A Tale of Two Centuries

“Ah, good pilgrim, you flatter too much, for I am no ravishing beauty.” Standing again, I attempt to withdraw my hand from Reid’s grasp, but the firm pressure from his own increases.

I raise my eyes and see mischief sparking in his gaze. The distant rumble of a car engine brings into sharp awareness the fact that the two of us are outside alone, without a chaperone. Every word of warning Mama ever gave me about situations such as these swirls in my head. “And may I ask how you knew who I was, my lord?”

Reid runs his free hand through the spikes of his dark blond hair and grins as if he were a child caught sneaking a marzipan cake from the cook. “I may’ve asked around.” At my wide-eyed look of disbelief, he laughs. “Okay, I totally asked around. But hey, anyone who has Marilyn Kent saying things like, ‘raw, natural talent’ and, ‘find of the year’ deserves my Mystery Machine skills.”

He gives me an expectant look, and when I fail to recognize the reference, scratches his chin. “Scooby-Doo? Band of teenage detectives and their adorable, treat-loving dog? No? All right, then.”

At his look of bafflement, I vow to add Scooby-Doo to my list of modern lingo. At this rate, the list will soon become a book.

“Anyway, since everyone else is pretty much accounted for inside, I took a chance that the lovely lady stepping out of the black Mercedes was Alessandra Forlani, aka my Juliet.” Reid pauses. “And you were wrong, by the way.” I squint, and he strokes his thumb over my knuckle. “You are beautiful.”

Unaccustomed and embarrassed from the unexpected compliment and attention, I lower my lashes. Reid chuckles softly.

“After you, milady.” I look up to see him wave his hand toward the theater doors. He lifts his chin, indicating that I should lead the way, and I bolt toward them.

Although my costar seems perfectly amiable—and quite charming—sixteen years of parental lectures on never permitting myself to be alone with a flirtatious suitor (and remembering how badly the stolen moments with Matteo turned out) are difficult to ignore.

Quickening my steps, I cover the remaining distance to the entrance of the theater at a near jog, hearing Matteo’s deceitful claims of love with each footfall. I know now he never loved me—though in truth, I do not know that I genuinely loved him, either.

In preparation for my role, I’ve been reading more of Romeo and Juliet, and in response, thinking a lot about true love. I believe it was the hope of Matteo I loved more than the man himself. The dream that our union would quiet my growing discomfort with the role and skin I had been born into, the idea that a man could honestly care for me, not out of duty, but for who I was as a woman.

My heartbreak is not over Matteo’s betrayal. It is over the death of that dream.

Blinking away the burn of tears, I throw open the double doors, eager for the diversion of the bustling crowd. Across the sea of bobbing heads amassed in the lobby, Jamie catches my eye and grins.

I sidestep my way through the assembled actors and meet my friend in the middle of the floor, the center of a world of chaos and excitement. “You ready for this?” she asks, eyes wide as she bounces on her toes.

I was born ready, I think, letting the moment settle over me. Aloud I answer, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jamie laughs and opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it abruptly as her gaze transfers behind me. Turning, I find Romeo—er, Reid, near my shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I have to change.” He motions to his costume with an exaggerated frown. “Sadly, as sexy as I make this look, they won’t let me bring it home. But come find me after your fitting, Alessandra. There’s something I need to ask you.” His head dips down to meet my eyes, and I nod mine in promise. He grins. “Don’t go disappearing on me, Juliet.”

Reid disappears down the long hall, leaving me curious as to what he could possibly have to ask me. Watching his retreating backside, Jamie sighs. “That boy is scrumptious.”

A snicker erupts behind us. “And way out of your league.” I need not turn to know who the vile voice belongs to, but I do so, anyway. And when I do, I find a sneering Kendal, looking me over from head to toe. “So I hear you got Juliet.” I nod, and she sucks in a breath. “What other work have you done?”

Jamie taps my foot, I assume in solidarity, and I answer truthfully, “Besides one minor, exclusive performance”—if a meadow performance with an audience of three can be considered as such—“this will be my first role.”

At that, Kendal’s jaw drops, and if it were possible for steam to escape one’s ears, it would be pouring from hers now. Perhaps honesty is not always the best policy. In shocked, punctuated phrases she asks, “And you…got the main role….over me?”

I nod, torn between glee and trepidation. Though the workshop will consist of several scenes from Shakespeare’s most iconic plays, roughly all the same length, Romeo and Juliet is the understood main performance.

And according to my cousin, Reid and I are the understood main stars.

For a moment, Kendal appears to be shocked speechless—a noteworthy event. But alas, the incident is short-lived. “What did you do?” she asks, hitching a blond eyebrow, arrogance returning to her sharp eyes. “Sleep with the fat, bald guy?”

Horrified at the thought and implication to my virtue, I shake my head and gape, unable to find words. I look around us and notice that while the flurry of activity has not stopped, it has indeed slowed down. Several pairs of eyes are watching our exchange, and though the majority of my fellow actors and actresses appear either unfazed by Kendal’s slanderous remark or mildly amused—Jamie is noticeably incensed—a few of them cast curious glances in our direction.

I want to tell her—to tell them—that I earned my role because I was better, that Marilyn said I have raw, natural talent. But under the weight of the amused, doubtful gazes trained on me, my coherent response dies.

How did I really get the Juliet role? Did I truly earn it because of my glowing performance at the audition? Or is my proud achievement merely a fortuitous blend of Mr. Crawford’s nepotism mixed with a gentle touch of Reyna’s gypsy magic?

A clipboard-holding woman barks Kendal’s name. Reluctantly, and not without apparent disgust for my lack of response, she follows in the woman’s wake. For everyone else, it seems as though the fleeting curiosity over how I obtained my role is lost in the excitement of scripts as interns start passing them out. A young man calls my name and hands me mine. I run my fingers over the cover and release a ragged breath.

“Chica, that girl is the founding member of the bitch patrol, and everyone here knows it. Do not let her ruin this for you.” Jamie puts her hands on my shoulders and shakes them back and forth. “Come on, this is gonna be awesome. We’ll hang out at rehearsals and practice at my house—whenever Austin’s not being an ass. We’re totally gonna be besties. And let’s not skip the fact you’re paired with Reid Roberts, arguably one of the hottest celebrities in existence. That’s the reason Kendal’s so pissy. If I know her—which I unfortunately do—she expected to hitch her wagon to his megawatt star and ride on into glory. You totally stole her thunder!” A rather evil- sounding laugh escapes her throat before she quickly sobers and says, “I swear I’m not a bitch. I just hate that girl.”

Smiling at my new friend’s boundless enthusiasm and refreshing honesty, I lean in and confide, “I believe I despise her, too.”

Chapter Fourteen

“This is really important to my career,” Reid says, raking a well-groomed hand through his spikes. “With Marilyn involved and the early buzz around my indie film premiering in a couple weeks at Sundance, there’s gonna be a lot of eyes on our performance. I need this to be a hit.”

Nodding to show I am listening, though still unable to comprehend most of his bizarre use of jargon, I glance at the parking lot for Austin. He promised to be here at one o’clock, and according to my helpful costar, it is