Page 15 of Butterfly

A cold gust of wind rushes inside as he lifts the flap. His Armani suit and leather loafers are out of place in the middle of one of the wildest areas in the Peak District, but he isn’t the one who’s going to run up and down muddy hills and through a thick forest for at least six hours. The trek is going to be tough, but it’s all for charity.

Charles slowly rises to his feet, his sad mood lingering in the tent like a cloud. “I’d better go then. Don’t want to miss the occasion. We don’t get many of those.”

“Sometimes things get in the way though,” I say, matching his sad tone.

“Only if we let them.” He snatches his hat from a table and puts it on before leaving the tent. “Good luck.”

“Back to you.” The discomfort constricting my throat is partially due to the fact that he’s right. I hope we’ll talk this Christmas because, despite what might transpire from my busy schedule, I want to spend it with my family, and I have a special present for him, something I didn’t tell him about—one of Dad’s watercolour paintings. Usually, Dad’s paintings cause my eyes to bleed, but there’s one he did that no one, aside from me, has ever seen. He gave it to me when I left home to shootThe Three Musketeers, maybe because he felt that Charles and I would’ve drifted apart in the future. The truth is that Charles sounds…resigned? As if he’s giving up on me being part of the family. As if he doesn’t care anymore, one way or another. His yells would be better than his passive attitude.

Vance stops in front of me, hands in his pockets. “Why so brooding? You need to smile for the cameras.” He waves towards the entrance to the tent. “There’s an army of journalists out there, freezing their arses off only to take a picture of the celebrities running today. Show some enthusiasm. It’s for a good cause.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Is the reception good here? I’ve got only two bars.

“Dammit, you’re blowing me away with your energy.” He sits next to me.

His tanned skin glows in the sunlight filtering through the opening, a stark contrast compared to my dull self. I feel dull.

“Did you think about the script?” he asks.

“I’m not going to take that role.” I gnash my teeth, putting my phone down. Is everyone trying to piss me off today? They’re succeeding.

He tugs at his sleeves. “Jadeis going to be an Oscar-worthy film.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Great. Best of luck to the actor who gets the main role. It’s not for me.”

“Why?”

“Too many bloody sex scenes.” In that script, sexisthe plot. I’d be naked on set for weeks and marked as the sexy actor who can only undress himself to get the audience’s attention.

“And?” Vance drums his fingers on the table. Whiffs of his nicotine smell hit my nostrils. “You didn’t have problems with the sex scenes inPaladins of Shadows.”

Yes, but there were only two sex scenes in the first season, and they weren’t half as spicy or kinky as inJade. At leastPaladins of Shadowshas a storyline.Jadeis about an abusive arsehole. I’ll be the most hated actor in the world. A noise halfway between a growl and a snarl rips out of my lips.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been all broody for weeks. Doesn’t suit you.”

“Just some thoughts.”

“Work? You should tell me.” He props his shaven chin on his closed fist. “Is itPaladins of Shadows? The reviews are great. Growing each day.”

“No, it’s something else. Personal.”

“There’s no personal when you’re with me.”

Because he wants to turn everything about my life into a show, not because he cares. Like this bloody marathon. It’s for the devastation that happened on Tua Island, but did I want to do something as big as a marathon with movie stars? No. Did he listen? No. The only reason why I agreed to do this is that we could raise millions in one day. Way more than I could offer. Not to mention the focus of the media on the island, which is good. Tua needs help.

“Unless it’s that woman again,” Vance says, smoothing another crease on his jacket.

I scoff. “What if it’s her again? As I said, it’s personal.”

“I did that research, as you asked, by the way.” Vance’s light-brown eyes light up with a challenge.

“What did you find?” I focus on him, barely containing my excitement. I asked him to carry out a detailed search of all the veterinary clinics in Greater London, Hertfordshire, Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, and Kent, searching for a doctor called Sienna. I started doing it, but it was taking too bloody long, and Vance is the best person I know for doing web research. Also, the fact that his dad is a police inspector helps. He used my request as leverage to get me into this marathon. At least I managed to organise it in the Peak District and see my mum.

The shake of his head dampens my enthusiasm.

“Nothing,” he says. “There isn’t a vet doctor called Sienna anywhere, or another one called Tyler. Couldn’t find anything on social media, either. These clinics don’t update their websites often, and some people use fake names on social media.” He lifts a shoulder, creasing the glossy fabric of his suit.

“Right.” I tie the laces of my hiking boots to give my restless hands something to do.

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