Page 25 of Hollywood Crush

“Yes, sometimes. A lot of the time.” Daniel took a couple more steps towards me. “And yet, the moments where I get to be closest to my genuine self are when I feel happiest. When I’m with you.”

“So, what do you want? To fuck me in private and Patrick in public?” I asked.

“That’s not quite how I’d put it.” Daniel took another step closer. He was dangerously close, within punching — and kissing — distance. I hadn’t yet decided which was preferable.

“Are you trying to aggravate me?” I asked. “Just speak your piece and get it over with.”

“So Patrick…and Sandra…have suggested that we play the press a bit more. Just a few hugs here and there, the odd hand hold or longing look. They should lap it up, and it gives me an easy out to all the rumours about my sexuality for years. Behind closed doors, we’re purely platonic.”

The idea sat uneasy with me. “How far are you willing to take it?” I asked. “You’re an actor. How much acting will you be doing?”

“That’s it. Hand holding. Hugs. I won’t be kissing him unless it’s for a scene, and judging by the fact my character has fucked his way through no less than twelve women in the four episodes we’ve filmed, I doubt that will be happening.”

“Right.”

“I like you, Tudor. But we both know this can’t be forever. It’s for now, and in a few weeks when filming is over I’ll be out to the next job somewhere in the world. I wish I could be that for you. But can you honestly tell me you’d rather be the one getting papped on the street? Surely this Patrick thing will get the press looking the other way? It’ll let us be us for just a little bit longer.”

“Sure thing,” I said. I couldn’t refute his argument. And neither could I admit the depth of feeling that had been stirring up inside me.

“Hug?” Daniel asked. He was asking permission, I thought. A hug that would seal the deal and sell my soul to the devil for a fiver.

I stepped forward and took him into my arms, kissing his cheek. “You’ll be the death of me, Daniel Ellison.”

“Danny, please,” he replied. “The people I love in my life can call me Danny.”

Even though I knew he didn’t mean love in the way I still wouldn’t admit to myself I wanted him to, I felt my face warm at the affection.

As any idiot but me could have predicted, it all started to go downhill from there.

Chapter Nine

Daniel

It was raining. As it had been consistently for almost two weeks. And we’d been filming back on the beach for a week. There was sand in my hair, shoes, and trousers. It stuck to my makeup and prosthetics, requiring Stacey to come along with a brush every few minutes to brush it all away. We were stood in the makeup tent, protected from the rain just for a second. Production runners and assistants were stood around holding umbrellas to ferrymore importantmembers of production between the various tents.

“Honestly, this is why I should’ve gone to work for Disney,” Stacey muttered. “All green screens there. Their directors have never even heard of location shoots.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” I replied. But still, she had a point. IfThe Mandaloriancould create all their stunning vistas through special effects, why couldn’t we?

The answer to that question was marching over the beach towards us. Short, red-faced andapoplectic with rage, Roland looked like he could use a holiday.

“What thefuckis taking so long?” he asked Stacey. “I needed twelve elf extras on set five minutes ago!”

“And as you only told me we would need an additional six this morning, my team have been working like slaves to get that done for you. You’ll have them in another five minutes and if you can’t wait you’ll have to do it yourself.”

Roland stormed back off to the other side of the beach in a huff, his poor assistant trailing him with the umbrella. He might technically have been Stacey’s boss, but no one walked over her.

“That man will have a heart attack on set one day and I have a champagne bottle ready to pop when that day comes,” Stacey said with a grim smile. I snorted.

A runner approached us, soaked from running between both production tents. “Roland has said he wants to start now with or without the extras,” he said. “Get ready to shoot.”

“Fuck’s sake!” Stacey shouted after him, presumably hoping she was loud enough for Roland to hear. She patted me with makeup pads for a couple of seconds then gave me the thumbs up.

A runner followed me with an umbrella as I exited the tent. The crowd of watchers from the village had shrunk significantly with the badweather, but the number of paparazzi had grown exponentially since the news ofThrones of Blood’s shiny new potential power couple had hit the blogosphere.

Speaking of…Patrick ran from the director’s tent and gave me a hug, another poor production assistant with an umbrella trying to keep up behind him. I heard the click of cameras from the top of the beach wall. I wondered how the paparazzi were managing to get any photos through the rain. It seemed like a lost cause to me, but no doubt the internet would be buzzing with the blurry photos and another caption about how we were ‘stepping up’ our relationship.

It was exhausting, draining. But worst of all I hadn’t seen Tudor in the whole two weeks. Not intimately, personally, anyway. We’d messaged each other via Instagram, and sent saucy snaps back and forth. But in person we wore the same masks of professionality that we had when we first met. It had hurt to not see him at all, but it was necessary to keep up the ruse.

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