Oh, and Scarlett, of course. Damn. I’d almost forgotten about her.
She’s still there, though: her and her silent photographer, standing up on the hill next to the oak tree, the photographer snapping away as if he’s David Bailey or something.
“Um, you can stop now, though,” she adds, sounding ever so slightly petulant. “We’re done.”
“You might be,” says Jett, straightening up and leaving me feeling like someone (Scarlett) just stole my favorite toy. “I’m not.”
He turns on the spot, taking in the forest around us. The rain has thinned to a drizzle now, and I can see tiny droplets of water caught on his eyelashes.
“Isn’t it crazy to think this was here in Shakespeare’s time?” he says, looking up at the oak tree. “I wonder if he ever saw it? I read that he did come here at one time.”
“Yeah, I think he did,” I agree, not wanting to crush him completely by pointing out that the Birnam Oak would’ve been a hell of a lot smaller back then, so even if Will Shakespeare did pass this way, it probably wouldn’t have called out to him the way it does to Jett.
“I know it probably sounds nuts,” Jett says now, “But I can imagine Macbeth and his witches meeting in these woods.”
“I think I see one of the witches now,” I mutter under my breath, looking over my shoulder to where Scarlett’s standing waiting for us.
“Huh?” Luckily for me, Jett didn’t quite catch my snide comment; he’s too busy imagining himself back in the days when Scotland still had kings, and prophecies — and well, okay, witches.
“Are you ready to go—” I begin, but he isn’t listening. He’s still staring up at the Birnam Oak, apparently transfixed.
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” he says, sounding totally unlike himself.“Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time.”
I hold my breath, not wanting to ruin the moment as he goes on, all the way through Macbeth’s famous monologue; his tale filled with sound and fury, which Jett recites with such passion that if I didn’t know better, I’d think it washiswife who had died, not Macbeth’s.
If Justin Duval could just see him right now, he’d probably offer him the job on the spot.
As soon as the thought enters my mind, I know exactly what I have to do.
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I open up the camera and turn to Jett, who’s still standing there, muttering some of the lines from the rest of the scene.
“Do me a favor?” I say, smiling as winningly as I can. “Could you do that again? Exactly the way you did it before?”
I’m half expecting him to object, but instead he just smiles that heart-stopping smile of his.
“Anything for you, Lady M,” he says. “Anything at all.”
Chapter 31
By the time we get back to the car, the rain, which I’d thought was easing up, has started up again with renewed vigor, and we’re all soaked to the skin.
That’s not the worst thing about the drive home, though.
No, theworstthing about the drive home is Scarlett Scott, who follows us back to the car, waving cheerfully to the photographer as he gets into his own vehicle, having still failed to utter a single word to any of us.
“Can we help you with something, Scarlett?” I ask, somehow resisting the impulse to just tell her to leave us the hell alone now that she’s got her stupid photos.
“Oh, didn’t Jett tell you?” she replies, feigning surprise. “I’m coming with you. Sam has another job to get to, so Jett very kindly offered me a lift home, seeing as you two are going that way, anyway.”
I try but fail to hold back a scowl at this unwelcome piece of news. I’d been hoping Jett and I might go for a nice, cozy lunch somewhere. I’d pictured us curled up by a log fire in some country pub or other, where we could maybe continue the scene we started under the Birnam Oak.
Scarlett Scott definitely wasn’t part of that picture, but she’s determined to be part of this one, and, much to my disgust, Jett seems perfectly happy for her to be here, too.
I guess he’s not as keen on being alone with me as I am with him. Does that mean hewasn’tthinking about kissing me earlier? Or was he just acting, like he always is? I was so wrapped up in the moment that I’d completely forgotten Scarlett and her camera. Jett was the one who arranged for them to be there, though, so it would make sense that he was aware of them the whole time. It would make sense that he was just putting on a show for the photos. It would make sense that I would fall for it, yet again.
I pull my sunglasses out of my handbag and slip them on, even though it’s still raining.
I’m not going tocry. I just need something to hide behind, that’s all. Something to protect me from Scarlett’s curious glances, and Jett’s indifference. Although I suspect it’ll probably take more than just a pair of sunglasses to protect me fromthat.
