I couldn’t help but notice that her roots were starting to go dark. She wasn’t using another colorist yet. It would only be a matter of time before she either swallowed her pride and decided to talk to me again, or took a risk with someone else.
Reese already told me that she wanted to use someone else to do her hair, but I had yet to see that person show up.
I doubted whoever she picked would be able to get the same results that I had — her natural hair color was black for crying out loud.
Throughout the day, I was watching the way Reese and Leo interacted. It was clear that Reese was reaching out to make some kind of connection with Leo, but Leo wasn’t reciprocating.
I wondered if Leo even considered how alone he made people feel with his behavior? He was all stoic and everything all the time, but didn’t seem to realize that other people needed him. Both me and Reese were trying to make a connection with him, but he was shutting us out.
And then there was that kiss earlier…
Even thinking about it now sent my heart fluttering out of control. All I could think about was trying to get a second helping of that — that wholesome, all-encompassing feeling.
Now that I had time to examine and compare, I could contrast it from all of the kissing and touching yesterday.
Kissing Crim in that meadow had been life-altering; earth-shattering. Every part of me felt like it was arranged and rearranged every second my lips were on his.
Kissing Oliver during the threesome was a completely different experience entirely. Pressing my lips against his full ones was like being recognized for who I was. As much as I pretended it didn’t, that threesome was more than a hookup.
Then there was that tear that rolled down his face when he kicked me out…
I wondered where he was right now; probably working.
All day, I hung around the set, ate snacks, and chatted with the crew. I kept an eye out for any streak of crimson hair, but Crim was nowhere to be seen. Oliver was also absent from the set today…
I wondered if they were hooking up without me.
Something very much like jealously swirled in my gut, but it wasn’t quite there. It was its cousin: The Fear of Missing Out.
I was also watching Reese today. As the day wore on, he seemed to become more and more agitated. When he barked commands at the crew, I saw him sweep his hand over his face as if the world was collapsing around him. He reminded me of Gordon Ramsay right he had his famous meltdowns.
Everything came to a head at around four when Alina had to shoot another scene with Rachel. This was a pivotal moment in the story; it was shortly after Prince Valentine divorced Princess Valentine, then arranged a quick wedding to Alina’s character, Lady Bryn.
Princess Valentine was confronting Lady Bryn and delivering some empowered monologue or whatever, but Rachel couldn’t seem to get it right.
I watched them try to do the scene over and over, and each time, Rachel kept forgetting her lines halfway through. After the fifth take, I saw that her hands were shaking.
She was scared.
It was something otherworldly to watch— two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen were wearing fabulous medieval dresses and having a polite shade-throwing fest. I would have been completely convinced that I was actually in this fantasy world and that these characters were my rulers, but Rachel’s stuttering took me out of the story every time.
I felt bad for her as I watched. Try as I might, all of the positive vibes I was sending to her and the hopes that she would be able to deliver her lines cleanly were lost to the ether.
She was only getting worse.
I could tell Reese was getting frustrated. Everything in the scene was under his control; everything except Rachel.
If what Alina said was true and Rachel’s husband had that serious dirt on Reese, that meant he couldn’t fire her. He had to keep re-shooting this scene, no matter how many takes it took.
By the fourteenth take, Rachel tucked a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. When she raised her forearm, her wide sleeve slipped down and I saw a giant yellowing bruise in the shape of fingers on her forearm.
Alina tensed.
I quickly looked at Reese, but he was looking down and rubbing his temples. He’d missed it.
Glancing up at the village on the cliff, I wondered if Rachel’s husband was watching through binoculars or something.
The twentieth take happened. Then the thirtieth.
By the time it was the thirty-eighth take, we were losing sunlight.
It became clear to everyone on the set that it was time to call it.
“We’re done for today, everyone!” Reese said, his accent cutting through the air like a rapier. “Pack it up. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
“But we only have four more days at this location—” a cameraman said.
“I know that!” Reese erupted. “We’ll figure something out!”
Rachel approached Reese. “I’m… I’m sorry, I couldn’t get it right today—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Come back tomorrow morning and do it right!” he boomed.
Rachel flinched like he was going to hit her.
Then he abruptly stood up from his director chair, his black tie flailing wildly in the wind, and stormed off toward the water.
A dozen pairs of eyes watched him as he went.
I was sure that he was so angry, the ocean must be able to sense it, and it would certainly part for him. Maybe he’d be able to storm off all the way back to the U.S.
An awkward silence stretched out in his wake.
Alina looked at everyone except me.
I didn’t want to be near her anymore; I didn’t want her to somehow blame Rachel’s poor performance on me.
To escape her gaze, I went
