Lost in Scotland

by Hilaria Alexander

  That was why it was even more crucial for Hugh to nail the scene, because the result of it depended exclusively on his performance, with no help from his surroundings. He couldn’t count on the elements to make his delivery more dramatic. There was so much I wanted to say, but I bit my bottom lip, holding back my words, hoping he could read them in my eyes.

  I patted him on the chest. “All good,” I mumbled, but just as I tried to walk away, his fingers grabbed mine for a second.

  “Later,” he said between his teeth, his eyes scanning the set to see if anyone was paying attention to us. He glanced down at me, the look in his eyes dark and impenetrable, charged by all the words we couldn’t say. I gave him a silent nod and walked away.

  Hugh

  At some point during the day, she disappeared and was replaced by Margaret. Although I knew she was probably busy with something else, I missed her presence.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” I told my very pregnant friend. I had known her since I’d attended the Royal Scottish Academy, and she’d never been more beautiful than she was now with a baby bump.

  “I wanted to give Sam a break. She’s been out here most of the day. Besides, the weather’s nice. I could use some Vitamin D,” she said, patting her growing stomach.

  “Are you doing okay? How are you feeling?”

  She replied with a smile. “I feel fantastic, thank you very much. How are you?”

  “Great.”

  “You’ve been bringing the house down today, so I’ve been told. Nora said the director only wants to do a couple more takes.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I listened to Margaret make small talk, but my mind was elsewhere. I knew the next few takes would probably not get used at all. I wasn’t usually so presumptuous about my skills, but I knew I had already given the right performance three or four times during the day. Now that my chest didn’t ache with performance anxiety, I was occupied by thoughts of Sam. I didn’t understand why I was longing to see her again. I had always been okay with hookups, but I had never fallen for anyone. I never wanted to let anything distract me from my career, and no one really held my attention for too long, anyway.

  I had plenty of chances to be around gorgeous women, but most of the actresses I had encountered so far were fickle and always a bit too manipulating, just looking for a partner that could help them establish or further their status. I certainly wasn’t famous enough to gain them more exposure, nor I was interested in playing whatever media game they had in mind. All I wanted was to act; the rest was just icing on top. I wasn’t interested in Hollywood politics, didn’t care for the fame game, but according to my agent, I would have to learn to navigate it soon enough. Things were finally going to change. According to everyone’s predictions, I was going to be famous.

  I was going to be a star. I had been an actor for years, but so far I had lived a pretty quiet life.

  Was I ready for things to change? Was I ready to sacrifice my private life to be a successful actor? Part of me still feared the show was going to flop. If, however, it was a success as everyone predicted, I hoped I’d be able to handle my newfound fame with confidence and class.

  As the sun started its descent, we stopped filming. Margaret said good-bye, and after I took off my costume, I went to the makeup quarters instead of my dressing room. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I walked through the door. Sam was there, as was Cecilia, although she seemed on her way out.

  Cecilia’s eyes widened as she saw me enter the room. I would usually just wash my makeup off with a shower, but I wanted to have an excuse to see Sam.

  “I-I’ll go ahead, Sam. I’ll see you at home.” She said good-bye and hurried away.

  “Hey,” Sam said with a tip of her chin when we were finally alone. “What can I do for you?” She put some makeup brushes away and gave me a furtive glance.

  “Well…” I hesitated, a few scenarios running through my head, none of which were very gentlemanly. She was wearing a tight white T-shirt and black jeans that hugged her curves, leaving very little to the imagination. My palm twitched, needing to touch her. I made up an excuse. “Margaret was saying it’s bad for my skin to wash the makeup off in the shower.” She frowned and gave me a perplexed look. “She said there might still be makeup residue after I wash.”

  “That’s true. Sit down.” She patted the chair next to her and I took a seat. The smile she gave me was sweet, but there was a certain wariness in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and leaned closer to me, putting a paper towel around my T-shirt to keep it clean. She applied some cleanser on a cotton pad and started wiping off all the makeup and fake grime that was layered on me. I closed my eyes. It was quiet around us, except for some music coming through from a phone docking station.

  “You were great today,” she said. “You had nothing to worry about.” My eyes were closed, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Only because ye told me to get my head out of my arse,” I replied with a laugh.

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way!” She slapped me playfully on my arm.

  “Yeah, ye did.”

  “I was joking! You just needed to put things into perspective. I knew you had it in you.”

  “I’m sorry I made ye cry.”

  “I’m not. It was a heartbreaking scene. You’d have to have a heart of stone to not feel anything.”

  “You were the only one crying.” She stopped cleaning my face. I opened my eyes and found her glaring at me, a murderous look in her eyes. “What? I’m simply stating a fact.”

  “Shame on you. It’s not very nice to make fun of my sensitive soul.” She cocked one eyebrow at me, but the tone of her voice was playful.

  “I wasn’t pointing it out to make fun of you—quite the opposite.”

  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

  “I liked that you were so into it. It gave me confidence, and I felt I got even better after a couple of takes,” I explained. Her eyes softened and she reached for my jaw, turning it in her direction brusquely to resume cleansing my skin of the leftovers of the day. I didn’t take my eyes off her.

