Chapter 7

Monday morning hit too fast. My head still carried the fog of wine and mimosas, but there was no escaping the calendar: the first official table read.

The studio had converted a soundstage into a long conference space. Folding tables stretched in a square, scripts stacked neatly at every chair. Name cards in bold black letters lined the seats. The walls hummed with nervous energy as assistants bustled around with trays of coffee and bagels, producers made their rounds, and the director practically vibrated with excitement.

I slipped in wearing oversized sunglasses, a loose blouse, and my best mask of composure.

Rowan was already there.

Her jacket was draped casually over her chair, her script spread open in front of her. She looked up the moment I entered, her gaze holding steady on mine for just long enough to make my stomach flip. No smirk this time. Just that same unshakable focus.

My pulse tripped when I noticed the name card beside mine. Of course. The director had put us together.

At the back of the room, my friends — my anchors — had claimed seats. Lila gave me a small, encouraging smile. Simone tipped her coffee cup at me with a look that promised commentary later. Naomi sat still and composed, watching with quiet attention.

The director clapped his hands. “Scene twelve. Let’s see how this plays. Celeste, Rowan — you’re up.”

Scripts rustled. The room stilled.

Rowan’s voice was the first to cut the air, firm and clipped. “You don’t let anyone close, do you?”

I lifted my eyes from the page, matching her tone. “That’s how I survive.”

She leaned slightly toward me, not breaking character. “Or that’s how you hide.”

A ripple went through the room. The words weren’t tender — they were sharp, challenging — but the current between us was undeniable.

I answered, my voice lower than I’d planned. “I don’t owe you the truth.”

Rowan’s lips curved, slow, deliberate. “Then why does it sound like you want to give it to me anyway?”

The line was scripted, but the way she said it… it felt like she was peeling me open.

The table was silent. Not even the scratch of a pen broke the air.

I forced my line out, steady but thin. “Don’t push me.”

Rowan’s reply came instantly, her eyes locking on mine. “Then stop pulling me in.”

The scene ended there, a clipped beat in the script. But no one in the room moved.

The table went still after the first scene, the air thick with silence.

The director leaned forward, grinning wide. “That. Exactly that. Now—” his gaze flicked between Rowan and me, practically gleaming, “let’s show everyone why we chose her. Kitchen scene. Scene twenty-seven.”

The casting director shuffled pages. “Kitchen. After midnight. She’s trying to push her away. She doesn’t let her.”

I reached for my script, but the director lifted a hand. “No, don’t do it sitting down. Up. Both of you. In the middle. Let them feel it.”

My pulse skipped. Chairs shifted as people angled for a better view.

Rowan stood first, easy and sure, sliding her chair back with a scrape. She didn’t look nervous. She looked ready.

I followed slower, heat prickling the back of my neck as every eye in the room locked onto us.

The director clapped once. “Go.”

I drew in a breath, voice sharp and final.
“You can’t be here.”

Rowan tilted her head, lips curving into the barest smirk.
“And yet here I am.”

My grip on the script tightened though I wasn’t reading it. “This isn’t part of the plan.”

Her gaze flicked over me, steady, deliberate. “Maybe it should be.”

“You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

“That’s the point,” she said smoothly, stepping closer.

The room hushed, the sound of pens and paper vanishing.

“You should leave,” I pressed, sharper now, but my voice wavered.

“If you really wanted me gone, you’d have said it by now.”

“You need to leave.”

Her hand lifted, brushing against mine with deliberate slowness. Heat flared before instinct snapped me back — I pulled away, sharp and quick.

“You felt that.”

“Stay professional.”

Her whisper skimmed my cheek like a secret.
“What if I don’t want to go?”

“Then you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I think I do.” Rowan’s eyes never left mine. “I think you want me here more than you want me gone.”

The silence stretched taut.

“Then tell me what you want.”

“I want you. And everything that comes with it.”

My head shook, breath ragged. “We can’t. And you know that already.”

She laughed under her breath, low and sure.
“Then tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t love it when I touch you. Tell me your heart doesn’t skip a beat when I come closer to you.”

She stepped forward, erasing the final distance. My lips parted, pulse crashing.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

And then I kissed her.

The air crackled, the room frozen — but no one called cut.

