I don’t let it show that I notice.
My mother is across the room, checking her phone anxiously. She hasn’t looked up in a while. Not until Elliot starts to cry through the connecting wall, and my mother makes a small noise of irritation.
“Don’t start without me,” she says, already halfway gone.
She doesn’t even look at me when she says it, just disappears into the next room. She’s been distant lately; I even caught her sneaking out once.
Naturally, I assumed the worst. I made multiple attempts at investigating the matter after that, for which I was strictly reprimanded by my mother, who shut the whole thing down in a heartbeat.
I figured it best not to tell my father.
I smooth the fabric of my shirt down my ribs as she goes, then stand and wander to the sideboard. I pluck one of the lilies from the vase, and the stem snaps in my hand.
“These should be in the picture,” I say, still facing the window.
The photographer glances up. “But Kai… those flowers are dead.”
I smile at the reflection of the flowers in the glass. “That’s how I like them.”
That gets a pause. Good.
It’s almost satisfying seeing them this unnerved. Confused.
I turn, twirling the lily between my fingers. “They’re so pretty like this. Don’t you think?”
Victor shifts his weight. “Why don’t you sit back down, Kai?”
I tilt my head, all sweetness. “Of course. I only wanted to help you make it… authentic.”
I cross back to the bed, knees folding beneath me. I deliberately slip my shirt lower, and look at him as if I’m thinking aloud. “Do you suppose the other boys get jealous?”
Victor frowns. “Who?”
“The other kids. The ones at castings. They don’t get the same attention.” I shrug. “Not everyone gets treated as… exceptional.”
He laughs, but it’s nervous. Slightly uncomfortable. “This is just work, Kai.”
“Oh, of course,” I say smoothly, smiling again. “You’d never do anything inappropriate. I tell them that all the time.”
Victor hesitates. “Tell who?”
I laugh a soft, airy laugh. “No one important. Just people who ask. You know how they talk. ‘Is Victor ever alone with him?’ ‘Why doesn’t his mum come to set anymore?’” I look at my fingernails. “Stupid questions.”
Victor’s face has gone pale. “Kai…”
“I always tell them the same thing,” I add, and I even lean forward a little. For effect. “That you’re terribly professional. That you’d never cross a line,” I say sweetly. “Even when you text those things. About my face. My mouth.” I look up at Victor, revelling at his discomfort. At his shock. “What is it? Did you think Iforgot?”
Victor is still. The photographer busies himself with his lens.
I tilt my head, voice softening. “I suppose they’ll believe me, as long as I keep saying it. Won’t they?”
Victor opens his mouth. I don’t let him speak.
“You really should be more careful with your phone,” I continue, petting the lily’s petal with my thumb. “Screenshots are frightfully easy to forward.”
His mouth parts slightly, like he’s going to speak—explain something, or deny something, or threaten something—but nothing comes out.
I rise again, walk to the chair near the door. His coat is draped over it. The phone’s in the front pocket. I know because I felt it buzz ten minutes ago.
