Chapter 10: The Practice Session

I'm no longer the innocent girl I was the night I signed that contract. I've learned how to play the publicity game. And I've learned not to trust Luca's - or anyone's - smiles.

I straighten my shoulders and head up the front steps. This is the last place I want to be right now, but after the way I humiliated myself on set today, I know I don't have a choice. I need to practice that scene.

My nerves start to sink in again as I ring the doorbell. I'm still not sure what came over me earlier. I've never had a panic attack on set before. It doesn't help that I still don't know what's going on with Javy. I've called him multiple times and left him a couple messages, but so far his only response has been a quick text message to tell me he'd talk to me later. I spent the entire ride over here debating whether or not I should call Mom and Dad about him. What the hell could he need twenty thousand dollars for?

Just when I'm starting to lose myself in my anxiety again, Luca answers the door. His dust-covered costume of earlier today has been replaced by a loose T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He's also barefoot - between that and his wavy, golden-blond hair, he's the perfect picture of California casual.

Damn him. He doesn't even have to try. He was born to be a freaking movie star. Meanwhile I'm over here, finally making it in this industry, and I'm about to blow it because I can't fake sex.

"Come in," he says, smiling. "I've just finished grilling some tilapia. Have you eaten yet?"

"I... You cook?"

He shrugs, and one side of his mouth curls up. "I have to eat, don't I?"

Sure, but I guess I assumed someone of Luca's status would have a personal chef or something, especially in the middle of filming when we're sometimes working fifteen- to twenty-hour days. Even I get most of my food through a meal delivery service.

"Do you cook?" he asks me as he leads me down the hall.

"Sometimes. But not so much recently. Roxie has me on this special diet and it's easier to get everything delivered through a health food service."

"Ah, understandable. She's got me on something similar. No processed flour or sugar. I can deal with cutting out sweets, but there are some nights that I think I'd murder someone for a pizza."

In spite of myself, I smile. I know that pain all too well. But audiences expect hard, perfect bodies from their action movie stars, which means long hours in the gym and restrictive diets until we're done filming.

"I did already have dinner," I tell him when we reach the kitchen. "But you can go ahead and eat."

"No, it can wait. I'm not that hungry yet."

I can't put my finger on it, but there's something decidedly un-Luca about Luca right now. Maybe it's simply that he doesn't have his usual charm turned up to eleven, but I find myself searching for the signs I noticed earlier - a weirdness in the eyes, a tightness to his mouth.

His eyebrow rises slightly, and I realize I'm staring.

"Go ahead and eat," I say quickly. "It's just going to get cold and gross if you wait. I can't imagine leftover tilapia is very good. I'm fine. I can entertain myself for a few minutes while you eat." I slip my cell phone out of my pocket and hold it up. "That's why they invented phone games, right?"

He gives me a slightly odd look but goes ahead and serves himself a piece of fish from the platter.

"What about something to drink?" he asks as he sets his plate down on the black marble counter top. "Wine? Liquor? Beer?"

"I'm not supposed to be drinking alcohol." Damn that Roxie and her stupid diet.

A mischievous look flashes in his eyes. "I'm not supposed to either, but I won't tell if you don't."

For the second time since walking through the door, I find myself smiling.

"Fine," I say. "If you feel like opening a bottle of wine, I'll have a glass." Maybe it'll make this night a little easier.

You're probably the only straight girl in the world who has to get herself drunk to dry hump Luca Fontaine, I think. But if there's one thing I've learned in this job, it's that fantasies often feel different in person than they do in your head. I let go of the fantasy of Luca Fontaine long ago.

Luca pours two glasses of a California chardonnay and passes one over to me.

"Please, sit," he says, gesturing to one of the stools at the counter top.

I'm much more grateful than I should be that we're not sitting in the dining room where I signed that contract of ours. Even though I know I made the right decision - everything he promised for my career, and then some, has happened - it still makes me slightly queasy to think about that night. It's the same kick-to-the-gut feeling I get when I remember how Rory Hathaway dumped me in front of half of our high school when I was sixteen.

I take the seat beside his and grab my glass. He picks up his fork and begins eating his fish.

For several minutes, we sit in silence. The only sounds in the room are the soft scrape of his fork against his plate and the swish of liquid as one or the other of us takes a sip of our wine. I can only imagine what people would say if they found out Hollywood's hottest couple can't even think of anything to say to each other over dinner. When we go out on public dates, we usually spend the evening making small talk about filming. But in private, we don't have to keep up the act.

Still, I can't help but be aware of his nearness. I'm close enough to notice that he's still wearing that new scent. Close enough that I find myself wanting to lean toward his heat. It's a shame that after all this time, my body still hasn't gotten the memo that what it wants is completely off limits.

I try to distract myself with a matching game on my phone. It's not very glamorous, but on the nights that I don't have a public date with Luca, I usually end up reviewing my scene notes for the following day and then vegging out on the couch with my phone, often with reruns of some 90s sitcom streaming on the television. Exciting, I know. But during filming, I don't usually have the energy for much else, especially since I have so much trouble sleeping. Besides, it's not like I have any friends here in L.A. to drag me out to a bar or something.

Luca's phone is sitting on the counter beside his hand. Suddenly it buzzes, the screen lighting up with the image of a blond-haired beauty. His current secret girlfriend, perhaps? Maybe she's the reason he smells differently today. Or the reason he was late this morning.

Luca reaches for his phone, and I quickly look away. It's not any of my business who he dates, as long as he keeps it quiet. That's what our contract says - that since we're not allowed to have sex with each other, we're allowed to have discreet outside relationships. I'm pretty sure Luca's been having them since day one. There's no reason to be jealous.

So why do I feel so weird?