Page 110 of The Unfinished Line

“Oh, please—I pegged you your first audition.”

“Liar. When I started auditioning, I’d never so much as glanced at a woman.”

“Trust me, darling, you can lie to yourself, but I can spot a girl-kisser from half a mile away. Repression doesn’t make me wrong.”

I rolled my eyes. “Have you always been a bastard, or did Hollywood do you in?”

He smirked. “Oh no, definitely since the day I was born. My mother’s been trying to give me away since birth.”

From over his shoulder, I spotted the bright hues of Sam Huntley’s suit near the bar. To her left was Dillon. As my gaze swept to her face, she looked up and caught my eye. I realized she’d been keeping tabs on me from across the room.

I considered pointing her out to Elliott. Giving in to the temptation to tell him how to spot her—the unruliness of her sandy blonde hair, the keenness of her sea green eyes, the perfection of her physique showing through her unbuttoned blazer. I wondered what she’d do if I texted her? If I asked her to meet me in the bathroom? I contemplated the possibilities of reenacting Andrew Garfield’s scene fromThe Social Network, taking a moment to allow the fantasy of that reel to run through my mind.

But unfortunately my newfound professional persona convinced me college shenanigans at a premiere with some of the most prominent VIPs in the entertainment industry wasn’t the brightest idea. So I peeled my eyes away from her, and feigned another survey of the room.

“Well?” Elliott prodded, leaning so close to me I could feel the condensation of his breath on my cheek.

“Keep gazing at me like that and people are going to think it’s us sleeping together.”

“All the better,” he smiled.

“Speak for yourself.” I took a step back, giving one more cursory glance of the room. “She must still be outside.”

From the brightness in his eyes, I knew he didn’t believe me.

“Maybe she got cold feet. Not everyone wants to see their lover naked on the big screen.” He lowered his voice. “At least not with seventeen hundred other people watching.”

My face must have betrayed me. I’d been so anxious about a million other things, I hadn’t even had a chance to worry about the revealing of my intimate scenes. But Elliott misunderstood my horror. It wasn’t strangers I was worried about seeing it. I mean, even Judi Dench had once had whipped cream licked off her nipples—and that was back in the seventies!

But… mymom!

I was suddenly grateful I’d spent the Hollywood premiere praying to the porcelain gods, and hadn’t been there to see her reaction to my nudity.

“She should have given you away,” I glared at him.

“Who?”

“Your mother.” I tipped my drink back. “Excuse me—I see my date.”

His eyes snapped up, intrigued, before he was disappointed to find it was Carter walking our direction. “Not fair, Kingsbury. I showed you mine.”

“Entirely unsolicited.” I kissed his cheek, pressing my empty glass into his hand. “Thanks for the drink.”

Scene 38

“Smashing! Everything I hoped for and more!”

Up in her cups on free champagne, Sam was practically levitating down the pavement of Leicester Square. She’d not quit raving about the film since they’d been funneled out the double doors of the Empire, where an endless line of black sedans and limousines waited to whisk away their superstar clientele. “And Kam!” Sam continued, her voice hoarse with excitement. “Howay, man! A tour de force!”

Dillon was quiet, grateful that in the afterglow of her exhilaration, Sam didn’t seem to notice.

She needed a moment to settle herself, to take it all in.

Sam was right. Kamwassuperb. Even if there had been any question as to the magnificence of her performance, one needn’t have been a connoisseur of cinema to judge the reaction from the crowd. The standing ovation she’d received during the credits confirmed everything Dillon already knew. This wasn’t a fleeting act of brilliance. Kam had just flung open the doors to a titanic career destined to be storied in success.

It had all felt a little overwhelming. A little more than Dillon had bargained for. She’d not expected to find herself intimidated by the woman on the screen. To feel like she hardly knew this enigmatic person with whom the world had just fallen in love.

She knew it was an asinine departure from reasoning. Kamwas still Kam. Whether she was the standout star of the premiere or the girl who’d texted her half a dozen times the night before, deliberating how to properly address her mother—Jacqueline or Mrs. Sinclair—she was still the same person.

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