Page 51 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

She goes through her next part, and again, I’m trying to stay focused, but it’s so hard when she looks so devastatingly sweet. Did she always look this good while filming, or did some magical elf sneak into her trailer before filming tonight and sprinkle dust on her to make her absolutely irresistible to me?

Had to be an elf—only plausible answer.

We go back and forth with our parts. Aside from a few slip-ups on our lines and some bad camera positions, everything goes smoothly. Usually, by now, Quinton has yelled, “CUT!” five or six times, and we’ve needed five or six breaks to get through a scene together, but tonight, we’ve managed to keep going with minimal stops.

I’m coming up on the end of my character’s sad childhood-trauma monologue. I think it went pretty well. A messed-up childhood is something I can easily relate to. I say my last line about how I haven’t felt loved since Queen Avina died and am shaken to the core when Jenna places her hand over mine. Quinton said there wasn’t any touching in this scene, but he forgot about the handhold. So did I until her touch sent warm shivers up my arm.

I stare back at Jenna, wondering if she feels what I feel, the inexplicable sensation that something more than on-screen chemistry is happening here. A flash of attraction rages through her eyes, building tangible heat between us.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Naomi prompts, as if the pause is just from me forgetting my next line.

Jenna drops her eyes, breaking our shared fascination. But I don’t want to lose what’s building, so I nudge her chin with the tip of my finger, prodding her gaze to mine before I dive back into the scene. Her green eyes light with the same passion from before. Unspoken chemistry.

We exchange lines back and forth until I get to one specific line. I remember the notes from the table read. I’m supposed to be vulnerable when I deliver this part. There’s something achingly personal about this moment that feels real, that brings raw vulnerability.

“Sometimes I think about how things between us might’ve been different if I wasn’t”—a playboy—“the prince.” My eyes search Jenna’s, hoping for some indication that she’s ever thought this about us too.

Her brows raise. “Or marrying Seran?”

My hopes drop. Jenna is not reading between the lines for some shared real-life connection to the story and characters we’re playing.

She’s acting.

We’re both just acting.

I mask my expression and drop my eyes. “Yes, or marrying Seran.”

“Aren’t there any loopholes in this arranged-marriage thing?” Jenna puffs out a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, if you’re elected to royalty, and it’s not a bloodline thing, why does marrying a princess even matter?”

My eyes glance away. “It’s more about who Seran is. Not what. She’s—”

“Keep rolling!” Quinton yells, then looks directly at me. “Cody, can we get more here? You guys have had mind-blowing chemistry this entire scene up until now. I don’t know what happened, but you look completely detached all of a sudden.”

I’ll tell you what happened. I realized this was all fake.

Jenna was acting the entire time.

And she was good at it. No, great, actually. She had me believing there was actually a connection between us.

“Sorry.” I let go of her hand and rub my eyes.

“You’re fine,” Quinton says. “Just get back into the groove of chemistry again. Let’s take it from, ‘She’s the daughter of the king,’ blah blah blah.” Quinton leans forward, looking down at his notes. “And Cody, switch your hands here so you’re holding on top. That way, you can draw circles on her skin with your thumb.”

Yeah, why not just pour salt into my wound?

“You bet,” I mutter.

I grab Jenna’s hand, catching her eyes as I do. Our fingers fumble together like I’m declaring a thumb war.

Real smooth.

“My hand is supposed to be on top,” Jenna explains, “since that’s how the scene ended, and then you can transition to the other way once you say your lines.”

Great, now I look like the newbie here.

“Let’s start again,” Quinton says, and the crew quiets.

“She’s the daughter of the king of New Hope.” My voice cracks as I say the line like some fourteen-year-old boy going through puberty. I shake my head and clear my throat, avoiding Jenna’s gaze.

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