Page 51 of Romance Is Dead

By the time I climbed the steps into hair and makeup, dread was balling in my stomach. I pulled open the door, hoping Mara would be her usual sunny self, offering a reprieve from the weird vibes.

But instead, Mara also seemed off. Her face was tired; she hadn’t done her makeup, and rather than one of the fun sundresses she’d been favoring, she was wearing a dark tee and leggings. She waved limply in greeting as I slid into her chair.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” Stealing a sideways glance at me, she grabbed her tote and started pulling out foundation and concealer.

“I went back to my room. I told you, I was tired.” This wasn’t a lie. I was just conveniently leaving out the fact that Teddy had come over, too.

“Alright.” Mara glanced out the window before she grabbed a bottle of primer and started dabbing it on my face. I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.

“What’s going on?” I cracked open an eye, risking getting the milky liquid sponged into it. “Everyone’s acting weird and now you are, too.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are. You’re not even wearing your false eyelashes.”

Mara sighed wearily. “It’s been a long morning.”

“Why?”

“Chloe and Audrey were both here early, having panic attacks.” She put down the primer and grabbed some foundation. “Have you heard what they’re saying about Trevor?”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

She gestured out the window with the brush. “Everyone. A rumor’s got out that he was murdered.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She stared at me in the mirror, like the answer was obvious. “Really, because it sounds like everyone heard it from you.”

“What?” The room seemed to tilt beneath me and I grabbed onto the armrest. “Where the hell are they getting that?” This was not good. Worse than not good. If everyone was gossiping about Trevor being murdered—and worst of all, saying that I was to blame for the gossip—it would surely get back to the killer.

It probably already had.

Mara propped a hand on her hip. “If there’s something you’re not telling me—”

“There’s not.”

Her mouth set into a hard line. “You could tell me.”

“I know. But there’s not. I swear.”

“Fine.” Mara grabbed some setting powder and picked up a clean brush. “I believe you.”

But I could tell she didn’t.

By the time I made it to set, the feeling in the pit of my stomach had only gotten worse. My brain flashed through different explanations—had someone overheard Brent and I talking the night before? Had Teddy let something slip? Had I blacked out after my rehearsal with Teddy and actually spread the rumor myself?

Walking into the house, it was clear we had a serious problem. Audrey was talking to Teddy, eyes wide and brow furrowed, and Brent was slouched in the corner, sunglasses on and staring at his phone. No one was smiling or laughing—least of all Natasha, who was behind her camera with an expression that could only be described as livid.

I slid up to Chloe, who was standing alone by the wall, biting her fingernails. “What’s going on?”

“Natasha’s pissed.”

“I see that.”

Chloe glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Are you really surprised?”

“Kind of, actually.”

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