Page 36 of Coronation
Davina whistles. “Okay, but, like,whichsex stuff? Do you give lessons?”
“No!” I object, looking around wildly, as if someone on the street is going to overhear the conversation going directly into my ear. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t checked your email?”
Considering I had to get up at six to meet my flight and have been caught up in a self-pity spiral, checking my work email hasn’t been a top priority. “No,” I admit, curling an arm around my waist and watching as a nearby set of businessmen bicker over a cab. “Care to fill me in?”
My friend cackles. “Apparently, we’re scheduled to have a royal visitor touring the set next week.”
I freeze, the noises of the street fading away, overshadowed by the blood rushing in my ears. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, girl, I hope you keep condoms in your trailer. The king is coming.”
Fifteen
Zelda
“Oh my god, am I going to be a bridesmaid at the royal wedding?”
My reflection, which is tastefully lit by the bulbs of the dressing room mirror, scowls. “That was just as not funny the first time you asked,” I tell Davina, who is seated beside me with her hair covered in a bonnet and her face streaked with fake dirt.
The scene we’re shooting today wasn’t scheduled for another few weeks. When George got wind of our royal visitor, however, things simplyhadto be moved around.God forbidthe royal asshole not be treated to a highly entertaining show. So, instead of the perfectly lovely scene where Davina’s character and I have tea in the garden, we will be working on the blood-soaked finale to the entire movie. The one where she kills me.
My wardrobe for the day, a black silk dress which is all but torn to shreds and caked with dirt, seems to mock me from the rack behind us.
“You can deny all you want, but I’m just saying, it seems a little coincidental,” laughs Davina, obviously still pleased as punch about this entire situation. Her enthusiasm has hardly dimmed in the week since we were informed of the high-profile visitor. Apparently,heis scheduled to be given a personal tour of the set by George and will be staying to watch filming for an hour or so, followed by a photo-op, before finally going on his way.
“It’s just a press thing. You’re being ridiculous.” I’m not sure where Davina imagines he will find an opportunity to catch me alone in some secluded corner of the set, ravage me against the wall, and propose marriage. These tiny details hardly seem important to my friend, however, and even with me glowering at her, her smile doesn’t fade.
The door to the makeup trailer clatters open, and Mel, one of the artists, appears, her face flushed with excitement. My stomach drops.
“Is he here?” Davina demands, whipping around in her chair, eyes wide.
Mel bobs her head in confirmation. “I just saw him,” she gasps. “George is showing him the cameras. You two should probably go.”
Davina is instantly on her feet, but I stay where I am, cold with apprehension. “We aren’t scheduled to be on set for another twenty minutes,” I protest weakly, watching as a few of the costume people duck inside, too, and make for my tattered dress.
Nobody is listening.
It takes a matter of minutes for me to be dragged into a dressing room, outfitted in my ghastly costume, and shoved back out for another finishing touch of blood splatter across my boobs.
This isn’t a slasher film outfit, either. I’m not cute with a side of gore, I’m literally soaked in blood from head to toe,and there is an enormous fake wound in my arm. Even my face wasn’t spared, and I want to cry as I traipse miserably after Davina, attracting looks even on a day when the actors aren’t the main attraction.
I make a mental note to tell my agent I’m never working with George again. Never. Actually, no men at all seems like a safer move.
Despite what I’ve been insisting for days,notreading anything into the king’s visit was pretty difficult. I’d never admit it to her, but Davina is totally right about the timing being weird. What are the chances that the palace would schedule a press event for him here, only a few weeks after our weekend together?
Every time my mind strayed in the direction of his presence here having anything to do with me, however, the idea was quickly dismissed. This isn’t some tragic tale of star-crossed lovers; he took what he wanted from me and left. Considering his position, if he wanted to get ahold of me in the three weeks since, he could have.
The man certainly didn’t come all the way to my movie set to see me. I’m sure of it. Which makes my current predicament—walking toward him in a tattered dress and covered with fake blood—all the more humiliating.
I’m thankful, at least that, while I may be a notorious nepo baby, my acting lessons began when I was about six. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s smile for the camera and keep my true feelings hidden. Even so, my acting chops get a fairly significant test when we file into the castle’s huge, magnificent ballroom, where most of this scene is to be shot.
Even for such a large space, it’s cramped. There are lights and people everywhere, even more than usual with the security posted discreetly amongst the crew. Cameras have been set up on rolling tracks along the center of the room, designed to follow the action as it occurs.
All of it seems to slow to a crawl as my eyes find the tall, bearded king standing in the center of it all.
King Benedict is listening to whatever the director is saying, his expression set and grim, and his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, George is gesticulating wildly, his eyes bright with excitement.