  When she glanced back at me, she said, “Take number three was my favorite.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but grin, letting out a breath of elation. She leaned down over me, carefully wiping the skin around my eyes. I felt her warm breath wash over me, and her closeness caused my heartbeat to accelerate, running off like a wild horse. I closed my eyes again.

  I recognized “Killer Queen” by Queen playing through the speakers of the dock. Soon enough, Sam started singing along, her voice barely audible even though she was so close.

  “You can sing if you want, you know. You have a nice voice.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t really want to shout in your face.” She laughed, and I loved the sound of it. It made me feel lighter, in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Suddenly, I felt like I wanted to be the one to make her laugh, the one to make her happy.

  “You like Queen a lot, don’t you?” I asked her.

  “My dad used to live in London in the ’70s, and he saw them live a couple times. Can you believe that? I’m so jealous,” she said with a small shake of her head. “So, yeah. He’s a big fan, and I grew up listening to Queen a lot.”

  “What does your dad do? When did he move to the US?” I was honestly curious. Sam was unlike any other American girl I had met so far. She had a slight California vibe, but there was also something different about her, something more—some part of her makeup made her different and unique.

  “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?” she asked bashfully.

  I stared at her rich brown eyes. I wanted nothing more than to know more about her. I smiled and replied, “I would love to.”

  Sam

  “Is Sam short for Samantha?” Hugh asked casually one morning while I was applying his makeup. His eyelids fluttered open, his piercing blue eyes framed by thick brown lashes. Sometimes they startled me,
seemed to reach inside of me, as if they were capable of knowing all my secrets. His eyes alone made me feel things I shouldn’t have been feeling. It was hard to keep it professional around him, because he was always so friendly. I lifted my gaze and found a producer staring at us, narrowing his eyes.

  “No,” I replied with a shake of my head, afraid I would get in trouble for being too cozy with the lead actor.

  “Sorry, I bet you get asked that a lot.” The look in his eyes told me I had been too curt with him. I felt the need to apologize. From the corner of my eye, I saw the producer leave the room.

  “No, it’s not that…it’s just…my name is short for Samhain.” He frowned. “Ugh, I’m pronouncing it wrong. What I meant was Sow-een,” I said, hoping my pronunciation was somehow correct. His eyes widened, and he let out a chuckle of surprise. Clearly it wasn’t the answer he’d expected, which happened all the time. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and a slight nod of my head.

  “Yep, that’s right.”

  “Your full name is Samhain?” My name in his mouth, said the right way, sounded completely different. Sow-in.

  “Weird, I know. You can thank my mother for that.”

  “Do you mean your name is Samhain as in Samhain the Gaelic festival?”

  “The very same,” I said with a heavy sigh. Usually people didn’t know why I was called Samhain or what Samhain was, but I was in Scotland now, and people there were more inclined to know what it meant. Samhain was the Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. It was celebrated between October 31st and November 1st. I had asked my mother many times why she’d decided on that name, and she always said “it felt right” since I was born on October 31st. I mentally scoffed at the memory.

  “I thought your father was from Pakistan.”

  “Yeah, my father is from Pakistan, but my mother is a hippie from the valley—from LA, I mean,” I corrected myself, realizing only Californians would get that reference. “Let me rephrase that…she used to be a hippie when we were little. She was obsessed with Gaelic myths when she was pregnant with me.” His eyes kept studying me, making me more and more nervous. “My mother and I don’t look anything alike. You would never guess I came out of her womb,” I blabbered.

  “Why? Is she not gorgeous like you are?” he asked with a laugh, a bright smile stretching across his face. My breath hitched, and my eyes widened before I could control my emotions. A rush of heat traveled from my chest to the rest of my body, and my throat felt suddenly dry; I quickly swallowed and tried to regain my composure. I gave him a small smile, ignoring my heart beating as loud as a drum in my chest. Things had been different between us lately. Ever since the day I’d barged into his dressing room to help him get his shit together, he had been friendlier, trying to stop and chat whenever he could.

  I thought there was something else, too. He seemed to look at me differently. There was an intensity, a curiosity in his eyes every time he glanced my way. I was rarely working with him, helping Margaret from time to time, but when we’d cross paths, he would smile at me in a way that was so warm and genuine, it made my heart flutter. It felt like the sun peeking through the clouds. I could feel the warmth of it even during those dreadfully cold Scottish days. Some part of me wanted to believe he regarded me more than others, but the truth was that he was amiable with everyone on set. I wanted to keep my feet firmly on the hard-ass Scottish rocks, but when I was around him, I couldn’t help but fantasize about the possibility of something more between us.

  He just said I was gorgeous.

  Stop. Everything.

  Breathe. And smile.

  I wanted to pause time and start doing a little happy dance on the spot.

