Page 79 of Royal Crush

Bowing my head, I shook it. “No. He trapped me in a corner, and I took the bait willingly. If not showing up on set means that Aleric can do his job, then so be it. I trust him.”

“How’s he going to react when you tell him?”

And that was the other problem. I knew exactly what Aleric would do. He’d quit in protest. He’d burn every bridge he had in cinema and ruin his chances of ever coming back to work in film, all to defend me. He’d set himself on fire if it meant I’d never get a chill, and I couldn’t let that happen.

“He’s not going to find out.”

Erik laughed. “Um. Isn’t he going to find out when you don’t show up for work?”

That was a potential problem because I also wasn’t going to lie to Aleric either. I would not start whatever this was on dishonestly. All I could do was hope that Aleric would be too afraid to ask why I was no longer on set. He’d think it was his fault—but I could correct that once the season wrapped.

“There’s only a few weeks of filming left.” Eight. There were eight weeks. If I wanted to avoid seeing him in person for eight weeks, I’d need a miracle. “I think he’ll be too busy to care.”

I knew that was bullshit, but I also knew that the truth would ruin him, and I couldn’t have that. Not when he deserved so much more. This might break us, but if it meant him getting his career back, I would do it.

I was worth the sacrifice.

He wasn’t.

Twenty-One

ALERIC

I expectedsomething to change after my night at Camillo’s. Our souls were bared more than they ever had been, and I knew he felt it too. Things couldn’t just go back to normal after that, and I was a little in my head with worry because Camillo was acting odd.

Or, well. Not odd. He was acting the way he used to.

The morning after, he’d held me tight. We kissed, touched, nuzzled. It felt like I was home for the first time in years. Hell, maybe ever. We ordered breakfast, and he made sure that I was full and sated, and then he walked me to the door and kissed me long and thoroughly before I had to go back to my place.

Leaving him was hell, but there were new scripts sitting on my doorstep when I got in. That distracted me from the fear that I was being given something good because good things could be taken away.

I read them until I got a call from my manager, who had a bunch of properties for me to look at. Camillo was still recovering, so I didn’t bother asking him if he wanted to tag along, but I did send him photos, and he gave enthusiastic responses to my favorite pick.

I signed a lease after that, then gave my manager the okay to schedule movers. “It’ll take three or four days to get your new place ready. I’ll set up a hotel for you.”

I told Camillo that, secretly hoping he’d invite me to stay with him, but he just told me to have fun and that he couldn’t wait to see me again.

It was…anticlimactic and unenthusiastic, and I felt a sudden wave of panic.

What if he was bored? What if he was gently trying to let me know that seeing me in my snoring, sleep-farting glory, he was done with whatever this was?

I was too afraid to ask, so I threw myself into filming.

It was easy to ignore Christoph’s sudden bad attitude with me, and I managed to get through the scenes with Otis, which were tainted now that I knew the truth about Hugo. I still had no idea who the man was, but it was hard to look Otis in the face and pretend like I was having the best night of my life when I knew what Camillo had gone through.

But we got it done, and Otis was able to go back to being himself. We exchanged numbers and socials and texted every now and again. The scenes moved on—episodes were in the can. I got paid.

I moved.

I got a fish in a tank shaped like a globe, and I called him Fish. Camillo liked the photos of him and sent hearts with kissing faces.

But he didn’t come back to set. The lack of his presence was overwhelming, but only for me. No one else noticed—which, of course, they didn’t. Why would they? No one else had been assigned a babysitter the way I had. And no one had fallen head over heels for him either.

It was lonely. I was friendless and still at the mercy of my reputation, which I couldn’t escape no matter what I did. Everyinterview, every bit of press, it all came back around to my spiral. They all wanted to hear the gritty dirt about rehab and if I thought I was going to fall off the wagon as though it hadn’t always been entirely against my will.

We were six days into the last three weeks of filming when I realized I wasn’t sure I could do more after this. I was contracted for another season, and I had a few offers for films in other countries in the meantime that I needed to look at, but was this actually what I wanted?

Was clawing my way back to the surface only to stand there alone worth it?

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