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Scene 21

There was not one scintilla of an iota of an atom in me that wanted to go to brunch.

I lay beneath the plush comforter and bemoaned every ounce of Dillon's rationale persuading me not to call and cancel.

"Traffic's going to be miserable," I mumbled through the quilted down.

"No one drives on holidays."

I humphed. "I have nothing to wear."

"You have a perfectly good cashmere jumper in the car." She tugged the comforter down past my head. "I saw you pack it."

I snatched a pillow and covered my face. "They won't even know we're missing."

" Please . There's going to be a place card with your name on it."

I couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't even wrong. Miss Kameryn Kingsbury, it would read, with a curlicued serif at the end of each gold-plated letter.

She took a seat at the edge of the bed and I peeked out from beneath my place of hiding. "I have a script I'm supposed to be memorizing for an upcoming project."

"You're a fast learner. You can get to work when you get home."

I didn't want to get to work when I got home. I wanted to pull the curtains in my bedroom and spend the remainder of every millisecond Dillon was here naked in my bed.

"Who said I was a fast learner?" I huffed again. "For all you know, I might be entirely inept."

"You seemed to get the hang of things pretty quickly last night."

God, I loved her sinful smile. The way her hair—still damp from a shower—hung in front of her eyes. The phenomenal masterpiece that were her cheekbones. Her sculpted jaw and graceful neck.

I aimed for casual, even as my brain careened straight to a short film of highlights from the past six hours. "I had a decent instructor."

Judging by the warmth radiating off my face, my attempt to play it cool had epically failed. Was there a color darker than crimson? No one ever said oh, she flushed a charming garnet , or she blushed a pretty merlot .

"Decent?" She dropped beside me on an elbow, prying the pillow from my face. Her smile told me all I needed to know about the state of my cheeks. "Run-of-the-mill night for you, huh?"

"Oh, it was tolerable. I'd definitely rate it a passable experience."

"Passable?"

I don't know what was more agonizing—the wickedness of her slow smile, or the unhurried, deliberate way she drew aside the cover of the comforter. I was still in that in-between state, knowing she'd already thoroughly examined every inch of my body, and yet still fighting back modesty in the cold light of morning.

"Are we talking two-and-a-half stars? C average?"

"Oh, I'd say at least three stars—" I shrieked and laughed as she suddenly lunged for my wrists, capturing them in her strong hands. "Okay, okay, three and a half!" I put up a mock struggle as she pinned my arms above my head, lowering her weight atop my body. It was no longer only my cheeks that were on fire.

"You should know by now, I'm not keen on doing anything mediocre. The only option is to try again…."

I was so pathetic. I couldn't even pretend like this wasn't exactly what I wanted.

But on the other hand, I also knew—despite my protests of not wanting to go—that we were running the risk of arriving late to the Hallwells.

God forbid.

She ran her lips across my temple, down my cheek, along the side of my neck.

I should realistically have been rushing to the parking garage, trying to get there before they towed my car.

Her mouth dropped lower, taking a detour to explore the curves of my breasts.

Yeah, what car? If they'd already towed it, there was no need to hurry. We could catch a late bus to Palo Alto.

She trailed down past my navel.

You know, I could just move to New York—I wouldn't need a car there. Besides, it was two thousand miles closer to London.

She released her hold on my hands—we both knew I wasn't going anywhere—and turned them toward a more rewarding occupation.

But my bag was in the car. My clothes. My toothbrush. My makeup. I couldn't show up to the Hallwells in the same dress I'd worn the night before, my hair twisted into a fucked-and-forgot-my-brush bun.

Shut up, Kam .

I squeezed my eyes closed, my fingers tangling themselves in her wave of wet hair.

Who cared what I wore to the stupid brunch? I'd stop and buy an I Heart SF t-shirt in the lobby. Fuck it. Maybe I'd get one of those Tacos and Titties rainbow tanks I'd seen them selling on the street corners.

Merry Christmas, Mrs. I-Guarantee-You've-Never-Had-Five-Star-Sex-Like-This Hallwell .

An hour and a half later, I stood on the polished calacatta marble of the Hallwells front entry, listening to the symphony of their trumpeting doorbell. My reflection greeted me in the spotless glass as we waited for admittance into the Fifth Terrace of Purgatory.

I looked like shit. I'd yanked on my wrinkled cardigan as we pulled onto the freeway and dabbed on a layer of makeup in the rearview mirror. My eyeliner looked as if it had been applied by a first-year cosmetology student who'd suddenly developed a tremor. And to top it all off, I knew I smelled like sex.

"Stop fretting," Dillon hissed over the peal of chimes as I combed my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time. "You look fine!"

Dani opened the door. "Jesus, what happened?" She left no opening for me to feign misunderstanding. "Did you sleep in your car?"

