Page 19 of The Actor and His Secret

‘What do you want me to say?’ I ask, pinching my eyes closed as if that will help with the exhausted headache I’m dealing with.

‘It wouldn’t hurt for you to apologise to me, Nikos. We could start there.’

I wince. Apologising is never something I’m good at. But Selina is right, and she deserves it. Opening one eye, I offer her what sounds like a weak apology, when in fact it’s the best she’s getting - and she knows it. ‘I’m sorry for disappearing last night, but needs must.’

‘What needs?’

‘Anxiety,’ I offer, which isn’t a lie. ‘I had a moment in the bathroom. All the people and the expectations. I couldn’t face anyone in that state, so I left. I thought it was better that then the studio punishing me for having a mental breakdown in front of an entire crowd.’

Selina leans forwards and I think she’s about to scratch me with her red-painted nails. Then she lays a soft hand on my thigh and sighs. ‘I know this is hard for you.’

‘Do you?’ I can’t stop myself.

‘I do. When do you think you’ll understand that my care for you goes far beyond my percentage in payment?’

I shrug, looking out the window at the rolling white clouds. It’s easier to face the world beyond the jet than the hurt and pain in Selina’s eyes.

‘Nikos, I’m not going to ask what kind of trouble you got yourself in last night, but we’ll need to come up with a solid excuse to tell the people holding your final payment. Sadly, Hollywood doesn’t have a heart, so singing a song about your anxiety isn’t going to be good enough.’

‘Tell them I met someone at the event, got drunk and ended up having the best sex of my life in a posh townhouse in London.’

Selina chokes back a laugh, but quickly stops herself. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

‘I’m not.’

Selina buries her face into her hands and screams. ‘Fuck me. The risk. What we don’t need right now is some trashy UK article about how Nikos Ridge left his own premiere to fuck some random fan. Since when do you do that? I mean, come on, Nikos. Do you really need me to explain the complications and risks of having sex with some random woman? The scandal. I swear you’ll kill me before I get the chance to quit.’

I hold my tongue, stopping myself from correcting her. Who said it was a woman? Revealing that I’d fucked a man last night was certainly the straw that would break the camel’s back. Even I didn’t really understand how it happened, just that Honey had been there, the right person at the right time.

Honey may have been a stranger, but for the first time in a long time, I was a stranger too. I’m confident he didn’t recognise me as Nikos Ridge, but then again I’m sure that illusion will break soon.

Will he tell the press? Maybe. It’s possible. It would certainly net him a huge payment. Do I care? No, I don’t think I do - but I don’t want him to, all of a sudden. Not for myself, but for Selina - I couldn’t do that to her.

It’s my turn to lay a hand on her knee. ‘I’m only joking, S.’

I’m not an award-winning actor for nothing. I feign honesty, letting the emotion shine through my fake wide eyes.

‘Really?’

I nod. ‘I booked myself into a hotel away from the premiere. I knew you’d head back to the other room first, and I wasn’t ready to face your disappointment. I got drunk on the mini bar, ordered room service, and was knocked out before the film even finished. I promise, it was a one-time thing. If the studio wants to extend the promotional campaign, then so be it. I deserve it. Nasty, horrible, childish Nikos.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Selina says, huffing out a laugh, relief plastered across her face.

‘Gladly,’ I reply. ‘So does this mean we’re friends again?’

‘Friends?’ Selina laughs. ‘You’d be lucky. And you’ve got some making up to do.’

‘How many croissants will it take for me to make it up to you?’ I ask.

‘Make it five, and I’ll think about it. Although our stop in Paris is short. Our plane has been booked back to London tonight. It’s a quick turnaround.’

Back to London. A day ago the concept would’ve irked me. But now, it doesn’t. And I know why. Because Honey is in London. This morning, when I’d snuck out of his apartment, leaving him sleeping soundly in the bed on tangled sheets, I was confident I’d never see him again.

Just as I’d tiptoed to his front door, ready to make my great escape, I’d paused in his kitchen when I saw that his fridge was covered in multi-coloured post-it notes. I hadn’t needed to read them all to know that each of the post-its had affirmations scrawled on them in messy handwriting. One of them is in my suit pocket now, folded neatly, with Honey’s writing on it.

You are enough.

It wasn’t meant for me, and yet it had struck home. I feel as though the message - although written by Honey, for Honey - is a message the universe wanted me to read. So now I’ve brought a little piece of Honey with me as my life goes on.

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