Page 62 of Butterfly

“After we shoot the episodes and the editor and director start to work on them, they realise they might need more scenes. They call us to shoot short things. Sometimes it’s just a close-up or a line, but we still have to go through the make-up and costume and wait and all that shit.” I can’t suppress a yawn.

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is.”

“What did you have to shoot?” Her head tilts to the side, and a long strand of hair rolls down over her chest.

The strain in my trousers increases. Maybe there’s indeed something wrong with me.

I shrug. “Only quick things. Nothing important. I didn’t even have a line, but I still had to shoot a scene a few times. Bloody pain in the arse. And I had to kiss Emily again,” I add, spying on her.

“I know. She flooded Instagram with pictures of her and you kissing. She commented on how the kiss was hot and intense.” She sighs and pulls at the sleeve of her coat.

I slow down further, wanting to focus on her. “Are you upset about that?”

“It’s the way she brags about how passionate you are that bothers me. Your job is your job, but the things she says and the way she says them annoy me.”

“I was thinking of you, if that helps.”

The quirk of her mouth isn’t quite a smile, but we’re on the right path. “It helps.”

A few minutes of silence thicken in the car. I’m usually relaxed with women I like, but Sienna is a completely new challenge. I worry that everything I say hurts her. Everything I do might bother her, and to be honest, vice versa. “Are you regretting having come with me?”

“No.” The reply is quick and confident. “My first family Christmas. I hope your family likes me.”

“My mum is going to adopt you and—” Shit. What did I say about saying the wrong thing? “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s all right. I get it.” She waves dismissively.

I gaze around, searching for something to say. The harder I try to break through her shield, the less I succeed. It’s like her shield isn’t made of steel, but rubber, and whenever I try to break through it, the effort bounces back, hitting me instead. And if I keep saying shit like that, she’ll never trust me.

I huff. “Dammit. I should keep my mouth shut.”

“Stop it.” She swats my shoulder. “I’m all right and looking forward to being adopted by your mum. It might be the right time.”

My heart curls into a tight ball. “It’s amazing what you did, anyway. Growing up alone, taking care of yourself, finding a job. I’m not sure I’d be able to do that. My family has always been a huge supporter of my dream. You had to build everything from scratch.”

“It all sounds great when you say it like that.” She touches her scarred wrist while staring at the fields stretching on both sides of the motorway. “But I didn’t know what I was doing half of the time, and I was also lucky. Without Harry giving me a job, I’m not sure what would have happened to me. And then Mrs Johnson sold me her flat for nothing, only because I did my job and took care of her dog. Again, it was luck. But yes, I wonder what having a family means, going home to find loving parents, having someone to talk to.”

“What did your foster parents do to you?” I ask, almost in a whisper, not wanting her to stop talking.

She shrugs. Another pause stretches, and I worry she might clam up again. I suck in a breath when she starts talking.

“Odette, my foster mother, had severe mood swings exacerbated by some illegal drugs she was addicted to. She went from severe depression to extreme elation. She spent most of the day in bed. But other days, she was incredibly active and made great plans for the future. But in whatever state she was in, she never cared about me. She called me ‘girl.’”

I can’t believe she’s talking. Our last conversation got through to her. “How did they give a child to a person incapable of taking care of it?”

“She wasn’t like that at first, but she got worse very quickly. But to be honest, she treated me with kindness, not warmly but decently. She wasn’t mean to me, but she needed help.” She rubs her wrist. “Walter, my foster father, was a policeman, highly respected in town after he caught a murderer who had killed ten people.” There’s a change in her voice; it becomes colder and more distant.

“Bloody hell.” I wish I could hold her right now because her cheeks are paling, and a light tremor is coursing through her. Like the night of the dinner.

“He was…brutal. Discipline was everything. He didn’t tolerate any form of rebellion or challenge to his authority. Absolute obedience was the only way to keep him calm.” She swallows. “That’s why I preferred spending the whole year at school. I was alone, but at least no one yelled at me.”

I shift on the seat, uneasiness stiffening my muscles. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “Did he hit you?”

The rubbing intensifies as she takes deep breaths. Her gaze darts around. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. I pull over on the hard shoulder because I can’t stand the distance between us anymore. As soon as the car is in a safe position and the emergency lights are on and blinking, I unfasten the seat belt and wrap my arms around her. Hell, she’s shivering. Her skin is cold and clammy. I want to punch that bastard for whatever he did to her.

She rests her cheek on my shoulder while I caress the top of her head. I don’t like the sound of her uneven breathing. Her small fists close on my lap.

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