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It definitely wasn’t the pretty boy next to her causing her to frown, because she laughed as he made some comment.
Christian’s gut clenched.
“You got that?” the director asked. “You’re spurned and angry and about to take revenge on everyone in the room who ever slighted you.”
Which was about right. Christian’s hands fisted.
There were two reasons he’d signed on for this movie. The first lay beyond his control and he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had to leave Westerwald without achieving it.
But the second lay firmly within his grasp. The chance to visit both the land of the father who hadn’t wanted to own him, and the island that had been his childhood home. The chance to return not as the outcast child but as the victor.
He was here to show them all the man he’d become, starting with that prissy little PA who turned her back on him as if he was beneath her notice.
He took the starting position he was indicated and breathed deeply, focusing on the role at hand.
They walked through the rehearsal a couple of times, following the movements the director had already blocked out with his stand-in. He only gave half his energy to these run-throughs, saving his best for when the cameras actually rolled.
“Final checks,” the AD called. The make-up and wardrobe stylists fluttered around him like agitated butterflies before hurrying away out of shot. Then “Quiet! Roll sound,” the AD called.
Another voice called back, an indistinct affirmation.
“Roll camera.”
“Camera speed,” piped up the first camera assistant.
“Mark it.”
The second camera assistant banged the clapperboard and leapt out of the way.
“And… action!”
The dancers moved around him, their movements eerie without music to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.
The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.
It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t need any of that.
Just having Teresa in the room, watching him from the sidelines, was all the preparation he needed. He didn’t need to look to know she was there, to know that she watched him. He was aware of her every movement in his peripheral vision.
Her presence sparked a sensation he’d never felt before, an uncomfortable prickle beneath his skin. Rather like that very first night in her car, when she’d questioned his worth to the world. Only now the itch seemed ten times worse.
The dancers parted for him. Waiting for him before the camera stood his co-star, Nina. A luscious little thing with dark, sensual eyes and full red lips. When they’d first met, at some party back in LA, he’d been determined to sleep with her. This movie had seemed like a good opportunity to accomplish that too.
Three birds, one stone.
Only now the thought of bedding her held no appeal. Unwanted, unsummoned, an image intruded of long pale, naked legs and white-blonde hair spread across his pillow.
“What are you doing here?” Nina asked in a scandalised stage whisper.
“I’m here to see you.”
She toyed with her gold mask, using it to screen her face. “What if someone sees us together? You’ll ruin me.”
“We are two people passing the time at a ball. How could that possibly ruin you?”
Nina lowered the mask so he could see her eyes. Though the camera was focused on him for this shot rather than her, her expression held all her character’s emotions. She was certainly a consummate professional. “Because of who you are.”
He prowled around her, a slow, threatening glide, and the camera moved with him in a long slow arc. His voice was low, only just loud enough for the microphone carefully concealed in his clothing. “And what am I, Celeste? Your plaything, your rebellion, or your lover?”
Her eyes flashed angry darts at him. “You’re an outsider. You don’t belong here.”
He laughed, low and dangerous. “You weren’t saying that when I was between your lovely, naked thighs last night.”
“Hush! What if someone hears you?”
“So what?” He stopped his prowl, stood poised at her shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to stand by your side in polite company?”
Nina’s voice shook, but it was nowhere near as convincing as Teresa’s had been the first night they met. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”
Even with the screenwriter’s words in his mouth, the answer was still the same as the one he’d had for Teresa. “No, I don’t. Because no one else has given me a damned thing unless they wanted something from me in return.”
He stroked his fingers down Nina’s neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He wondered what Teresa’s skin would feel like. Probably cold as ice.
“Even you want something from me, Celeste, though you won’t admit it. But you know what?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg me for it.”
Nina shook her head. “I won’t.”
Though he spoke his words for the microphone, and the brunette standing before him, he directed every line at the cold-eyed blonde who watched from across the room. He released all the pent-up rage she’d stirred in him when they first met. “Oh yes, you will.”
The actress stared at him wide-eyed. One beat. Two beats.
