A tiny frown pulled at my brows as I stared in the mirror. This was not an outfit I would buy, and the makeup version of me looked so different from the one I saw in the mirror each morning.

"Oh, you look so cute!" Sherise gushed. My best friend and cheerleader thought it her personal mission to make me feel better about myself.

"If you stick a gold ring in a pig's snout, it would still be a pig," I said, and she looked taken aback.

"When will you stop seeing yourself through the lens of those bullies? You're gorgeous just the way you are. We were not all made to look the same."

Sherise had never gotten mad at the way I derided myself before.

"Mercedes?! Did you send those flowers yet?" Mirelly asked, peeking around the door, and today, I didn't quite have the energy for her displeasure.

"Yes, and wrote a pretty note."

I got off the chair, not used to wearing a skirt, and pulled at it to get it back into place so I wouldn't flash anyone. The options were limited, and there was no way I would squeeze into any of the other wardrobe outfits Bonita, the stylist, chose.

"Then get out here; Mr. Porter wants you to make some notes." Predictably, she walked away without waiting.

Unused to wearing heels and not wanting to face-plant, I followed at a more sedate pace.

Glancing down, I pulled at the blouse a little. That bra pushed my cleavage into the stratosphere, making me uncomfortable, but Sherise teased me mercilessly for being a prude and I caved.

How proud would Mother be to see me in a dress and actually looking like a woman? We didn't have the same build, and she wasn't ashamed of her body or afraid to dress nicely.

She often told me I looked like a boy, but I preferred slacks and loose, flowing blouses at work that didn't draw attention to my flab. At home, I happily chose T-shirts and jeans or sweatpants.

***

Grabbing a pen and paper from the office, I headed to the set. Harris often asked me to make notes of his conversations with the actors so he could refer to them. So, it wasn't odd for me to be on set, and I needed no explanation.

"Bloody hell, Druscilla, get your head in the game," Harris said coldly, and that tone of voice warned me this would be a long day.

I settled on the chair closest to his, which proved difficult with the narrow skirt.

"From the top, do it again," he ordered, walking in my direction with clipped strides of those black dress shoes he always wore with perfectly pressed black dress pants, a formal white shirt, a gray cardigan, and a tie.

If the silver streaks in his gray hair didn't make him look so distinguished, and he wasn't still so handsome in his late fifties, he'd look like a schoolteacher. Instead, he looked like a gracefully aging soap actor.

Our eyes briefly met, and the frown touching those dark brows said he had a busy morning, and my absence was noted.

The stagehands reset the scene as he sat and drank water from a bottle I handed him.

"Did you resolve your family issues?" he asked unexpectedly, sounding less stern than he looked.

"Yes, sir," I answered, expecting a reprimand, but he was too preoccupied.

***

About forty minutes later, I understood and shared his frustration.

"Druscilla!" Harris thundered, making me jump.

The man rarely raised his voice, but no one blamed him. Twenty-two takes on this one scene, and she kept missing the cues, bungling the words, or improvising.

Her being his daughter didn't do her any favors. This was work, and he expected professionalism with her being a big-time actress who earned her role.

It was the first time he hired her; one would think she'd be a little more proficient after having starred or co-starred in twelve movies. Perhaps doing this scene in front of him made her nervous, or maybe she was used to less strict directors and producers than Harris and Pagliani.

The dynamic duo always merged their vision and worked closely together, but Pagliani sat down on his chair twenty minutes ago and refused to continue working with her.

"Harris, we're doing this scene only one more time, or we can return when everyone has mastered their parts," Dean said, a scowl tugging at those thick, dark brows. The actor had been incredibly patient, but even he had his limits.

Almost every female in the room had eyes only for him, just like nearly every male stared at Druscilla. A tiny stab of jealousy ate at my gut when I noticed how the women fawned over Dean, which was not a normal reaction on my part but a human one.

"How dare you?" Druscilla asked. "You have not exactly been helping the situation!"

I raised a shocked brow. In the industry, they called Dean the "one-take king." He was that good, professional, and on point and had lived up to his reputation.

Two Oscar nominations and one win put him out of the actress' league, and he has been on screen since he turned ten.

"You're right, Dean. By now, every person here knows the words, and anyone can do the scene," Harris said, dragging a hand through his immaculate hair in an uncharacteristic fashion.

"Are you kidding? Are you saying anyone here can do what I do?" Druscilla asked, and he faced her, looking straight into those gray eyes.

"Yes."

No one expected that answer, least of all the lady in question.

"Then why don't you get someone to do it better than me?" she challenged, and his gaze wandered over the people scurrying about the studio, landing on me.

"Mercedes, put your pen down and come here," he said, and I almost died.

He probably wanted to send me to fetch someone, and I couldn't believe he got my name right. The producer had a fondness for calling me Darlin', Mercia, or Missy.

"Yes, sir. What can I get you?" I asked respectfully as Druscilla stared at me like a dead rat in a restaurant, a sneer curling her lip, and I wanted to crawl under a rock.

"Do you know the words?" he asked, and I nodded without thinking.

"Please, do the scene with Dean," he said, walking away as everything reset around us, and my eyes met with those deep blue pools.

Dean arched a dark brow, glanced at Druscilla's incredulous and taken aback face, and mirth danced in his eyes.

***

"Take your spots," Pagliani called, and I obeyed like a robot.

