I glance at Verity. Several of us do, the discomfort filling the room the longer they stare each other down. Her lips tighten and her eyes slit with anger behind black-rimmed reading glasses.
“That would have been musically anachronistic, though, since thisscene took place in 1939 and she didn’t write the song until 1946.” Monk presses his fingers into a dark extended note and then slams the piano lid down. “So too late.”
His harsh words seem to break a spell, and the people around me start laughing and talking, most of them about how long the day of rehearsal has been and how hungry they are. I concur, except I’ve been feeling a little nauseous. Even if I were hungry, I probably wouldn’t eat much. This sick feeling has persisted. Probably just nerves, but I’ve pushed it aside to get through today. We shoot this tomorrow, and I don’t want to be the reason things slow down.
I can’t be.
“I came to tell you guys dinner is ready and down on the beach tonight,” Verity says, looking pointedly away from Monk. “They’re doing a bonfire for us.”
“Oooh, fun,” Livvie says, gathering her bag and script, which we all seem to carry, with all the new lines we’ve been getting.
“You sound amazing, Neevah,” Monk says, standing from the piano and walking with me toward the ballroom exit.
“Gosh, it feels like it took all day to get it right.”
“You weren’t that far off anyway. I’m just a demanding dude who’s hard to satisfy.”
“Between you and Canon, I don’t know how any of us survive.”
“So you and our esteemed director, huh?” Monk asks, the smile he slants down to me teasing and kind.
My cheeks burn, but I don’t look away. “Guess everyone knows now.”
“I mean, I already knew.”
“He told you?”
“No way. We don’t sit around talking about that kind of shit.” He laughs and takes my elbow as we negotiate a steep set of steps leading down to the beach where the cast and crew have already started forming a line at an outdoor buffet. “I knew because he’s never been like this before about anyone else.”
“Thanks, Monk.” I smile gratefully, but shut the conversation down aswe approach the watching eyes and listening ears of the cast and crew. They may be fine with Canon and me, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t rabidly curious. And I have no intention of giving them any food for thought.
“I see Takira over there,” I tell him. “Thanks again for today. The song sounds a hundred times better.”
“You were already good, but you sound even better.”
I’m still glowing with the pleasure of that when I reach Takira. She and I have separate rooms, which I didn’t expect. She, like most of the crew, has a room in the hotel. I, along with other “above the line” cast and crew, am staying in one of the luxurious cottages along the shoreline. Not a bad view to wake up to. The only thing that would make it better is waking up with Canon. He, Jill, and Kenneth have worked tirelessly with the production team these first two days to prepare the sets and the equipment, plan the shots, review the line edits, confirm the costumes—everything to ensure things on location go as efficiently as possible. I’ve barely seen him, much less slept with him. He did text from a production meeting last night that went on well after midnight. He knew I had an early start and said we’d see each other today.
But alas…
“How’s it been going for you guys?” I ask Takira as we load up our plates. I’m pleased to see lots of fish, leafy greens, and fruit.
“All these damn extras! They may be in the background most of the time, but they all need costumes, hair, and makeup.”
Takira doesn’t just do my hair and makeup, but helps wherever she is needed.
“How was your day?” She looks at me searchingly. “You feeling okay?”
“Good.” I don’t mention the nausea, which even now stirs at the smell of the mahi mahi on my plate. I’m sure it’s just stress and working too hard. “Monk’s song is great, and we spent most of the day getting it just right for tomorrow’s shoot.”
“Any word from the doc on your blood tests yet?”
“Nope. They sent them off to the lab, and should have them back maybe tomorrow.”
We sit at one of the long tables dotted along the shore, and soon, with the evening breeze, the setting sun, and the great conversation, I’ve forgotten the unsettled feeling in my stomach and am having a great time.
“Hey,” Canon says an hour or so into dinner, standing beside my table. He’s holding a plate loaded with chicken and salad. “Mind if I squeeze in?”
The girl beside me, one of the grips, hastily scoots over to make room for Canon. I feel all eyes on us, but I don’t give a damn. I can’t suppress the grin that widens when he settles in at my side. It’s quiet around us for a few seconds, like everyone’s not sure if they should carry on with the boss at the table. One by one, the crew resume their conversations, and Canon shoots me a wink and a grin.
