Page 23

Lights, Camera, Action

“Action!” Talia shouts as a production hand clacks the black-and-white-striped clapper right in front of Marsh, and then dashes off.

The set is a grand mansion. Marsh stands in the foyer, marveling at the tall windows, the walls covered in gorgeous paintings, the rich wood. The scene is dimly lit, and everything has a moody, sensuous cast. The curtains are drawn, and the chandelier overhead glows softly to give the impression that it’s nighttime, and Harper’s requinto lilts softly over the mansion’s speakers as background music.

All around, the extras playing guests are dressed for a masquerade ball, draped in beautiful gowns and tuxedos and wearing feathered, bejeweled masks. Marsh pretends to study the brushstrokes of a giant mural of a galloping white horse as a spotlight illuminates the intricate beadwork on her exquisite dress. Subtly, she touches the edge of her own winged disguise, adjusting it against her cheek. She hopes the gesture looks sultry, but she’s really just glad that it’s there, like a little scrap of armor. She has gotten used to knowing that the Bubble’s cameras are on her 24/7 by now, but the whole point of All This and More is that she isn’t acting, because it’s real. Having to remember lines and pretend to be someone else in Un Juego Peligroso is a whole new challenge.

She can practically hear Talia giggling to herself, pleased with her cleverness. Not only does Marsh get to try out the life of a famous actress in this path, but also the life of any other movie role she takes.

It is genius, Marsh has to admit.

But is this really what she wants? A life of pretend?

“ Buenas tardes, se?ora,” someone says then, a sonorous purr, and Marsh turns to see a tall, handsome stranger now standing behind her on the discreet red X on the floor.

“ Buenas tardes, ” Marsh replies.

The cartel boss studies her as if she were one of the pieces of fine art in his collection. He’s chiseled like a sculpture, and his tux fits like a second skin.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says.

Marsh bats her lashes. “It’s my first time.”

The cartel boss steps closer and takes his mask off.

“In that case, I hope you’re enjoying the party,” Ren says.

Marsh hides a surprised gasp as the music flares dramatically.

Moms4Marsh: Ren is playing the villain?? HOT.

If Talia had asked her before filming started, Marsh never would have thought Ren could pull off the part. But actually, seeing him now in character, it’s clear that Ren is really working it. He’s somehow become even taller since the scene started, and much more muscular. His shoulders are broader, his face is sharper, and his hair is long and pulled into a sleek, low ponytail at the nape of his neck. There’s a seriousness to him that there wasn’t before.

He looks good.

And also a little scary.

Marsh grins.

Actually, maybe a little pretend is exactly what she wants.

The telenovela script calls for their chemistry to be electric, despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—and with cartel boss Ren, Marsh doesn’t have to try very hard. The two of them are standing close, talking softly, like they’re just waiting for an excuse to fall into each other.

“The moment you arrived, I saw you. A mysterious guest at my party. I was captivated instantly,” Ren is saying as they clink their glasses together. “I’ve been hoping to find you in the crowd all night.”

“Me too,” Marsh replies. She’s also removed her mask, and as she raises her drink to take a sip, Ren catches the tip of it where it hangs from her wrist. He runs his thumb over the painted lips, never breaking eye contact with Marsh.

She shivers.

“I would very much like to continue our conversation, and get to know each other better. Would you, perhaps...” Ren turns and glances down the hallway. “I have another painting, in my private collection. I think you’ll find it quite special, indeed.”

Marsh smiles nervously.

“I would very much like to see it,” she says, hitting exactly the right combination of shy and excited.

As she follows him down the hall, passing painting after painting and little statue after little statue on fancy display podiums, Marsh pretends to have second thoughts, and then steel her nerves again, as her lines call for.

“This is my best chance,” she says aloud to herself—a voice-over that Ren’s character can’t hear, but the Un Juego Peligroso audience can. “My one shot at getting close to the leader of this cartel and taking the whole thing down from the inside.”

Her eyes dart to the back of his head and linger there a moment.

“I just didn’t know he was going to be so handsome,” she admits, biting her lip.

Ren opens the door at the end of the hall, and ushers Marsh into a gigantic bedroom. Somehow, there are also lit candles twinkling in here, and rose petals scattered artfully across the rug.

“Well, here we are,” he finally says, and gestures to a tapestry on the wall. “My pride and joy.”

Marsh swallows and looks at him. “It’s beautiful,” she replies.

“So are you,” Ren says.

They stare at each other for another moment, the music suspended tensely—and then suddenly they’re kissing.

Notamackerel: Cheesy

Moms4Marsh: SHUT UP! Do not ruin this for us!

Ren is luring Marsh over to the bed, leading them across the room toward its inviting softness, and Marsh eagerly follows. Dimly, she’s aware that she’s supposed to be shedding her clothes in a specific order, at a specific speed, but she’s caught up in the scene, and the details are a blur. Her discarded designer heels on the expensive rug. Her mask and shawl tossed against the wardrobe. Dylan’s briefcase on the dresser—

Marsh chokes.

What the—

“Do I take your breath away?” Ren asks flirtatiously when she pulls back from the kiss, startled.

“That,” she sputters, pointing.

“Ah, I’m a, how do you say, a businessman, se?ora,” he replies, still in character, thinking she’s improvising. “It’s mine.”

But Marsh shakes her head and stumbles back as he reaches for her again.

The room is dark, but she’s sure of it. It’s the same shape, the same style. The same cheap gold clasp, the same grain on the leather.

“No,” she says. “It’s not. It belongs to—”