"I—wow, thanks." The best defense was a good offense, right? "Merry Christmas to you, too."

She was unfazed. "You look awful."

"I was up late." I pulled Dillon past her into the hall. "Some of us still have to work to pay rent—as wild as that may sound to you."

If I had caught Dillon's eye—if she had laughed, or given me any kind of knowing smile—it would have been game over. Fortunately, I didn't look in her direction and felt I sold myself quite well. "We have to leave right after brunch. I have an early morning in the studio."

Yeah, no . My only pressing plans revolved around bolting from this hell, hopping on Highway 1, weaving our way down the coast, and stopping in one of the little waterfront towns for the night. Waking up to sex and seagulls.

Darlene appeared at the end of the foyer, announcing it was time for pomegranate mimosas and smoky mezcal-fig sours, and for the moment, I was off the hook. We were herded into the dining room, where I found my parents and the rest of the Hallwell clan, family and friends, already at the table. As it did every year, all topics of conversation turned toward the outrageous Christmas presents they had gifted one another. Mr. Hallwell's gift to himself—a 1961 vintage Aston Martin. Darlene showed off her Botswana diamond earrings, larger than the ni?oise olives in her appetizer salad. Dani, evidently disgruntled with her gift from Tom, slung a Hermès Birkin Cargo bag onto the table. "I do like it," she snapped over the rim of her mimosa, shooting a glare at her husband. "I just would have preferred the Hermès Himalayan."

The conversation drifted.

To my right, my mom was intensely engaged in chat with Darlene's aunt, Helena, who had once been a prominent equestrian. Across from me, Dani's husband, Tom, was crowing to Mr. Hallwell about an investment he'd made that had tripled over the last seventy-two hours. And to my left, Dillon was politely nodding at Allyson, Darlene's sister, who was rambling on about how strange it was to call a cookie a biscuit, when a biscuit was clearly not a cookie.

And me?

I was staring at my plate of caciocavallo cheese and pancetta pecan puffs, my thoughts lingering around the fiery feathers of the phoenix tattoo I'd finally gotten to fully appreciate on Dillon's back. I loved the intricacy of the design. The woven colors of the flame. The way the wings touched the tops of her shoulders.

"Just a reminder that we all burn sometimes," had been her answer as to why she'd decided on the mythical bird. "It's who we are when we drag ourselves out of the ashes that counts."

"Holy shit!"

The blurted exclamation from Dani's little brother, Marcus, drew me out of my daydreaming, back to the land of thirty-year-old scotch and spoiled brats dissatisfied with twenty thousand dollar handbags. There was something about the sharpness in his tone, the excitement behind it, that made me look up. I felt an uneasiness begin to tingle at the bottom of my spine when I found him staring straight at me.

"You've got a serious Doppelg?nger, Kam!"

Marcus and I seldom spoke. Mainly because he'd developed an obsessive crush on me when he'd hit puberty, and when he was younger, if I said anything to him, the encounter would send him running from the room. Probably looking for a sock , Dani'd always teased.

His eyes were wide above his acne-crusted cheeks. "I mean, like, no fuckin' lie—this chick looks exactly like you!"

" Marcus ," Darlene warned, but her son ignored her rebuke. His attention was flashing between me and his iPad, propped against his whiskey sour.

"Wow." His best friend Nate leaned over to get a better look at his screen. "I'd do her."

"Yeah, yeah, totally." Marcus's whole body nodded the affirmative as he reached out to continue scrolling. And then he stopped. " Wait . This is a joke." He looked up at me again.

The tingle in my spine turned into a full-fledged quiver, raising every hair at the back of my neck with its uncomfortable icy chill. He looked down. Up again. Nate's gaze followed suit, the pair resembling a couple of young cockerels, clearly confused.

The guests around the table had gone silent, all staring at Marcus, waiting for him to elaborate. It was only Dillon's eyes I could feel on me, her fork paused from where she'd been idly pushing around a bite of brie crostini.

Shit.

Shit shit shit . I hadn't been ready for this.

"This has to be a joke." Marcus continued to scroll.

Annoyed, Dani stood from two seats down and leaned over, snatching her brother's iPad. "What are you going on about, Mar—" she stopped short, pausing to read. "I don't—" her brow knitted, her face contorting in disbelief. She scrolled a few seconds longer, then darted her eyes to me. "Is this real?"

There was no point in playing dumb, they were going to find out eventually. It had just come sooner than I'd expected. If I hadn't left my phone in my purse hanging on the hall tree, I imagine I would have seen a heads-up from Aaron and the studio.

"Yep." It felt surreal, saying that. Having it out in the open. For months I'd been caught in limbo, stranded between exhilaration and disbelief that this was really happening. Every morning, part of me anticipated waking to an email, a Dear Kam, we're sorry, but … not allowing myself to truly commit to the excitement. But today—with whatever was on that screen—this was it. It was my turn to be someone. To take up space. To be more than just a seat filler.

