Page 30 of Vendetta Vows

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The prop gunfeels heavier than usual in my hands as I position it on the velvet display cloth. The final outdoor scene of the day when Ivan gets shot is scheduled to film in twenty minutes, and I'm making sure everything looks perfect.

Hannah sidles up next to me, arranging the blood packets that will burst dramatically when Mikhail, playing Ivan, gets "shot."

"So..." Hannah drawls, her voice pitched low. "I noticed that Sienna's post disappeared. Like magic."

I freeze, my fingers hovering above the gun. "What?"

"Yep. Gone. Poof. Like it never existed." Hannah's eyes gleam with mischief. "Someone with a lot of power must really care about keeping you off social media."

Heat creeps up my neck. "It was probably just the club enforcing their no-camera rule. Nikoforov is super strict about that."

"Mmm-hmm." Hannah's skeptical hum makes my cheeks flush hotter. "Sure it isn't because Ruslan Dragunov is head over heels for our little props girl?"

"I'm not thinking about Ruslan," I say, too quickly.

"That's funny, because this morning around four AM, I definitely heard you thinking about him." She mimics a breathy moan. "Oh, Ruslan..."

I nearly drop the prop gun. "Hannah!" I hiss, looking around frantically to make sure no one heard. "I was asleep!"

"With your hand between your legs?" She winks.

My mortification is complete. "I hate you."

"Such a shame you never got his number." Hannah picks up one of the blood packets, squeezing it thoughtfully. "You think we can ask Mikhail for it, you know. He's right over there."

I follow her gaze to where Mikhail Dragunov is reviewing his lines. With his curly hair and light eyes, he shares a resemblance to his uncle, for sure.

But compared to Ruslan? He's like a candle against the sun.

"Absolutely not," I whisper fiercely. "Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be? 'Hi, can I have your uncle's number so I can finish what we started before I ran away like a terrified rabbit?'"

"It would be a great conversation starter."

"It would be career suicide."

"Hey, that's exactly what you thought about your last so-called career suicide."

"I—"

The director's assistant cuts through the set. "Quiet on set!"

Hannah leans in close as we both straighten up. I jab her with my elbow to stop her from talking, but I can't deny that she's right.

I stare from the props table, watching as Mikhail go over his lines one more time before the scene starts.

Maybe Icouldask Mikhail for Ruslan's number when we break after this shoot. Not even to pick up where we left off, just to apologize for running away.

I owe him that much.

"You're staring," Hannah whispers, nudging me. "Taking my advice to heart?"

"I'm just keeping an eye on all the props," I protest, but the heat creeping up my neck betrays me. "One of us has to be working."

The director calls, "Places, everyone!" and the set transforms into a flurry of movement. I hand the prop gun to the weapons master who checks it one final time before passing it along.

"Final checks!" the director shouts.

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