  A bright smile stretched across my face, and he seemed delighted that I appreciated his compliment. He rewarded me with a sly grin. “No, I mean…my mother looks like a total California girl and I…well, I don’t. Amira—I mean Mira, looks more like her.” I had told him everything about my famous sister the other night when he asked about my dad. He was a fan of hers, of course, and he talked enthusiastically about some of her movies. Nothing about his demeanor told me that he’d made the connection about me and what happened back in LA; I was surprised. When things went awry with Eric a few months back, my revenge plan blew up across social media partly because I was Mira’s sister. So far, no one on set seemed to know who I was or what I was “famous” for—or infamous, depending on how you looked at it—except Nora and Lainey. I was glad no one knew, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “I think your name fits ye perfectly.” His voice was deep and seductive and made me snap out of my inner ramblings. His compliments ignited a chain reaction inside my body—my heart started beating faster and faster, blood rose to my cheeks, and there were also other areas that responded enthusiastically to his compliments. I sighed and then tried to say something; I couldn’t take his eyes staring at me like that any longer.

  I frowned and bit my lip. “Why do you think it fits me perfectly? She gave me this Gaelic name, supposedly on a whim, and I don’t look Gaelic…at all.”

  He laughed, and the rich sound vibrated through my body as if we were much, much closer.

  “Are you done laughing about my misadventures?” I asked him with a smile.

  When he finally stopped, he got all serious, his eyes dark, fixed on me. It wasn’t just a look—it was a smolder. The way he looked at me made me feel all hot and bothered, and wetness pooled between my legs.

  “Sam, ye might not look Gaelic, but you must know Samhain means ‘darker half of the year’.”

  “Yeah…so? What’s your point?”

  He took a deep breath and then his blue irises stared into my eyes for what felt like forever. He finally looked away and his hand went into my hair, his fingers weaving through it.

  “Well, your hair, your eyes, your skin…every part of you is dark, neach-gaoil. That’s why I say your name suits you perfectly,” he said almost in a whisper.

  “Neach…?”

  “Gaoil.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked him.

  “It means sweetheart.”

  I swallowed in an attempt to contain every emotion his words were igniting, but then I licked my lips and his eyes fell to my mouth. I thought it must be what hell feels like—burning with no way to extinguish the fire. Being around him every day was torture. If we had been anywhere else, if we had been alone, I wouldn’t have thought twice about kissing him, right there, right then.

  I had a feeling he wouldn’t have been upset about it at all.

  But this job was important to me, and I didn’t want to lose it because I had a crush on the man I had to literally work on from time to time. I told myself I had to get over every compliment, every sweet, sexy word he was aiming at me.

  “Thank you?” I didn’t mean for it to, but it came out as a question. He just smiled and bit his bottom lip, drawing my attention to his beautiful mouth. Dammit. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and he gave me one of the intense stares he usually reserved for his love scenes. Damn him. He closed his eyes and I leaned in closer, pinned his hair away from his forehead, and proceeded to apply the rest of the makeup.

  Hugh

  On Sunday, I found her sitting on the side of the valley, in the middle of a patch of heather, her hair tied in a side braid, her black sunglasses on. She was enjoying the sunshine. The weather had been beautiful all morning, and that’s why I had decided to come up for a hike. I stared at her for a while, fighting the impulse to call out her name. I should have left her alone, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Sam! What are you doing down there?” She waved at me and smiled brightly. I looked down, trying to find a path to her. In one way or another, it seemed I gravitated toward her. I had thought about her often since the first time we had spoken, up on this very hill. The mysterious California girl with the melancholic eyes had made an impression on me, and each time I saw her after that, she revealed a trait of her p
ersonality that surprised me. There was a softness in her manners, but she could have a hard edge when crossed—I had seen her get frustrated on set from time to time. She was shy, but there were certain situations where she would shed her skin and act with a confidence she didn’t always display.

  She reminded me of some graffiti I had once seen in LA that read, She is beautiful and terrifying at the same time, like nature itself. She was quiet most of the time, but there seemed to be an underlying fierceness trapped under all those layers.

  Speaking of layers—she was always wearing too many clothes. I found myself fantasizing about her body. She was someone I worked with; I shouldn’t have thought of her that way, but she made it impossible. She was sexy in an almost effortless, natural way.

  I walked to the spot where she was sitting as she took her sunglasses off and smiled at me again. She had the sweetest smile, and as my eyes closed in on her, a smile of my own stretched across my face.

  “What are ye doing here?” I asked as I sat down next to her.

  “You’re not the only one who’s fond of the outdoors. I love it up here…even though it’s still a bit of a walk for me. Plus, someone told me I better enjoy the sunny days, because they are few and far between.”

  I nodded and smiled. I had said something to her in that regard, and she’d scowled at me.

  “It almost feels like a spring day today. It’s so nice, and the sun is so…bright out here. It feels different than on the West Coast.”

  “Yeah, but winter is coming,” I joked, quoting the House Stark’s motto from Game of Thrones.

  “Shhh. Don’t rain on my parade.” She shook her head slightly, looking as if she wanted to scold me, but then her expression turned into a smile. She pointed at something out in the valley. “Have you seen that cottage? I had never noticed it before.”