“Cut!” cried the director, jumping up from his seat behind the monitor. “That was incredible! I’m blown away, Christian. Do you think you can do that again?”
Christian nodded.
Nina’s eyes were still wide, her mouth parted just a little now. “God, you’re good,” she said.
“Thanks.” He bent to her ear, his voice a whisper he hoped even the sound man wouldn’t pick up. “You ever want to find out how good, I’m in the penthouse suite at our hotel.”
“In your dreams.” But there was an extra sashay in her hips as she turned and walked away, and the coy look she cast him over her shoulder spoke volumes. Christian grinned. Nina was definitely his kind of woman, and a man had to keep his options open, after all.
“Back to the top,” the AD shouted out to the room, and there was a mad bustle as everyone returned to their starting places amidst the AD calling out instructions for tweaks to the lights, a slower zoom in by the camera and “why the hell is there a wristwatch on that extra?”
Chapter 5
If she’d thought Christian was grumpy that first morning, it was nothing on his mood the rest of the week. Until he’d had his second espresso, he could barely manage a grunted greeting.
And every day he got grumpier.
Teresa took it in her stride. She made sure his espresso was ready, that the car was out front, that his script sides were on hand, and she avoided conversation. She sipped her tea, read the morning papers and enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night?” she asked on the fifth morning as Frank drove them to the palace. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, the sky lightening with a smudge of pink in the east. Though the morning rush hour had yet to start, she felt wired and ready to go. It was good to have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, even if that reason was something as trivial as making a movie.
Christian scowled back in answer.
As soon as they arrived on set he was hustled into his trailer, dressed by his wardrobe stylist, then handed over to the make-up artistes who had their own special truck, ready rigged with basins, mirrors and bright lights.
It was warm inside the trailer, crowded and noisy with voices and music from the make-up artistes’ MP3 player. Since it was still too early to run Christian’s errands, Tessa sat quietly in a corner and read the script as his make-up artiste Marie readied him for the cameras.
With Christian’s hair trimmed so short, she couldn’t figure out what took so long.
“They’re getting rid of my excesses,” Christian said, catching her eye in the mirror as Marie massaged moisturiser into his skin. He held her gaze a second too long, so that the blood in her veins began to fizz and bubble until she forced herself to look away.
“You really should sleep more and drink more water,” Marie chided. “All that partying is damaging your skin.”
“It’s the film lights that damage my skin.”
Marie giggled and glanced at Tessa who’d reached the last page and closed the script.
“If you want something else to read, there’s a pile of magazines under the basins. They’re mostly local rags, but I love all the pictures of the who’s who of Europe.” She sighed. “We don’t have any Dukes or Counts or Princes in the States.”
“And thank heavens for that.” Christian’s expression shifted from amused to bitter in a heartbeat. “Bunch of inbred brats.”
“Why do you say that?” Tessa asked, keeping her voice level.
“I met my fair share of them when I was a kid working for my uncle’s fishing-charter business. Self-indulgent and self-absorbed, the lot of them.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned his childhood on Los Pajaros. She should have pushed, widened the crack, but she was side-tracked by the sting. He’d said it like a barb, as if he’d known she was one of them. And resented it.
She returned to her seat and opened the magazine, paging blindly past countless faces she recognised. Her social circle was certainly incestuous. Everyone knew everyone. And yes, there were parties and social events, so many they seemed to blur together these days, but in that respect her life in Westerwald wasn’t much different from Christian’s life in Hollywood.
Except for one big difference. The people she knew were no more self-indulgent than she was. With privilege came responsibility and duty, and no one knew that better than the descendants of lines that had served their nations for hundreds of years.
Besides, who was Christian to lecture her about self-indulgence? He partied as if there was no tomorrow. Frank had told her at what ungodly hour he’d finally brought Christian and Dominic home from some nightclub in the early hours of this morning.
“What’s so engrossing?” Christian asked, swinging away from the bank of mirrors and holding out his hand to her for the magazine.
She’d stared at the same page for a full minute without paying the slightest attention to it. She looked now and blood rushed to her face.
