“Do you have my phone?” I ask.
She pulls it from her pocket and hands it over.
“Thanks.”
“Your mom called. She ran into Loren Hollinger from Fleur Noir Magazine and will be late. This is the one Sam was—seriously, Gen, what’s going on?”
“Nothing!” I force a laugh and even wave my hand. “Tell her not to worry about meeting me back here. I’m going to shower at home tonight. One of the perks of a local show!” My joke is weak and doesn’t provide the distraction I was hoping for. I’ve totally lost the ability to fool Hadley. What about Oliver? Another person I can’t seem to fool. Speaking of, I stare down at the screen, filled with notifications, but none from him. Maybe I’m even disappointed by that. It would be crazy to call him, right? Of course. We just met. Then again…
“You’re not a popstar, Genevieve. You’re my friend.” Friends call each other. How did he know how badly I needed to hear that? So simple, and yet spoken with such honesty and a depth of understanding that it lodged deep in my heart. Am I really his friend? In that moment, I wanted that more than anything. Camille sounds amazing. What would it be like to live in such unconditional love? Love that lasts beyond a two-hour performance or terms of a contract.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and irritation melts into warmth at Oliver’s name.
How was your show? Looking forward to seeing you Wednesday.
“Man, he’s really got you hooked,” Hadley says, drawing me from my haze.
I glance up with a tight smile. “Who? What do you mean?”
She rolls her eyes, but shoots over a teasing grin. “Oliver. Obviously. He just messaged you, didn’t he? Your entire demeanor changed. Like a cloud lifted or something.” She returns to packing my belongings, and I relax a little when I sense this isn’t a critique. If anything, she seems pleased.
I breathe a sigh and stare down at my screen.
It went fine. Wish you’d been waiting for me in my dressing room. Am I really your friend? What does that even mean? I want to be a good one, but I’m not sure how. How often do friends message each other? Do they call? I really want to hear your voice right now. See your smile.
Instead I type, It went fine. I’ll let you know as soon as I finish the shoot on Wed.
“Can you give me less showgirl and more vixen?” Riela Corbin lowers her camera and studies me with an intensity that concerns me. A good photographer can find streaks of your soul and Riela is one of the best. Usually, I don’t mind working with her. She’s very talented and more patient than a lot I’ve dealt with. Today, though, I’m the impatient one.
“Gen, please. I’m not looking for pinup girl, but I need more than bored understudy.”
I crack a smile and pull in a deep breath. “Sorry. Late night.” It’s not a lie. With another back-to-back show—this time in Chicago—I didn’t get home until three last night. I wasn’t asleep until four and had to be up at ten to get ready for the shoot. We’ve had four performances in the last week, and we’re not even officially touring right now—that’s what this afternoon’s meeting with Turner and White Flame is about.
“Give us a minute?” Hadley asks Riela.
Riela nods, signaling her assistants for a quick conference as well.
“What’s going on with you, Gen? Real talk.” Her sincere expression invites real talk, but a brightly lit studio surrounded by strangers definitely does not.
“Sorry. Like I said, I’m tired.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s more than that. You’ve been, I don’t know, dark lately.”
“Dark?” It’s a good description, actually. She can’t know that. She already knows too much.
“Yeah, like, distant and melancholy. And the mirror thing?” She whispers the last part in an even lower voice, probably to avoid any reprise of the earlier drama where I went all diva and made them remove every mirror from the set. I didn’t even like the one reflector that looked too “mirror-y” but let them keep it after a heated debate. “It’s not normal, Genevieve.”
I flinch at the grating word as it scratches through my head. Normal. No, I’m not normal. Because what is normal? My normal isn’t normal. What she means is, you’re not being the person you’re supposed to be. I’m not playing my part well, and it’s easy to read the rest of the message on her face. You better figure this out before the meeting with White Flame. They won’t have any patience for the new you.
She’s not wrong, and I suck in a deep breath to muster the most sultry, vixen-like expression I can muster.
“I’m ready,” I call over to Riela.
She returns to the set, looking relieved when she sees me through the lens. “Yes! Much better. This is perfect, Genevieve. Keep that up.”
I am in control.
CHAPTER 5
Brown eyes dance
Above the cliffs
Of solitary bliss
Just one kiss
Would be enough
To dismiss
Violent waves
The secrets he craves
In time
If he were mine
Maybe I’d find
The lonely tears
I force away
Are okay
OLIVER
I wanted to get an early start on training today. Genevieve has an hour and a half to spare this afternoon, and there’s no way I’m losing a single second with her. The short texts and surface greetings aren’t cutting it, not when I can tell something isn’t right in her head. I’m worried, but I can’t exactly blame her for blowing off my concerns. We barely know each other, and how deep can we go in a quick text exchange anyway? I need her in my arms, to be cemented in her awareness.
Carlos couldn’t meet me until nine this morning, so I start warmups on my own at eight. I promise him I won’t do anything crazy until he arrives, and after some Carlos-approved isometric warmups, I pound the elliptical at only mildly dangerous levels. Of course, as
