“Thanks.”

Grant nodded his head as I joined him by the pews at the front of the chapel. It was a gorgeous room, with dark wooden benches and steps leading up to the pulpit, which was backlit by the most amazing stained glass I’d ever seen. A large tapestry hung on the wall displaying the words: Matthew 5:44 Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.

“Hey,” I said, noticing all the people lining the walls to watch. My eyes caught on a familiar face, someone I’d seen Grant talking to before. “Who’s that guy in the flip-flops?”

“That’s my agent.”

“Wow. He’s very involved.”

He rolled his eyes. “He’s the one who talked me into this job. He thinks it’s going to redeem my reputation.”

“Does it really need that much redeeming? I see fans lining up at every location for you. And you probably get a million online mentions a day.” Like Amanda had said, we needed to get Grant out of his head. I needed to help him stop thinking he was somehow a failure.

“I used to get more, and they used to be mostly good. But it’s not just the fans we’re worried about. It’s the producers and casting directors. They need to see I have range, that I can act.”

“Right.”

Grant went from looking at his agent to turning back to me. “You ready to climb over benches?”

My knees felt bare as I said, “So ready. Are you ready to run?”

He smiled. “Yes. I got your message yesterday and tried to text you, but it was after ten. Does your dad take your phone away after ten?”

It bothered me that my dad had made a reputation for himself—one that made it seem like I was a child. I was not a child. “No, he does not. I was already sleeping. I was exhausted after the adventure I had. My tutor and I went to this abandoned old folk’s home and found a drug dealer.”

“What? Not sure that’s the answer for our chemistry issue.”

I smiled. “Yes, that sounded bad. That’s not what I meant. I don’t do drugs. What I should’ve said was that we found a drug dealer’s lair and had to escape.”

“This was the muse thing the security guard was telling me about?”

“Yes.”

“You have a tutor helping you find a muse?”

“I do now,” I said.

He smiled his hundred-watt smile and took a step closer, into my space. “You don’t need a tutor. I’m not hard to fall for if you let yourself.”

“I’m not trying to fall for you.”

“Exactly.”

We were talking about the characters, weren’t we? “Well, Scarlett has fallen for you . . . I mean Benjamin . . . obviously.”

“You need to let yourself be her.” He took my hand in his and tugged me a little closer.

I knew what he was saying. I needed to relax into the character on set. I needed to become Scarlett. At least for the next eight weeks.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amanda watching us. She gave me a small wave. “Don’t you think Amanda is great?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. I gave Amanda the same speech yesterday about letting herself fall for me. She’s doing a better job of it.”

A light flashed on, blinding me for a moment. I squinted.

“Is that okay?” Remy asked. “Or have you become an actual zombie, afraid of the light?” He smiled.

“It’s fine,” I said. I had just been surprised. I was used to the spotlight. I turned back toward Grant and tugged my hand from his grip. “Good thing I don’t need to fall for you today, just try to kill you.”

“You ready?” Remy asked.

I looked around for Faith with my kneepads but couldn’t see her anywhere. “Let’s do it.”

“Nice zombie work,” Remy said as I passed the monitor, limping slightly. Now I understood the need for padding.

“You were channeling some serious death,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. I’d felt that way too. He nodded, his attention already back on the footage playing on the screen in front of him.

Faith joined me with a pair of kneepads in her hands. “Sorry, I know these are a little late. It took me forever to find an extra pair.”

I took them from her. “It’s fine.”

“You can keep them for next time.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll see on your call sheet that everyone has tomorrow off. And then Tuesday we’ll be filming only Grant and Fredrick.” Fredrick was the actor who played my father, Lord Lucas, in the movie.

“Oh, okay. See you Wednesday, then.”

Amanda grabbed hold of my hand as I reached her. “You did awesome today!”

“Thanks.” I saw my dad standing against the far wall. “How old were you when you got your first steady soap opera job?”

“Fifteen,” she said.

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty,” she said.

“And your life isn’t ruined?”

“What?”

I nodded toward my dad, who had almost reached us. “Think you can talk to my dad so he doesn’t worry about me so much?” I knew he did. I knew that’s why he dropped by so often and felt the need to be so strict with my schedule.

He reached us just as I finished the sentence.

Amanda stuck her hand out. “Hi, Mr. Barnes. I’m Amanda. I’m twenty and I’m not screwed up yet.”

“Thanks, Amanda,” I said. “Very helpful.”

She laughed. “It’s so nice of you to visit the set so often. The bigger the audience, the better.”

“It’s fun to watch,” Dad said.

“You’re a brat,” I said to her.

“I’m being serious!”

“I know you are,” I said, then gave her shoulder a shove. “Go talk to Grant before he gets away.”

She looked over to where Grant was heading toward the exit.

“Yes, coach,” she said, and hurried off.

“She’s interesting,” my dad said.

“She’s really great. I like her a lot.”

“I’m glad you’re making friends.”

“Me too.” I put my arms out to my sides. “So what do you think about the new location?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I agree.” My knees ached. I shifted my weight and tried not to grimace. Dad did not need to know about my hurting knees. He wouldn’t like that. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“I had a client on this side of town, so I thought I’d drop by on my way home and check out the new location.” There was a set piece to his right, one that wasn’t used today but would probably be added the day after tomorrow—a big wooden table. Red candles, with wax melting all the way down to the brass candleholders, sat on top. One candle lay on its side with a crumpled piece of paper near it. My dad righted the candle and picked up the paper. Then he looked around as if searching for a trash can.

“Dad,” I said. “That’s a hot set. Don’t mess with it.”

“What’s a hot set?”

“It means that an art director put that table together, and even things that look like trash are part of the scene. So slowly put everything back exactly the way you found it.”