Zara walks toward me with effortless grace and stops right in front of me. Her smile is open and welcoming.
I hate her.
“You must be Romy. Zander mentioned you,” she says, holding out her dainty hand.
I blink.
Before I can answer, Zander comes to her side and gestures toward me. “Zara, this is Romy Owens. She manages The Knotted Barn, where the ceremony will be held. She’s done amazing stuff up there.”
Huh, interesting introduction.
I guess I’m a nobody beyond a set decorator. Guess I’m not the one he kissed in a dark closet yesterday and then said nothing about it after.
“Pleasure,” Zara says.
I take her hand, gripping it firmly, but I’m sure my smile isn’t sincere. “Welcome to Willowbrook.”
Her eyes flash, clearly catching the bite in my voice, but she doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, she giggles, leaning toward Zander as she says, “Everyone’s been so welcoming. Honestly, it feels like I’ve been here longer than a day.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, pulling back my hand. “You fit right in.”
Zander watches me. I force myself to look away, flipping my clipboard open as though my notes are the most important thing in the world.
His gaze stays on me a little longer until they get called back to the blanket.
“It was good to meet you,” Zara says.
I offer her a tight smile. “Keep up the good work.”
Zander tilts his head, but when I return my attention to my clipboard, he follows Zara to the blanket. Zara laughs at something one of the cameramen says. She tips her head, dark hair shining, and Zander grins at her.
The ache in my chest spreads like a disease.
They set up the next shot, and the director mutters something about how natural the chemistry is while another crew member agrees. Zander helps Zara smooth out the blanket, his fingers brushing hers.
I snap the clipboard shut. I cannot do this, so I turn around to leave.
“Romy,” he calls after me.
I’m surprised he even noticed I was leaving. I glance up, and Zander is striding toward me, a sheen of sweat glinting at his temple.
“How does it look?” he asks, nodding at the clipboard as though I have any meaningful feedback written on it.
I arch a brow, channeling every ounce of composure I can muster. “Like a romantic picnic.”
Something flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t bite. He smirks that slow, half smile that leaves me off balance. “That’s good, right?”
I shrug and jot a note that’s probably gibberish. “If the goal was chemistry, you and Zara nailed it.”
He studies me, peeling back every layer I’m trying to hide.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
He sounds genuine. I should snap out of this. I know it’s just a music video, but there are always so many doubts with Zander Shaw.
I shut the clipboard. “Fine. Just need to get back to work. Ben and Gillian’s wedding has taken a back seat with all this.” I wave dramatically at the surrounding production.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t push. Which makes this worse. Because if he wanted to know, he could lean in, drop his voice low enough, and remind me of what it felt like when his mouth covered mine in the dark.
