe and make-up, but he hadn’t seen the handsome historian anywhere.

How wonderful would it be to have a friend who was actually in his corner while shooting in the wilds of Yorkshire?

Well, the estate near Whitby wasn’t exactly the wilds, but it wasn’t London.

“There you go, Lord Sigglesthorpe,” Barb said, finishing his hair with a pat. “You’re looking as fabulous as a Regency dandy should.”

“Superb,” Sawyer said in the voice he’d worked on for Percy as he’d prepped for shooting.

He pushed himself out of his chair with the lilting grace he’d decided on for the character as well, then headed toward the hallway, where Gloria had just returned to see what the hold-up was.

“We’re on a really tight schedule this morning,” she told him, walking too fast, as they headed from make-up to the parlor where the film crew was set up. “Rory wants to get through as much of Percy’s scene in the drawing room as possible this morning so that we can wrap the whole thing by the end of the day.”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Sawyer said in Percy’s voice, smiling and glancing around at the deliciously antique house.

He appreciated all of the original artwork and the positively luxurious furnishings that decorated the hallway and parlor. Every detail was perfection, from the colors of the drapes and wallpaper, to the carpets, to the real fire crackling in the large, stone fireplace. He wondered if the series’ art director had been responsible for the details or if Casper had had a part in it all.

He glanced around, looking for Casper, even when Rory greeted him and explained what he needed him to do in that scene. Sawyer nodded and took everything in, but he peeked through doorways and looked out into the hall as much as he could while getting his directions, his heart beating with expectation.

“Right,” he said when Rory finished with his notes. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Rory said, then went off to have a word with the cameraman.

Sawyer wandered over to the side, where a lovely, old book sat on a small, spindly table. Both book and table looked extraordinarily aged, which was brilliant on the part of the props team. He picked up the book to find it was something heavy and indecipherably gothic with an imprint date of eighteen-oh-three.

“Wow,” he said, his hands shaking a little as he thumbed through the pages. The paper had a thick richness to it that modern books just didn’t have, and it smelled of honey and secrets.

As he breathed it in, he glanced up and saw Casper suddenly stepping into the doorway. The scent of the ancient book seemed just about right for the image Casper presented. He was dressed in an ordinary, blue shirt with grey trousers and a light scarf wrapped around his neck that caught the green of his eyes. There was an excited sparkle in those eyes, like Casper was happy to see him, and Sawyer couldn’t help but respond to that.

It would be alright. He didn’t know how or why just the sight of Casper gave him that feeling, but he felt deeply as if all the turmoil of what was waiting for him around the corner would be alright as long as he had Casper as his friend.

“Sawyer!”

Rory’s sharp shout dashed all that to pieces.

Sawyer jumped, and in the process, he dropped the sweet-smelling book. He tried to grab at it to save it from breaking, but instead, he bashed into the table, sending it crashing over.

“What have you done?” Casper snapped, rushing at Sawyer with a look of horror. “Do you have any idea how old that book is?” he reached for the book, picking it up before Sawyer could. His hands trembled as he gaped at the poor, broken thing. Then he glared at Sawyer. “What kind of a clumsy oaf are you?”

Sawyer’s heart broke a little. The safe, soft place he thought he might be able to have with Casper was gone, like a puff of smoke.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered. There had to be a way to salvage the situation. There had to be. Already, his hands were going numb and all the times he’d been shouted at by his dad in a drunken rage flew back at him.

“You can’t just go throwing priceless antiques around,” Casper said, more frustrated than enraged. “Do you know how old this volume is? Do you know how many hands have touched it and how many eyes have ready through its pages?”

The idea hit Sawyer right in his heart. What an amazing thought!

“Gosh, lots, I guess,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” Casper snapped, still caressing the broken book. “You should be?—”

Casper glanced up, and the moment their eyes met, Casper gusted out a breath instead of finishing his scolding. Something changed in his eyes, something that drained away the anger, but left angst and frustration.

