My eyes close as profound gratitude, awe, and happiness overwhelm me.
Chapter Thirteen
The next day, I sit up tall in the soft leather seat that begs me to slump and meet my cousin’s jubilant grin with one of my own. We are on our way to my first official task as an actress, and it is difficult to tell which of us is happier. Cat presses a button to raise the barrier behind the driver for privacy and asks, “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?” My triumphant grin fades into a grimace at the touch of wishful interest in her voice.
It is not that I don’t want Cat to stay. Along with the support she always gives, I could certainly use her backbone. For all of Kendal’s wicked behavior at school and at the audition Friday, she read her lines flawlessly. There is no doubt in my mind that she earned a part and I will be graced with her presence today. But at least I can count on one friendly face to be there.
Shortly after hanging up with the director, the Crawford phone rang again, this time with the name Michaels appearing on the caller identification box—much to Cat’s and my shared astonishment. For an out of town—and out of time—guest, I certainly felt popular.
After exchanging pleasantries, which consisted of me being pleasant and Austin being, well, Austin, he informed me that Jamie would be playing Ophelia in the workshop (huzzah!), and then declared he would be picking me up for the commencement of our agreed-upon week of adventure directly following today’s meeting.
Cue the butterflies of anxiety—a whole swarm of fretful, restless, dancing butterflies.
I shake my head, willing the remaining insects to shoo, and squeeze my cousin’s hand. “It simply does not make sense for you to wait through all the costume fittings and rehearsal announcements and then return home alone. Go to the mall with Hayley as you planned, and I promise to tell you about everything the moment I return.”
Cat sighs. “Fine, I guess that’ll have to do.” Then she nudges me with her elbow. “I’m teasing. Really, I’m still shocked you’re getting Austin Michaels to bring you to a library, and on a Sunday when the sun’s out and the waves are killer. You must’ve worked some kinda mojo to get him to study on a day like this.” Then she pins me with a worried, maternal look. “But no mojo was exchanged, right? You two just studied yesterday?”
And therein lies the main reason Cat cannot stay today.
She is unaware of my Austin Challenge.
If I were to share this portion of my gypsy adventure with her, I know what would happen. She would say that I don’t know Austin. That it is unsafe to gallivant around town on a whim with a practical stranger, engaging in whatever unsheltered, exciting proposition he may suggest. She would attempt to talk me out of it…but I need this.
Cat is wonderful—a loving force unrivaled—but she treats me as if I am still the younger cousin she left behind and not the equal that I am today. Though truthfully, my overwhelmed behavior since my arrival has not aided my cause.
But Austin does not treat me like a child. Even with his ill manners and boorish behavior, he treats me as an equal. No different from any other person he shows contempt to, and certainly not like someone who requires gentle handling. And I know that I am safe with him. Austin Michaels has many faults, if my own witness and Cat’s testimony are to be believed, but I know instinctively that he would never let anything happen to me.
My mind flashes to the feel of his warm chest beneath my palm and the length of his arms caging me in against the counter. A full-body tingle explodes across my skin.
Our car pulls to a stop outside the theater, and the driver walks around to my door. I turn to Cat with a feeling of seasickness churning in my stomach and force a smile. “Wish me well.”
“Nah,” she says, shaking her head, her lips pursed. “Break a leg.”
Ignoring our sweet driver’s proffered hand, I reach beside me, slam the door he just opened, and ask, “Excuse me?”
Cat laughs and playfully bumps my shoulder. “It’s a showbiz expression, Less. Actors are crazily superstitious creatures, and for some random reason they believe wishing someone good luck will actually bring bad luck. So instead, they wish the opposite.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Such as breaking a leg?”
“Exactly.” Cat pauses. “Now that I think about it, it is pretty barbaric.”
I nod in complete agreement and rap on the window of my door. When our driver opens it again, wearing an expression of exasperation, I shrug and slide out into the cool, January morning air.
“Perhaps I should add break a leg to my yellow tablet of words,” I say, turning back with a grin. “You know, now that I’ve mastered all the others.”
Cat rolls her gaze toward the heavens.
Standing on the sidewalk, I watch as the car drives away, the darkened back window growing smaller and smaller as it travels down the road. It turns a corner, and panic spikes in my blood.
Why have I never asked for a cell phone of my own so I can call them back?
For the first time since those frantic, terrifying moments outside the theater of etched handprints, I am alone again in this foreign, new world…not to mention outside another frightening theater, only this time for an entirely different, yet equally distressing, purpose.