Dani could kick rocks with her Birkin bag.

"I don't believe this." She tossed the iPad like a frisbee back to Marcus. "If this was true you would have said something."

"I couldn't. The studio wouldn't allow it."

Slamming herself into her seat, she upset a bowl of grapes that scattered across the table. "You said you were working on a project, Kam. A project . That—" she thumbed to where her brother had resumed an obsessive perusal of his iPad, "—is not a project ."

"I signed an NDA, Dani. I wasn't allowed to say anything until the casting announcement was released."

Her sharp features warped into anger. It was exactly what I should have expected from her, but still it surprised me.

"Did she know?" She chucked her chin toward Dillon, her blue eyes smoldering.

"What? No one knew."

"Then why isn't she surprised?"

"No one knew anything ," I snapped, my own resentment rising. I swore to God, if Dani referred to Dillon as she again—as if she wasn't sitting right in front of her—I was going to take her plate of tête de veau and cram it down her Giorgio Armani sweater. "Couldn't you just be happy for me?"

"Sweetheart," my mom was concerned, "what's going on?"

"Your daughter's apparently been holding out on a little secret," Dani seethed.

"It's fine, Mom." How was it I suddenly felt like I needed to defend myself? This was supposed to be my moment. This was the best thing that had ever happened to me. "I got a role in the upcoming Sand Seekers trilogy."

"The Margaret Gilles novels?" My mom's eyebrows nearly met her hairline. "Honey!"

"A role?!" Marcus reemerged from his scrolling, still brimming with incredulity. "A role ?! You're fucking playing Addison Riley !"

"Marcus—!" Darlene slapped her palm against the table, sending a spray of pomegranate mimosa onto the damask linen. "Your mouth —"

"This is like un-fucking-believable!" Nate joined in, staring at me as if I'd sprouted a tit in the middle of my forehead. "Your sister's friend is starring in the dopest film of our lifetime!" His unduly large Adam's apple flopped up and down. "You're going to be like—famous." He seemed to shock himself by speaking directly to me and abruptly diverted his attention to his cheese-smeared fingernails.

"I don't understand." Darlene glanced between me and her son. "You got a part in a movie?"

" Mom ! It's Sand Seekers , come on!" Marcus pounded his fist on the table. " Sand Seekers ! It's like—like," he flung his napkin in frustration, "like Star Wars , but, with like blood and sex and—"

"Hot women!" Nate chimed in.

"Yeah!"

For a gross second, I thought they were going to fist bump.

Dani looked up from where she was scrolling on her own phone. "I can't believe you're going to be in a movie with Elliott Fleming." Some of her bitterness dissipated as her interest elevated. "You're going to kiss Grady Dunn!"

"The actor from King ?" asked Darlene. Code for: you're going to kiss a Black man and you're okay with this? She'd nearly burned the world down when she found out her daughter was going to be a Cortés.

"He's hot , Mom," Dani snapped, but I ignored both of them, tuning out the increasing volume of chatter across the table. My only focus shifted to Dillon, who sat staring at the gilded pinecone centerpiece, saying nothing.

"Hey," I brushed the toe of my ballet flat against her ankle. "Sorry, I would have told you. I just—I couldn't say anything until—"

"Don't be twp!" She looked up, returning from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "You have no reason to apologize." Despite her attempt to brighten her tone, her words fell flat. " Sand Seekers . That's quite something."

"It's going to be big." I tried to find some of the enthusiasm I knew I should be feeling. It was just—there was something behind her smile that worried me. I'd expected her to be delighted. It was exciting news. "I wanted to tell you, really," I pled my case again.

"No, no, it's not that. It's—it's great, honestly." The pallor of her face said it was anything but great. "I'm glad for you, Kameryn."

Kameryn . Not Kam-Kameryn. Not even Kam.

"This is so sick!" Marcus was still ranting. "Like the whole world's going to know your name!"

"It's just a movie, Marcus," Darlene was attempting to curb her son's enthusiasm.

Over the din of the table, my dad was trying to ask me a question. Something about contracts—Had I had an attorney look at mine? Young women could be taken advantage of in Hollywood, did I know?

I wanted to tell them all to shut the hell up. To give me a moment to think. Something had happened. Right in front of me, I could see Dillon closing down.

"Will you excuse me?" Dillon stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the marble. She didn't look at me. She didn't look at anyone. "I…" No one else paid her any attention. "I just need a minute." Without waiting for a response, she fled through the towering arch leading into the hall.

I felt like an invisible door had just been slammed. Like I'd been sucker punched, the wind knocked from my gut. My name was being called from every angle, but the only opinion I really cared about had just walked out the door.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go at all.

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