Page 53 of The Viper
The analysis had arrived like vultures on a fence. My “dating history” unfolded in tidy boxes: a tennis player, a director I didn’t want to remember, rumors with a co-star that had been nothing more than chemistry on camera. The tone varied by outlet—breathless, arch, faux-concerned—but the conclusion was the same: I was in love with a shadow in Charleston and that shadow might be the same man who’d leveled a Navy officer in a bar.
Whatever Lucas was didn’t make headlines. Didn’t exist. And still, a blurry shoulder could ruin a career.
I dressed in silence—loose jeans, white tee, ponytail—and padded into the kitchen. Hannah glanced up, then past me, like her gaze could choose a safer path, if she just asked politely.
“You saw it,” I said.
“Everyone saw it,” she answered, measured. “I emailed a holding statement to Franklin and the studio. ‘We don’t comment on my personal life’ with a side of ‘Lexi is focused on the work.’”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t sayyou’re welcome. She did say, “Please don’t make me a liar.”
I swallowed. “I’m not trying to.”
“Intent doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “The pictures do.”
Noah honked from the SUV. We moved at the same time, reaching for our bags, passing each other like dancers who’d forgotten the choreography and were faking grace.
On the ride to set, James Island gleamed like it always did—the water bright enough to blind you. I watched the marshslide by and tried not to think about the way rain had tasted on Lucas’s mouth.
On set, the air had the sticky, overcaffeinated hum of a crew that had been up before dawn and had also read the internet. Conversations stopped, then restarted with a new topic when I walked past. The caterer didn’t call mesweetheart. The grip who always asked about my grandma somehow had no questions at all.
Franklin intercepted me halfway to wardrobe, call sheet rolled into a weapon in his fist. His eyes were bloodshot; his smile, nonexistent.
“Good morning,” I tried.
“Don’t.” He thrust the paper into my hand. “We have one day to make up from last week, one day to thread the needle with tides, light, boats, and a town that decided to triple our permit fees overnight because you just became a walking headline.”
I kept my voice flat. “That’s not on me.”
“It is when your face is on USA Today,” he snapped. “In two different photos with the same unidentified man who looks like he moonlights as a battering ram.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the edge out of my tone. “He stopped someone from drugging me.”
His jaw worked. “I know what he did. I also know how narratives mutate. And right now, the narrative isreckless starlet endangers production with secret romance.” He inhaled through his nose. “So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to be brilliant. You’re going to be early, prepared, cooperative, and invisible to every camera that isn’t mine.”
I nodded once. “Okay.”
His gaze softened a millimeter. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Lexi.”
“I know.”
“I want my movie.”
“I know that, too.”
He studied me, something like pity flickering and then dying. “Wardrobe. Then rehearsal on B dock.” And just like that, he pivoted and started yelling about a C-stand as if none of this had ever been personal.
Carrie met me in the trailer with a hug so quick it barely qualified but still cracked something open. “Don’t read the comments,” she murmured as she zipped me into the dress that meant vulnerability in Franklin-speak.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Fine. I am.” My laugh sounded like it’d been dropped and chipped. “They brought up the tennis player.”
“They always bring up the tennis player,” she said as she smoothed my hair. “Lay low. Give them nothing. If you’re going to be scandalous, at least, let it be on film.”
