Page 23

I dropped my arms into my lap, my biceps throbbing from being overworked. How the fuck did Camillo do this all the time? I was barely moving around the set, but my arms were burning like I’d spent the last two hours at the gym. I tried not to show that I was exhausted, but I could see him sitting in a dark corner of the set watching me, and I could tell he was reading me like an open book.
I’d mostly been able to ignore him today, but every now and again, I caught his eye. Every single time I flubbed a line, it was because I could see him there watching me. He didn’t know everything about my past. He couldn’t, because no one did. No one knew about the little room, and the big man towering over me, and the quiet words he’d whispered as I trembled beneath his touch.
But that didn’t change the fact that when Camillo had whispered the same wordshedid when I was crying, it had fucked me up more than I wanted to think about.
You’re too sensitive.
The sentence rattled around my brain, keeping me in a chokehold. And with Camillo, it meant he thought I was weak. He thought I was disappointing, and somehow, that was just as bad as the trauma of remembering the few things in my childhood I hadn’t blocked out.
I had an intense urge to prove myself—to show him I wasn’t the mess the world thought I was—but I didn’t know how. Not when I fucked up every time I realized he was watching me.
And I still couldn’t figure out why I cared so fucking much.
“Water?”
I looked up to see a young, terrified-looking PA holding a bottle out for me. I took it and stood up, and she let out a small gasp of surprise. “You’restanding.”
“Yeah, hon. I’m just acting,” I reminded her.
“R-right. Right. You were doing such a good job that I forgot.”
“I guess that means I’m doing something right,” I said with a wink. I felt a tiny bit better but not as good as I should have.
She flushed, but the moment was interrupted by a soft voice speaking to my left. “Except you’re not doing any of that right.”
I swallowed thickly and squared my shoulders.His opinion of me does not define me. His opinion of me does not define me. I definitely do not want to be good for him. At all. Not even a little.
Rolling my eyes as I turned toward Camillo, I let out a sigh. “Which means?”
“Your arms are hurting, aren’t they?”
I shook my hands out. Was the shaking obvious? “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. I know you’re not because you’re using the chair wrong. You’re not going to last for the rest of the day if you keep fucking this up so badly.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to explain. When he didn’t, I felt a sudden rush of anger. “You know your job is to consult, right? Not to stand there and call me a fucking idiot and then walk away.”
He reared back. “I didn’t call you an idiot.”
“So you’re telling me it wasn’t supposed to be implied,” I snapped.
His cheeks went slightly pink, and he opened his mouth, then shut it with a hard snap. “My job is to tell you when you’ve got it wrong. If you want to take it that way, it’s on you.”
My jaw tensed so hard it gave me an instant headache. Why was he like this? “I’m not taking it any way you don’t mean, so don’t play like you’re a fool. You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
He blinked at me, and the corners of his lips twitched, though I very much doubted he wanted to smile. His gaze moved up and down my body, and then he sighed. “So you want pointers, then?”
“Unless you prefer I look like an ass so we get canceled before the first season is done filming.” I stopped abruptly because that was a very real possibility.
However, that would also be pointless of him since the show was picked up for two full seasons already, and with the hype, the studio was already talking to the writers about season three.
But it was obvious Camillo didn’t know that.
“You should address me properly” was what he said instead.
I flushed again. Fuck, why did that make my toes tingle? “Your Highness.”
He smirked. “Thank you. Now, watch how I do this, then tell me what I’m doing right and you’re doing wrong.”