Christian beckoned with his fingers. “It can’t be that bad. Let’s see it.”
She stuffed the magazine behind her back.
He beckoned again. “You know if you don’t hand it over I’ll have to come and get it?”
She had no doubt he’d do it too. Reluctantly she handed over the magazine. But not before she closed it. Christian took it and flicked through the pages.
And unerringly found the page she’d wanted to hide.
“Hey, that’s you!” Marie peered over Christian’s shoulder. “Who’s the hunk you’re with?”
Tessa’s blush deepened.
“It’s Prince Fredrik,” Christian said. He laid the magazine down in his lap and contemplated her. “It says your engagement announcement is imminent.”
“It’s an old magazine and we were never engaged.” They’d discussed marriage but Fredrik had never got around to proposing. Fate in the form of a blood test had intervened.
“A prince, huh?” Christian still looked at her strangely.
Unable to bear the hard scrutiny, she rose and wandered across to the shelves of cosmetic products lined up beside the basins. “Not anymore.”
“I met him at the welcome drinks party,” he said. “He was there with your friend.” He said it like a question.
“He and I… we separated by mutual agreement and there are no hard feelings. I’m happy that he and Kenzie are together now.” And for the first time she meant it. If Rik could overcome being disinherited and find happiness, then she could overcome losing the safety net he’d provided.
“So how did you hook up with a prince?” Nina asked from the make-up station at the far end of the trailer, where her stylist was busy creating an extravagant up-do with a wig and thousands of pins, a process that took over an hour every day.
Hook up. Such an American expression. It had never been like that for Teresa and Rik. Or even for her and Stefan. But she didn’t think this Hollywood actress, nice as she was, would comprehend relationships based on mutual understanding, on a common background, on shared ideals.
Tessa shrugged. “This is a small country. We grew up together.”
Christian studied her with narrowed eyes. “Los Pajaros is a pretty small place too, but I didn’t even attend the same school as the mayor’s kids, let alone play with them.”
She didn’t like that look. It was worse than the constant prickle. It was even worse than when he’d tried to flirt with her.
“You’re from Los Pajaros?” Nina asked, her already-big eyes growing rounder.
Christian’s jaw tensed, a sign so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. Tessa did.
“Robbie wanted you to come to set as soon as you’re ready. Shall I let him know you’re on your way?” she asked.
If she’d hoped for gratitude for rescuing him from an awkward conversation, she was disappointed. He nodded and rose from the seat, removing the protective napkins tucked into his collar, then waved for her to precede him out the door.
“Don’t go!” Nina called. “This is just getting interesting. Stay and tell me all about your prince.”
Tessa cast Christian a beseeching look but he was far less magnanimous. “Yes, stay Baroness. You can tell her all about how you went from dating a prince to slumming it here as my PA.”
Damn. He’d read the fine print in the article too.
By the time he stepped in front of the cameras each day, Christian turned into the Energizer bunny and there was no stopping him.
Especially when Dominic was around. They were like two little boys, egging each other on. Tessa learned to tell where they were on set by the sound of laughter.
Their pranks had become legendary. One of her tasks was to provide a steady supply of whoopee cushions and fake turds – and then there was the day she had to scour every pharmacy and supermarket across town for a very specific brand of condom that didn’t appear to exist. She was sure the errands were designed for her maximum embarrassment.
At least she found a ready supply of fake blood in the make-up trailer and saved herself a trip when Christian decided to prank the director into thinking Dominic had wounded him during rehearsal.
But that was by no means her least-favourite task. That honour went to screening Christian’s calls. While he was on set she kept his mobile, answered his calls and took messages. The press phone calls were a pain, but easy to deal with. She simply said “no” and “no comment” unless they were on the approved list.
The requests for charitable donations, memorabilia and signed autographs to auction, and the “please endorse my product” calls, were equally easy to deal with.
The incessant phone calls from women were not.
The worst of them was Christian’s publicist. The poor woman was clearly desperate to talk to him. He was equally determined not to. Instead, Pippa turned to Tessa as her confidante, pouring out her heart and the minute details of their affair.
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