Exertion heats my body from within as the lights beat down, and sweat gradually soaks my costume.
After more than twenty takes, Lana finally calls that we can move on—to doing the same process from a second camera angle. With every roll, I get dizzier and dizzier. But I’ll keep popping up and taking my mark until I fall over, whether that’s wise or not.
After take fourteen, Alejandro reminds Lana that it’s almost lunch time. She goes over the shots on the monitor. “It’s a little wispy, but… alright, it’ll work.”
I unzip the top of my costume and peel it back from my neck, which is about the most I can get away with right now.
Silver catering dishes have been set out near craft services. Haley loads up her plate, and I grab a tangerine.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asks. “You’ve been rolling around all morning.”
“Starved,” I lie. “Just forgot something in the dressing room; I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll save you a seat.”
I follow the edge of the warehouse to the hall lined with dressing rooms and push into Haley’s. It’s quiet and much cooler than the set, since the air conditioning can still run here.
I peel my costume off my arms and let it hang around my waist, sitting topless as I pick at my tangerine.
Eating it is slow going. Whether from the heat or the rolling or whatever the fuck my body’s deciding to do right now, the nausea has returned with a vengeance. I turn on a fan and sit in front of it, and the cool air settles my stomach a little.
If this is how the coming days will be, I can work with this. It’s not too much longer before all of Melinoë’s scenes are done. As long as I can get through the stunts, I don’t care how uncomfortable I am.
But one critical variable remains…
I haven’t smelled Christine yet today.
Sitting on that rock, staring at the ocean, she just looked…sad. Tired. I’ve never seen her that…still. Even when she’s standing around, waiting for a shot to start, she’s alwaysmoving. If not fidgeting, then you can see it behind her eyes—wheels turning, the quirk of a raised brow, the tug of a smirk.
Nothing like that…emptiness.
Something tugs at my gut just below the nausea, and it might be guilt.
It’s not like her to not be on set, even if she’s not filming until later. She does that obnoxious ‘I may be a star but I’ll put in just as many hours as anyone else’ thing.
I can only think about Christine for so long before memories flicker: a gasp of breath, roving hands, her arm heavy across me.
My cock tightens in a flash of heat.
Fuck.
A sudden anxiety grips my chest: where is she? Why isn’t she here?
Just… stupid omega hormones.
As I sigh, there’s a low buzz from my backpack where it rests against the wall. I go fetch my phone and settle back into the chair.
The top notification is a new email.
Artemis Pharmaceuticals Patient Portal - You have new test results
My heart thumps faster as I open the email and follow the instructions to log in.
I find a list of two dozen results, each with a cryptic abbreviated name and a number, some green, some yellow, and some red.
It might as well be gibberish.
There’s a yellow disclaimer at the bottom of the page:Your physician may not have reviewed these results yet. Please call patient services to schedule an appointment to review your results with your physician.
