Page 140 of Sinful Desires
“And?…?cut. Break time. Lunch is in the tents. If anyone needs makeup, Céline’s in the trailer. You’ve got an hour.”
The director’s voice snapped through the air, clipped and disinterested. He was an older Asian man with a mop of grey hair and ridiculous green glasses that looked like they belonged in a cartoon. No one questioned him.
Everyone scattered the second the words left his mouth.
The rain shut off. The fake garden dimmed. The set was a joke—plastic peonies, white gazebo, artificial mist pumped from metal rigs overhead. Nicholas stepped out first, followed by his co-star, an Ethiopian actress with a trained smile and soaked dress clinging to her ribs.
Scarlett watched them from the sidelines, arms crossed.
She’d said she wanted to “observe” today. See what actors did. How films got made. Said she was bored of tanning and mocktails.
We were in Èze now. A town carved into rock, rotting quietly above the sea. Close enough to Nice that you could still smell money, but isolated enough that a treaty had been signed—no paparazzi, no press, no leaks. Locals were paid to stay quiet. Millions funneled into silence.
I used to come here when I was young. Had celebrated my eighteenth birthday with my parents behind the village church, in a garden no one knew about. We watched the sea until the light bled out.
One of the last times I’d seen them laugh.
The rest hadn’t survived.
“If they don’t have iced coffee, I’m suing this entire production,” Nicholas muttered behind me, dragging his towel over his face.
“You drank six already,” Scarlett said flatly. “One more and you’ll start vibrating through walls.”
“I’m method acting.”
“As what? A gnat?”
I stayed behind them.
“You were good though,” she added, voice cooler now. “Almost made me believe you were attracted to women.”
“Ouch,” Nicholas grinned, hand on his chest. “Was it the line or the rain that got you?”
She laughed. “Both.”
The catering tent came into view, long and beige and already crowded. Plates clattered. Crew members laughed. Someone was playing music too loudly through a speaker.
“Scene might’ve looked pretty romantic,” Nicholas said, glancing at the wet floor beneath his boots. “But that fucking rain wasfreezing. Got in my mouth, my eyes, my boxers—oh, cold beers.”
He disappeared without finishing the sentence. Straight to the ice buckets like his life depended on it.
“Scarlett!” the actress called out, waving her hand like they were old friends.
Scarlett stepped toward her, and I followed without thought, staying close as she sat. I didn’t sit.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of a fresh ice bucket, water bottles sweating inside. I grabbed two. Dropped one in front of her without a word and stepped back into the shadows of the tent, unscrewing mine and swallowing half in silence.
“Hi, Liya,” she said, her breath catching a little from the heat. “You look stunning. White suits you.”
The actress sighed. “Finally, someone with taste. I told the costume designer to stop dressing me like a corpse. I swear she picks colors that clash with my skin just to feel better about her face.”
They both laughed.
Nicholas showed up minutes later, arms full of food. Some charcuterie board with fruit, meat, and cheese, arranged in some ridiculous heart shape. He laid it between them, and they started picking at it.
“You know,” Liya said, smearing blue cheese on a cracker, “you two make a disgustingly cute couple. Must be nice?…?finding someone in this industry who gets it. Someone you can actually depend on.” Her eyes flicked between them.
Scarlett didn’t respond.
