Page 54 of Make The Cut

“I don’t want Rebecca,” he says softly. “I want—“

“Don’t say it,” I say. They aren’t the words I need to hear. They’re what I want to hear, words that might very well derail all my plans. Colette has been texting me about moving back to Paris to start her fashion line that way. If we make this deal, I might be jet setting all the time. I definitely wouldn’t have any time for a relationship.

“Don’t say what?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t say whatever BS you tell all the women in your life. That you care. That they’re the only one for you. That you want them and that they’re special. We aren’t, not to you.”

“You really think you’re just another woman to me?” he says, his jaw dropping open. “Red, you’re the onlyrealthing in my life. Thisfriendshipwe have, it’s the only real thing in my life. And I can’t lose that.”

Friendship.

Somehow, that feels even worse than being just another woman to him.

“Then why are you being so distant? Ever since Thanksgiving, you’ve been acting weird.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing more for me to say here. We’re professionals and I’m being paid for this role, to sit here and drink tea and pretend we’re happy. I may not win an Oscar, but I still want to do my job.”

His face falls, and he tucks a strand of blue hair behind one ear. “Fine.”

We order our teas. Mitchell, sitting at the table next to us, seizes upon the lull in our conversation as an opportunity to wring juicy gossip out of us. “So, Poppy, I heard that Ryder is still in the Philippines. Any word on when he’ll come back?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me at all.” I shrug. “I think he’s off the grid. There was a pretty bad storm where he’s staying, in case you haven’t noticed.”

A hurricane hit the Philippines recently, and I heard that Ryder helped give a charity concert there to donate money to those affected. A heartwarming gesture. Something kind and charitable, the right thing to do. What my brother would do, of course. He’s good.

Better than I have any right to pretend to be.

“And Naoya? You and Ryder have always had a very rocky relationship. Has that mellowed with time, do you think?”

Naoya looks directly at the camera, his gaze darting briefly toward me before he speaks. “No. If anything, I have the feeling it’ll only get worse.”

I don’t want to question him about his cryptic statement. But curiosity gets the better of me. What does he mean, his relationship with my brother is only going to get worse? Why?

“Are you planning on challenging him to a sword fight?”

“Yes, he must have gotten wind of our impending duel and decided to hightail it overseas to escape my deadly martial arts skills.” For a moment, levity is back in his tone and he wears the same casual arrogance and lighthearted banter that he’s always had.

We get our tea. Someone must have heard that Naoya is dining here because they gave him the fancy afternoon tea service, even though he only ordered a pot of Earl Grey. There’s cucumber sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, and Victoria sponge.

“Why can’t you just tell me why you’ve been acting so strange? I don’t know why you feel the need to cut yourself off from me, but if this is about your da—“

“Don’t, Poppy.” Naoya gives a sidelong glance at the cameras. “I don’t want to talk about my family.”

“Fine.” I break apart a scone and add clotted cream.

“This restaurant was rated as one of the best by L.A. Weekly, in a recent article written by Isla Hart ofI Heart It. What do you guys think of it?” Mitchell probes.

“Worst tea I’ve ever tasted,” Naoya deadpans, sipping his Earl Grey. “My mom could make a better pot of tea in five minutes.”

I suppress a smile. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about your family.”

“I’m talking about the tea,” he says. “This sandwich isn’t half-bad, though.”

I make a face. “Who likescucumbersandwiches?”

“I thought you likedBridgerton. Shouldn’t you relish the opportunity to live like you’re in a period drama?”

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