Instead, one of the producers leaned forward, voice hushed but eager. “Keep going.”

The director nodded, eyes wide. “Yes. Don’t stop. Continue the scene.”

“Say it again,” she murmured. “Tell me to leave.”

My chest rose and fell unevenly, my pulse crashing. The words slipped out ragged, unplanned.
“I can’t. You already know I won’t.”

The director didn’t call cut. No one in the room moved.

Rowan’s hand lifted, grazing my jaw as she pulled me back into her. The kiss deepened, hungrier, more dangerous. My knees threatened to give out, but I held on, caught in the gravity of it.

When we finally broke apart again, my voice came out in a whisper, raw and trembling.
“This is wrong.”

Rowan’s eyes burned into mine, unyielding.
“Then why does it feel right?”

The words landed heavy, and the silence that followed wasn’t acting. It was truth, wrapped in fiction.

Rowan’s tone softened, her voice dropping to something only I could hear.
“You’re scared.”

I froze, my throat dry, the admission pulled from me before I could stop it.
“I’m terrified. Of you. Of this.”

Her lips curved — not mocking, but certain, like she already knew.
“Good. That’s how you know it’s real.”

The room erupted — not with laughter or chatter, but with the sharp sound of the director clapping his hands, eyes alight. “Yes! Yes! That’s the fire! That’s the film!”

But I barely heard him. Rowan was still looking at me, steady and unshaken, while I stood rattled to my core.

The sharp sound of the director’s clap still echoed when the room seemed to exhale all at once.

“Wow,” one of the producers muttered, shaking his head. “The chemistry is off the charts.”

Another nodded, still wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen anything like that at a table read.”

Murmurs spread through the cast and crew — words like electric, real, and magic floating in the air like confetti. Every pair of eyes that turned toward us seemed to agree on the same thing: this wasn’t just acting.

The director was practically glowing. “Take five, everyone. Breathe. Get some coffee, stretch your legs. We’ll pick back up in a few.”

Chairs scraped, voices rose again, the spell of silence breaking. Rowan finally stepped back, casual as if none of it had rattled her. She grabbed her water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip before sliding back into her chair. She didn’t even look winded.

I, on the other hand, could barely breathe.

“Celeste, dressing room’s ready,” an assistant murmured at my side. I nodded quickly, grateful for the escape, and made my way down the hall.

The moment I opened the door, they were already there.

Lila was pacing by the vanity, arms folded. Simone was perched on the couch with a smug grin, legs crossed like a queen surveying her court. Naomi sat quietly in the armchair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes calm but sharp.

I barely closed the door before Simone let out a low whistle. “Well. I was expecting sparks. What I just witnessed was a goddamn inferno.”

Lila stopped pacing, her voice tight. “She didn’t even blink, Celeste. That girl had you cornered, and you let her.”

Naomi’s voice was softer, but no less piercing. “It wasn’t just her. It was both of you. Everyone saw the chemistry…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “…but they don’t know you’re actually feeling it the way you are.”

My chest tightened, heat crawling up my neck. “I— I can’t help it. It doesn’t feel like acting when I’m with her.”

Lila exhaled hard, shaking her head. “Then maybe you should talk to her. Figure out what’s real and what’s not before this spirals.”

My hands shot up, flustered. “Oh my god, no. I can’t talk to her. I can’t.“

Simone leaned back on the couch, her smirk spreading. “Fine. Then I’ll do it.”

My eyes snapped to her. “What?”

She shrugged, casual but mischievous. “I probably know her or know someone who does — this industry’s a shoebox. I’ll find out where her head is. See if it’s just a role for her, or if she’s bleeding into it the way you are.”

Naomi’s brows lifted, her voice calm but warning. “Simone…”

“What?” Simone grinned, standing now, stretching like she was preparing for battle. “Someone’s gotta ask the question. Better me than Celeste melting into a puddle every time Rowan smirks.”

Lila groaned, but a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “She’s not wrong.”

I buried my face in my hands. “This is a disaster.”

Simone leaned down, patting my shoulder like she was crowning me queen of a problem I didn’t want. “Relax, Cece. If Rowan’s just playing the part, we’ll know. If not…” She arched a brow. “…then maybe you’ve got more than a movie on your hands.”