Page 74 of Romance Is Dead

Pushing through the house, saying goodnight to the crew as I squeezed past camera operators and boom handlers, it occurred to me that this might be the last time I had this feeling after a scene. The last time I was filled with adrenaline after a director told me I’d nailed it. The last time I felt that particular brand of satisfaction after portraying a certain emotion just right.

The last time I felt like I was doing my character’s story justice.

It gripped me with a sudden pang of sadness. Instead of feeling relieved that my career was coming to an end, I was starting to feel regret. It was hard to imagine that I’d never be on another movie set, that I’d never get to workshop another scene with a cast mate. I wouldn’t miss the fame, but I’d miss the storytelling. And even if I thought Chloe would do a great job taking over the roles I used to take—and even though she totally deserved it—it was hard not to feel a pang of longing, of something edging into jealousy, when I imagined it.

I pushed the thought away. It was late, after midnight. I was tired. After I got back to the hotel, I could get a nice shower and climb into bed. I had tomorrow off, so I’d even be able to sleep in. Heaven.

Winding my way through the parlor, I stopped short when I found Teddy waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He looked like something straight out of a movie—staring at me through the throngs of cast and crew members filing in and out of the front door, waiting patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets and a small smile on his lips.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach. What was he doing here?

He gestured to my hairline as I approached. “You still have some. . .”

Oh God, I was still half covered in blood. I looked like Carrie after the pig’s blood incident—hopefully with less crazy eyes.

“They’re not trying to squeeze in another scene tonight, are they?”

Teddy shrugged. “I just wanted to watch. You mentioned being excited about shooting it—how could I pass it up?”

My cheeks burned. “I said that a long time ago.”

“I remembered.”

There it was again, that fizzy, bubbling feeling telling me this is something special.

“Quinn!” Julian, the head of the wardrobe department, was hurrying toward us, nearly running into a PA who was wheeling a cart of props through the foyer in the process.

“What’s up?”

“I need you to think hard. We’re missing one of your wigs.”

I stared at him blankly, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Sorry, what?” A hand strayed to my head, where a wig covered in fake blood was most definitely secured.

“One of your wigs!” He waved his arms in frustration. “The things you wear on your head? We noticed earlier today that one of them is missing.”

I wracked my brain, trying to remember how on earth I could have lost one of them. I hadn’t shot anything earlier that day, and yesterday. . .

Oh.

My cheeks reddened as I remembered exactly where my wig was. I’d taken it with me after Teddy and I filmed our sex scene on the table, and once Teddy had followed me to the spare room, I’d thrown it. . . somewhere.

“Uh, I think I know where it might be. Can you give me a minute?” I shot a look to Teddy, who wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“Of course. Just make sure you find it.” Julian marched off, his eyes already searching for someone or something else as he hurried away.

I immediately grabbed Teddy’s arm. “You’re helping me find it.”

“Jeez, you could ask nicely.”

“Considering you played a pretty big role in distracting me yesterday. . .” I stared at him pointedly.

“You had it with you?”

“You don’t remember seeing it in my hand?”

“I definitely wasn’t looking at your hands.”

“Alright, well.” I headed for the stairs. “Let’s go.”

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