Page 68 of Burn the Script

“Because you recently got engaged to someone else without telling me.”

I wasn’t upset about Graham continuing the ruse with Tatum. On the contrary, I welcomed it. But he left me out of the decision—failed to give me so much as a heads up—and the lack of consideration for me or my feelings cut deep.

He lifted my free hand and threaded our fingers. “I’ve apologized profusely for not telling you. You said you’ve forgiven me.”

“I have forgiven you.” Once the last bit of stubble on his neck was gone, I rinsed the razor. “Sometimes, I get confused about which relationship matters most to you. The fake one or the real one.”

“Definitely the real one. Tate loves me as a friend, but you love me enough to sit in my dirty bath water.”

“A sacrifice I’d make for my sick boyfriend and nobody else.” Setting the razor on the shelf, I did a double take when I caught sight of his dopey grin. “Why are you smiling like it’s your birthday?”

“Only you would wait until I’m dying before finally admitting we’re boyfriends. I asked you three years ago and never got an answer.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

The water rippled and splashed when he grabbed my calves and tugged me closer, hooking my legs over his thighs. My arms wrapped around his neck on instinct. As he nuzzled my throat, I thanked myself for getting a flu shot.

“I do love you, Miguel. And we will get married someday.” His dry, chapped lips found my pulse, sealing the promise with a chaste kiss.

Sliding a hand up his neck, I grabbed his hair and tilted his head back. “I love you too, Graham. And you’ll have a better chance of getting me to say yes if you brush your teeth before you propose.”

29

GRAHAM

NOW

Thursday, February 16th

Warm, flickering light mimics a campfire, softening the grains in the log cabin’s siding. A harsh shadow cuts across two figures at an angle and evokes a sense of secrecy, intrigue. I lean closer to the screen and steeple my fingers under my chin.

“Last summer…” Sarabeth drifts forward, her green eyes bright and full of longing as they emerge from the shadows. “You asked if we could ever be more than friends.”

“And you didn’t answer.” The tremor in Anya’s voice lands perfectly, and she swallows. The firelight dances on her ebony twists when she gently shakes her head. “I’m glad you didn’t, because I’d rather have you as a friend than nothing.”

Sarabeth’s gaze falls to Anya’s mouth before she whispers, “What if I want to be more than friends?”

Camera A pans while camera B zooms. Their lips meet. The connection is so stiff they might as well be giving each other a fist bump. I drag a hand across my mouth. Capturing one innocent peck should be easy, but this is our seventh take. And it’s the last scene of the day, which means we risk running over schedule.

“Cut!” Kristen shouts.

I rip off my headset and spring from my chair. “Sarabeth. Anya. With me.”

They sulk in silence as we head to the far corner of the soundstage. Once there, I pace back and forth with my hands on my hips, carving a short path in the concrete. It’s my job to broach intimate topics without making my actors uncomfortable, but some days the job is hard.

“You two have had great chemistry since the auditions, but it’s missing this week. What happened?” I ask.

Anya’s gaze cuts to the side, landing on Harmon, who’s standing at the craft services table. The gangly young man guzzles a bottle of water, oblivious to being a third party to whatever’s happening here. Meanwhile, Sarabeth glares at Anya, eyes narrowed and accusing.

I tip my head back and pray to the ceiling. Please don’t let there be a love triangle on my movie set. “Okay. Without going into detail about anything involving your personal lives, what’s the problem?”

“You advised us not to date our co-stars,” Sarabeth grits out.

“It wasn’t a date.” Anya flicks her hair over her shoulder. From her exasperated tone, they’ve had this conversation several times, but she fills me in. “We all planned to see a local band on Saturday. Everyone bailed, except me and Harmon.”

My eyes ping between them, searching for clues because clearly I’m missing something. “So, not a date?”

“Ew! God, no!” she cries.