“You look lost, gorgeous.”
Pulled from disturbing visions of me winding up scared and alone in this confusing city, I twist around and stare at a boy who could be from my own.
He smiles, flashing a set of straight white teeth, and bows regally. “By chance I gazed out yonder window and glimpsed your ravishing beauty.” He straightens from the waist and winks. “So I felt I best come out and introduce myself. Reid Roberts,” he says, holding out his hand. “Your love-struck Romeo, Lady Alessandra.”
I look from his outstretched hand to the line of his broad shoulders, clothed in a remarkably accurate dark brown doublet. I dare a glance at his toned legs encased in matching tights, confirming the costume department’s impressive knowledge of historical fashion.
Returning my Romeo’s grin, highly amused at considering myself history, I accept his hand and fall into a curtsy. The excuse to converse in my natural manner is just too tempting to ignore.
“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 s
eems 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 now one fifteen. Fortunately—or perchance not, depending on how you look at it. Mama would certainly think not—Reid is more than happy to wait outside with me.
I peek again at the emptying lot.
It’s not that I am ungrateful for Reid’s attentiveness. Being alone out here would be much worse. But if Austin does not appear as promised soon, all my fellow actors and actresses will be gone, and I will be left again in Reid’s company without a chaperone.
It is odd that I am not similarly concerned with being alone with Austin.
“Maybe we can grab some lunch and run lines?” Reid suggests, interrupting my faulty logic. “I know you said someone’s coming to get you, but I’ll be happy to bring you home later.” When he speaks again, his voice is nearer to my ear. “Besides, I’d really like to get to know you better.”
His words, and the unpleasant reminder of Matteo they bring, get my attention.
My gaze snaps up, and Reid gives me his child-who-got-caught grin. “We are playing history’s most beloved couple of all time. I think we should at least grab some coffee.”
Though the offer of a hot beverage is innocuous enough, at least in light of the more aggressive twenty-first-century courting rituals I witnessed Friday in the school hallway, it is the way Reid says it that makes me nervous. The jut of his chin, the teasing lift of his eyebrow, and the melodic rising of his voice imply he means much more than a mere sharing of refreshment.
Swallowing hard, I wet my lips and stammer, “Oh, well, I-I very much appreciate the kind offer—”
“Sorry, man,” a familiar voice cuts in, laced with humor and a distinct edge of possession. “But this one’s mine.”
The voice registers a second before a strong arm slips around my waist. Reid’s eyes widen. I turn to the boy beside me and watch Austin’s face twist into a sardonic mask of challenge, daring me to argue with his claim. I subtly shake
my head.
I couldn’t argue if I tried. My ability to speak left the moment he tucked me in tight against him.
“Hey, sorry, dude,” Reid says, lifting his palms up as he takes a step back. “Didn’t know she was taken.”
Although I am sure Austin is only pretending to be jealous for his own purposes, they so happen to align with mine. Reid believing that I already have a suitor will ensure future rehearsals stay neighborly. But had Austin and I truly been betrothed, and any of this were actually real, I think I would take severe umbrage with the both of them. A woman being thought of as a man’s possession may not be too far from the truth for my time, but from what I’ve witnessed in my short stay and learned from Cat’s many tales, it’s certainly not how things are done now.
Austin shrugs and leans his head down to place a swift kiss on the tip of my nose. A tingle explodes from the point of contact and shoots shivers over my entire body, making me gasp audibly. He smirks.
“No problem,” he says, “I’m just glad I got here when I did. Alessandra has a habit of being a little too nice—” He says this while giving me a pointed look, but I’m too busy hyperventilating over his unanticipated kiss to make any sense of it. “So I see where you could’ve gotten the wrong idea.”
The two continue talking about me over my lowered head, while I remain in an Austin-just-kissed-me daze. A series of questions runs through my mind: where did Austin come from, why was he late, why did he kiss me, and most importantly, why did it have that shocking effect?
I’m not so sheltered to believe we shared the sort of embrace for which poets write sonnets, but it’s the closest I have ever come. Even when Matteo brazenly pulled me into seclusion at a dinner party or social gathering, he only did so to whisper promises of our future. He was never so bold as to take me in his arms and show me what a true kiss of passion could be like.
And now that I have gotten a taste—granted it was on my nose, but still a taste—I decide I would very much like another.
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