“I really didn’t mean to,” Sawyer said, biting his lip.

Biting his lip seemed like a very Percy thing to do. That had Sawyer bursting into a sudden smile. What would Percy do in a situation like this?

The first thought that came to Sawyer’s mind, based on what he’d read in Anthony Wodehouse’s diaries, and a few of Lord Sigglesthorpe’s own diaries and letters that he’d come across when he’d done his research for the show, was that Percy would attempt to seduce Casper. And probably everyone else in the room. But that was the one way that Sawyer was so drastically different from the character he was playing that it was laughable.

Percy would have made a joke. Yes. That was the way Sawyer had latched onto the character and figured out the best way to play him. Both he and Percy used humor to diffuse awful situations.

“At least it’s just Mrs. Radcliffe,” he said, affecting Percy’s posh accent. “I think she would rather approve of The Mysteries of Udolpho hitting the floor and ominously cracking at the seam, don’t you think?”

Casper stared at him, open-mouthed for a moment before pressing his lips together. “No, I don’t think,” he said, back to being fully irritated again. “This isn’t a prop, it’s a priceless antique.”

Percy informed Sawyer’s answer yet again as he said, “I thought a few flaws made something even more valuable.”

“Not books,” Casper said, his jaw starting to clench. He held the book tenderly in both hands, almost like he was offering it to the gods to be fixed. “This book has survived intact for over two hundred years.”

“Poor thing,” Sawyer said, stroking a hand over the open pages, like he was petting a cat.

At least, that’s what he tried to do. Casper pulled it out of his reach before he could touch it. “You shouldn’t be handling it at all without gloves.”

“You’re not wearing gloves,” Sawyer pointed out, slipping out of character a little. He didn’t know whether to continue joking, to argue back, or to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness.

Casper stared at him, unamused. “It’ll have to be sent for conservation now,” he said.

“Can you do that?” Sawyer asked, wondering if restoring old books was something historians like Casper did. When they’d chatted at the supper in Dorset, Casper had mentioned something about being the official historian of The Brotherhood, but Sawyer hadn’t had time to ask what that entailed.

“We need to get on with shooting,” Rory boomed, cutting short the moment between Sawyer and Casper.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” Sawyer said quickly before jumping back into place. Somehow, while he’d been talking to Casper, one of the PAs had either replaced or fixed the table.

Casper looked like he might say something, but Rory stepped in with. “Fuck. That book has been on the table for every scene we’ve filmed so far. We don’t have time to reshoot everything because of one book. Continuity, people!”

“I’ll find another that looks identical,” Casper said, then dashed off to the bookshelves on the far side of the room.

Sawyer followed him with his eyes, even as his co-stars took their places for the scene they would be shooting. His insides felt heavier than ever. It was like his screw-up with Casper had just piled onto the call with his dad. That call had piled on top of the anxiety of the rumors about him, the premiere of Start at the Beginning in a few weeks, and the fate of his entire career. It was enough to make him genuinely consider giving up acting and joining his dad and brothers in the painting business. Painting had to be less stressful than this.

Casper returned with another book that really was almost identical to the broken one.

“I really am sorry,” Sawyer whispered.

Their hands touched as Casper handed over the book. For a moment, they stayed that way, just their fingers touching, like they really were in the Regency and something like the brush of fingers spoke volumes. Sawyer glanced up to find Casper studying him, and it might just have been the most terrifying, romantic moment of his life.

“Come on!” Rory bellowed, breaking the momentary spell. “We haven’t got all day.”

Casper pulled back and retreated to the side of the room. Sawyer brushed his hand over the book for a moment before another of the PAs took the book and placed it on the table in the exact position it had been in before.

“Sawyer?” Rory asked with a frown.

“I’m ready,” Sawyer answered as Percy, skipping off to the position he started the scene from. “I’m always ready.”

It was a relief to disappear into someone else’s life for a while, because Sawyer was pretty damn certain he’d just messed up his own.