Page 73 of The Moon & His Tides
I cocked my head to the side. “I don’t particularly like my father, who was an academic writer and professor. That doesn’t mean I can’t be a screenwriter, though.”
She made an irritated noise in the back of her throat and threw up her expressive hands. “That’s not really the same thing, and you know it. Miranda and her gang are all so… focused on the wrong things. On the money and the status and thegossip. I think I’d like to act, but the idea of being in the world’s spotlight makes me want to throw up. Everyone having an opinion about you when they don’t even know you… just sounds awful.”
I thought about Adam just that morning in the gym racing me on the pair of treadmills while Savannah used the elliptical in the corner and watchedEntertainment Tonight. The host had mentioned Adam being cast inThe Devil Caresand expressed their opinion that he was too posh and stuck up to play the role of Freddie Bannerman.
It didn’t seem to affect Savannah who only rolled her eyes in our direction, but Adam had missed a step on the treadmill and had to recalibrate his stride to catch up to my speed again.
It was such a little thing. A single comment. But over a lifetime of exposure, it could be death by a thousand cuts.
Adam especially seemed sensitive to criticism, not only of his acting but of any negativity in general. Which was strange, really, because Savannah seemed to thrive on it.
“It does,” I agreed finally.
Linnea peered over at me, the bright moon overhead turning her hair to silver. “Yet you’re signing up for it.”
I’d told her aboutBlood Oath, about how Adam and Savannah were kind of mentors to me as well as employers.
I shrugged. “There’s a double edge to everything. You have to decide if what you love is worth the price you have to pay for it.”
“Spoken like a true writer.”
I shoved my shoulder against hers in response, and she laughed lightly before stopping in front of a lovely white townhouse.
“This is it,” she said, notthis is home.
Because I knew home was a pretty little house with a wraparound porch in Maui where her father and three uncles lived.
Linnea shoved her hands in her pockets, the sleeves of my overlarge cashmere rucked up to her bony elbows, her hair having dried in a nimbus of golden waves. She was lovely, I thought, not for the first time, and she’d be so beautiful one day people would lose their breath to her.
“Well,” she said, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the asphalt. “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”
“It was my pleasure,” I told her honestly, dipping a little to catch her downcast gaze. “I had a great time. Though, I thought your tour skewed a little too much Harry Potter.”
“They’re classics,” she insisted again.
I only smirked at her because we’d been having the same argument all night. I didn’t go in for fantasy much, and Linnea thought magic was the best kind of topic.
“I’d like to hang out with you again,” she told me, forcing herself to lift her stare to lock with mine.
It was her most disarming quality, I was coming to realize. That bravery after a moment of natural bashfulness.
“Certo,” I agreed easily. “You promised you’d teach me to surf.”
Her head tipped back with the force of her laughter, mouth moving at the moon. “I did! I can’t believe I forgot about that. I can’t wait to see that great big body fall again and again off the board.”
“Hey,” I argued. “Just because I’m a drama geek doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own in sports.”
“Sure,” she drawled, grinning beatifically at the idea of my embarrassment. “We’ll see who's proven right.”
“We will,” I promised, moving forward to cup her elbows in my palms and place the customary kisses on her cheeks. “A presto, trottolina.”
“A presto,” she murmured back in a half-decent approximation of an Italian accent.
I tucked my own hands in my pockets as I pulled away and started walking backward away from her.
“Hey, Sebastian? What doestrottolinamean?” she called just as I was about to turn away to walk properly back toward the metro.
“Little spinning top,” I told her, deciding to relay the literal translation.
