“It’s about time, honey girl,” Lillianna says. She doesn’t get up; she just holds out her arms, and I leap into them.
“You’re here!” I yell.
“Of course, baby,” Lillianna says. “I wouldn’t desert you.”
Lillianna has been working in hair and makeup in Hawaii for almost fifty years. I spent every single day with her while filmingLocked. Man, I’ve missed her.
She pats the chair. “Get in here,” she says. “We got our work to do today. Have you used a brush since you left this island?”
“Barely.”
Lillianna winks at me. “I know. I’ve seen the pictures. You and Jordan, huh?”
I shake my head. “You’re already trying to get the dirt?”
“Honey, if the sun ain’t up, it doesn’t count.”
I think about my sister’s tabloid confession, and I know, in the deepest part of my heart, that Lillianna would never do that. But I also can’t bring myself to tell her what happened last night between Rainer and me. It feels precious, special—ours. I remember what Jordan told me on the beach so many months ago. That this life is hard, that the media will go in search of anything and everything. That you have to keep what’s yours sacred.
Lillianna eyes me when I keep quiet. “Well, if you’re not going to dish the dirt, at least tell me what it’s like being America’s Sweetheart.”
“I’m hardly their sweetheart, and we both know that.”
Lillianna grunts behind me, twisting my hair around a curling iron. “That’s your own fault,” she says. “Why don’t you give those cameras a flash of teeth?”
I twist around to look at her. She chucks my chin. “Lillianna, if you keep giving me unsolicited paparazzi advice, I’m going to be late to set.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says. But she unfolds her makeup bag, and then she’s putting on foundation with a small, wet brush.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Mr. Fred Astaire tried to win my hand?” she asks me. “I figure if you don’t talk about your romantic life, at least we can talk about mine.”
I laugh. I never know if Lillianna’s stories from old Hollywood are real or not, but it actually doesn’t matter. As I listen to her familiar throaty voice fill me in on her romantic past, I can’t help but feel at peace. A weight has been lifted this morning. I feel free for the first time in a long time. Like my life belongs to me alone.
I finish up with Lillianna and then head to the soundstage. Rainer is waiting when I get there. He’s a different Noah at the end of this movie—cleaned up, transformed—and when I look at him, it’s almost like I’m seeing someone else entirely, someone new.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Hey.”
He gives me a slow smile that seems to convey everything I might possibly need to hear from him.It will all be okay.
Jessica bounds over a moment later, holding out a cup of coffee. He takes it. “You’re the best,” he tells her. I see her grin at him and say something into her headset, scurrying off.
I look from Jessica to Rainer. And then I’m pushing past him to follow her to the craft service table.
“You want a cup?” she says, bobbing a tea bag into a mug.
I shake my head. “Jessica,” I say. “Wyatt isn’t back on this movie.”
She looks around frantically before cracking a smile. “Wait, he’snot?”
“We all love you,” I say, “and we’re so glad you’re here. I just have to figure there is a reason you’re not back with Wyatt on his next project.” I think about Jessica at our press events, Jessica in Tokyo. Jessica back here, now.
She blushes. “I love these movies,” she says, smoothing back her hair. “You know that.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Rainer goofing around with the sound guys. I smile. I could see it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
