Page 93 of Romance Is Dead

I wanted to believe him. And I think I did.

With a stretch and a yawn, Teddy rumbled awake. Without opening his eyes, he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me onto his chest.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice raspy with sleep. “You stayed.”

“Correct. I didn’t wake up and flee in the middle of the night.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“You know. . .” Teddy rubbed a hand up and down my back, his thumb straying to the curve of my breast. “We could do what we did last night again. A repeat performance, if you will. We’re already dressed for it.”

“You haven’t even opened your eyes yet.” I poked him gently in the rib. “What if you’re horrified by what I look like first thing in the morning?”

Teddy made a show of opening his eyes and studying my bed head and bare face. “Nope, checks out. Still gorgeous. Maybe more.”

“You don’t want Mara to come fix me up first?”

“I definitely don’t”—he lowered his head to my neck, sucking the spot below my ear that made me sigh—“want her here right now.” His hand dipped to the crease of my thigh, running his fingers, featherlight, along the delicate skin.

“Yeah, ok.” I pulled his mouth up to mine, unable to resist any longer as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

While the night before had been frantic and desperate, this time it was lazy and luxurious. We took our time, using our hands and mouths to find the spots we liked best. And when I came, he looked at me in wonder, like it was an act of worship. When we were finished, we dozed off again for another hour, before I grabbed my phone with a gasp.

“Oh my God.” I clicked on the screen, my heart sinking when I saw the time. Then I saw I had a mass text, sent to all the cast members from Natasha. “Oh my God,” I repeated, louder this time.

“What?” Teddy’s voice was groggy, his eyes still closed.

I ran my eyes over the message one more time, making sure I wasn’t misreading. “The production has been. . . cancelled. Or postponed, I guess. Officially. But Natasha doesn’t sound optimistic.”

“Wait, seriously?” He grabbed his own phone, reading the text for himself. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” He ran a hand down his face. “It wasn’t exactly going well.”

I couldn’t say anything, the breath squeezed out of my lungs as it registered that my very last movie wasn’t going to happen. My career was over, and while I’d been telling myself that was what I wanted for months, suddenly I didn’t feel ready.

Noticing the stricken look on my face, Teddy rolled over to face me. “Are you ok? I thought you’d be happy about this.”

For a long moment, I didn’t say anything. I don’t want to talk about this, I thought, the feeling of my old walls once again rising up. I don’t want to think about this, let alone talk about it.

But did I not want to talk about it? Or did I just not know the answer to the question?

“I’m sorry,” Teddy reached out to rub my back. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s. . .” I struggled to find the words. “I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t feel like I thought I would, anyway.”

“I thought you were excited to be done?”

“I thought so too.” My voice was quiet and I refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on a tiny knot in the comforter’s stitching.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but. . . do you even want to quit making movies? Horror movies?”

Almost imperceptibly, I shook my head. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

I could tell he wanted to press, to ask me what that meant. But he didn’t. And I was grateful, because even if I had realized I wasn’t done with horror stories, I still didn’t know how exactly I fit in. I didn’t want to be an actress, but I didn’t know how to be anything else. I still didn’t know where I fit.

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