But he doesn’t. He lets me walk away.
My heels dig into the grass as the crew’s laughter rises up behind me. Someone repeats for the fifteen millionth time how good Zander and Zara look together, and I deny myself the urge to whip around and scream, We all heard you the first fifty times.
Whatever happened in that closet at Laurel’s was a mistake. And judging by the fact that he didn’t stop me from leaving, Zander Shaw thinks so too.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zander
The scene is perfect. The crew has outdone themselves. Fairy lights are strung on low branches around the lake. A canoe sits halfway in the water, like something out of The Notebook. A blanket is spread out with grapes and champagne glasses. Even the sun is cooperating and hanging low in the sky, giving us purple and pink streaks in the sky. Every element is completely ready and staged for this to be a picture-perfect scene.
But it all feels wrong.
The woman standing across from me is wrong. Zara Sloan is gorgeous—there’s no argument there. Any man would love to be with her. Her long, dark hair, skin that looks airbrushed to perfection, even her laugh. She’s got flirty smiles, leaning just close enough for the camera to catch the suggestion. She tosses her hair back like a perfect perfume ad.
And I hate every second of it.
I hate this fake, manufactured version of love. The fact that a music video romance is built out of camera angles and stage directions. There’s nothing authentic about it.
I hold Zara in my arms at the edge of the dock. And all I can see—all I can wish—is that it was Romy.
The co-director calls, “Closer, Zander. Look like you want her.”
I grit my teeth. I’ve done lots of music videos. Usually, they’re heartbreak songs. This one is supposed to be about hope. But tonight, I can’t flip the switch. I can’t see Zara as somebody fictional, because I feel as though this is Romy’s ranch, Romy’s spot. Like I, somehow, am Romy’s, even if I’m not.
Still, I tilt closer to Zara to get this over with. My stomach twists. I think Zara notices my stiff posture and inability to play the part I need to.
Once upon a time, rumors spread that we were dating after we were seen on a red carpet together. We hung out one night, and suddenly people claimed we had an affair for six months. It never happened. We talked once or twice, realized we wanted different things, and went our separate ways. She’s really nice, though. Beau was the one who thought she was perfect for the part, so I made the call and asked her.
“Hold it,” the co-director calls. “Zara, I want you to laugh. Zander, pick her up. Zara, wrap your legs around him.”
I go through the motions. Pick her up. Hold her gaze. Rock my head back in laughter.
Finally, my co-director yells, “Cut!”
“Well, that was fun,” Zara says as she lowers herself from me. There’s sarcasm in her voice, and I don’t blame her. I wasn’t into it, and I’m sure she felt it, which makes her job ten times harder.
I glance toward the edge of the set where Romy was watching earlier. Yesterday, something was wrong. I don’t know if she’s mad about the kiss. I don’t know anything anymore, and it’s pissing me off. My head is a fucking mess.
I head over to Beau, who’s behind the monitor, talking to the cameraman.
“Where’s Romy?”
Beau shrugs. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while.” He turns his attention back to what he was doing.
“That’s not an answer.”
With a sigh, he turns to face me. “I don’t know, man. Maybe she went to deal with something for her cousin’s wedding. She’s been juggling both events.”
A niggling feeling stabs like the twist of a knife between my ribs. I have the bad feeling she’s upset after seeing me with Zara. I’ve heard the crew and Jack saying how great we are together. I should have addressed this yesterday.
I’m a fucking idiot.
“You fucked up, didn’t you?” Beau asks, walking us away from the cameras.
“I think so.”
“This is why you get the paperwork.” He glares at me.
