Page 70 of Little Monster
His expression is... guarded. He doesn’t smile at me, doesn’t even smirk. Instead, his lips are pulled slightly down in the corners, and his brow is furrowed.
And it makes me mad. He doesn’t get to look at me like that, doesn’t get to pretend to be concerned.
“Ms. Miller, you look perfect,” the director says, coming to stand in front of me. With my heels on, I stand about an inch taller than him, and I decide I like how it feels. “Have you ever acted before?” he asks.
I consider just shaking my head and staying silent, then remember I’m channeling that powerful woman staring back at me from the mirror, so instead, I smile and say, “Never. You’ll have to teach me.” It comes out a bit flirtier than I intended, but the director smiles.
He quickly summarizes the plot of the video, and as he does, my stomach contorts into more and more complicated knots. The video will be about a man searching for his lostlove, the one who got away. He’ll chase her through the halls, but every time he thinks he’s caught her, she vanishes, just an apparition. A ghost.
I’d like the concept if not for how painfully relevant it feels right now. Granted, Dex isn’t chasing me anywhere. I’m not so sure he’d care if he never saw me again.
“We’ll start with you on the stairs,” he says, using his arms to do another big gesture. “You’ll descend playing the violin. Walk slowly—we have to get your entire solo in—and then you’ll lower the violin, glance over your shoulder longingly, and drift through that doorway.” He points to the far door, which is standing open already.
So, he wants me to walkdownthe stairsinheels while playing the violin. That sounds like a recipe for disaster.
My gaze shifts once more to the staircase, where Dex is still lingering. Some of the crew are flocking around him, but when I look his way, he glances up and catches my eye.
“Mr. Reid will mirror you on the opposite staircase,” the director continues. “I want you to look over at him as you play. Think pining,longing. Can we try that?”
He wants me to look like I’m pining? I almost scoff.
The humor is not lost on me.
At that moment, some sort of assistant hurries up beside me, my violin case in her hand.
“Here you go, Ms. Miller.”
I take the case from her, and having it in my hand makes me feel a fraction better.
“Okay,” I finally say, meeting the director’s eyes. “Let’s try it.”
After I practice descending the staircase in heels—which I actuallysurvive—the director is ready to try it with me playing.
I polished my violin before leaving the house this morning, so it gleams in the dim light streaming through the stained glass windows. The film crew has a bunch of lights set up as well, and they make my skin buzz with warmth.
Dex is standing to my far left, at the top of the other staircase. Dust motes float through the shafts of light cutting through the space between us. His eyes are on me, but he hasn’t said a word.
Fine. Two can play at that game.
“Okay, Ms. Miller,” the director calls out, “let’s give this a try. Don’t worry too much about getting it right the first time. We can do it as many times as we need.”
Jordan, Alisha, Sebastian, Michael, and Lucas are standing in the foyer. They all—except for Lucas—flash me smiles and encouraging thumbs-ups. I smile back, reminding myself that today I’m channelingconfidence.
“Ghost” starts playing over the speakers. I have a few measures until I need to come in, so I take my time lifting my violin and preparing for the solo.
Then I draw my bow across the strings, and I’m caught up immediately in the music.
One step at a time, I descend the stairs slowly. When I have my balance and don’t fear missing a step, I look to my left, where Dex is descending the twin staircase. I take in his long legs and the tattoos on the hand he’s running down the banister, and the pining in my gaze isn’t something I have to fake.
It’s just something I have to let free.
He meets my eyes, wearing a similar expression. There’s hurt in his gaze, pain, but I don’t let myself believe it could be real. He’s acting for the video; he’s just doing a great job of it.
Remembering the director’s instructions, I time the speed of my walking with the length of the solo. I hit the last step in sync with the last note and draw it out with a thick vibrato. Then I lower my bow and violin, cast a longing glance at Dex over my shoulder, and stride the other direction, through the doorway.
“Cut!” the director yells.
I take a moment to compose myself, then return to the foyer.