This could not be happening.

This could not...

"Are you kidding me?" Druscilla yelled furiously, aiming to storm off the set, but her father caught her by her arm.

She looked up into his eyes, and whatever she saw there made her turn mutinously out of his grip as she planted herself in the chair I had vacated.

"Breathe, Mercedes," Dean said like a ventriloquist without moving his lips, and it shocked me out of my stupor.

How did this guy pick up my name from hearing it once?

"You'll be fine, and there's no pressure."

No pressure? I was two feet from the sexiest bachelor in the world, about to kiss him, and there was no pressure?!

Our eyes met again, but that wasn't why calm descended upon me. Everything seemed so unreal that my brain just decided it had to be a dream.

Had I overslept, and this entire messed up day was just an elaborate concoction of my brain to get me to realize I was late for work?

That was it.

"And action," Pagliani called, his voice seeming to come from a distance.

***

"Please, Arielle, give me one more chance!" Dean said, giving a single hesitant step in my direction.

"I've given you more chances than you deserve, Carter."

The words flowed from my lips with unexpected ease, maybe because this was a favorite scene from my new favorite book. This was even the way I imagined, just not with me playing the dauntless heroine.

That part was just ridiculous.

Harris and Pagliani were doing the final scenes first because the rest would be filmed on location in South Africa and then finished in London, which was why Druscilla and Dean did one of the final scenes first.

The company made a deal with a friend of theirs to film on a private reserve, which would cut down on the production costs in a ridiculous way.

"But we are in love?!" Dean said, giving another step in my direction and returning my wandering, panicked, random thoughts to the scene.

"Perhaps love isn't enough," I said, and even as I spoke, he reached out, and our fingers touched.

Electricity danced up my arm, and never have I been as aware of someone, but it was more than physical.

How was that even possible?

"What else matters?" He pulled me closer until our bodies touched, and the chemistry between us was incredible.

Was it just me and my overactive imagination?

"Say you don't love me, and I'll let you go," he challenged, and for a second, those words robbed me of breath, but they were not real.

"You know I do, but you will always leave me behind for your next big adventure."

How had I even managed to speak?

Dean let go of my hand and touched my cheek, but this wasn't Dean; it was Carter, just as I was Arielle.

The reminder had no effect.

"But I will always return to you."

He was so much taller than I thought, and the way he looked at me made me forget about the people, cameras, and lights.

"But what if you don't? What if something happens?" I asked, and oddly the idea of this handsome man getting hurt or dying bothered me.

Dean, not Carter. Did being this close to one of my heroes addle my brain? How was I even remembering the lines without having to hesitate or search my mind?

"Nothing will happen to me," he said, as if he believed every word, which was why he was such a great actor.

"You cannot guarantee that," I breathed, our lips almost touching.

He was so close I spotted a slight blemish in his left eye, and it momentarily fascinated me, making him seem more human.

"Then we will at least have had this night. Isn't this moment worth more than turning from it and having nothing?" His breath tickled my face.

After the briefest hesitation, our lips touched. His arms went around me, and although it wasn't a real kiss, my knees almost buckled, my blood spiked, and my arms instinctively went around him.

The kiss might have lasted a moment or an eternity and when it ended, I was dazed.

The Dean Crowther's lips had been on mine, and I wasn't dreaming; this was real.

Oh, my word!

My legs turned to jelly, and I had to concentrate on not melting into a puddle at his feet.

"Marry me, please, Arielle. Let us take what happiness life offers and not worry about tomorrow?"

"Yes, Carter, I will, and we shall be happy, but I cannot promise that I won't fret. Every moment away from you is an eternity, and life without you will not be worth living."

It was so appropriately passionate and dramatic for the fifties but heartfelt and endearing.

"And cut!" Pagliani shouted, startling the living daylights out of me.

Dean smiled like a proud parent and let go.

Why did I feel his absence?

"See, I said you could do it."

I couldn't look away from those entrancing eyes, and his heat still lingered on my skin. His subtle but sexy cologne clung to my clothes, and my brain refused to accept what had just happened.

People applauded, and I blinked like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"One take with no stops, no hesitation, and no forgetting the words. That was flawless," Harris said, getting to his feet and facing his recalcitrant daughter. "And she's an assistant. Get to your position, Druscilla." He glanced from his daughter to me. "Mercedes? You have the rest of the day off. Thank you for indulging me. Well done."

I nodded and walked off.

***

How could this be real?

I reached the hallway, and my knees almost folded. My hands shook, and my insides churned as the adrenaline petered out.

"Oh my God," Sherise said, grabbing my arms and jumping up and down. "That was amazing, and you kissed Dean Crowther!"

"Shh, they're filming, and you know I don't like it when you say that," I reminded her, even though the warning lights were not yet on.

She let go, almost doing a pirouette.

"My five minutes of fame," I mocked, leaning against the wall. "And he said my name," I gushed, never having fangirl'd in my life.

"Harris?" she asked, forehead creasing with confusion.

"Yes, but no, Dean!"

"Stick a fork in me and call me done," Sherise squeaked, trying to regain control. "You're my hero!"

For the life of me, I couldn't wrap my head around what had happened. Was I just Cinderella for ten minutes?

©2022-2023 All rights reserved Cristal Sieberhagen and TypewriterPub. Will be published on the 23 of August 2023.