Page 84 of Reckless Hearts

Of course you’re not boring me. It’s fascinating.

Got to go though. I’m needed on set. Time to channel my inner 1920s gangster vibes.

Break a leg

Or, you know, don’t actually break any legs. That’s more of a mob thing than a 1920s gangster thing, right?

Marcus sends me a laughing face emoji, and then the light next to his name disappears.

He’s gone.

But I don’t pick up the paper I’m supposed to be reading.

Instead, I engage in my favorite hobby of scrolling back through the message chain between Marcus and me, trying to read between the lines and work out exactly what this is between us.

Does he message me because he’s bored on set? Does he think of me as another friend to chat to?

Our messages have been friendly, bordering on flirty, but haven’t crossed the line to anything intimate.

He said on the beach in Fiji that we’d been in a relationship seven years ago.

Is this just finishing our relationship the way it should have finished? Or is this potentially the start of something new?

My stomach can’t help squirming at the idea.

But how can it be the start of something new when he lives in Los Angeles and I live in New Zealand? When he is a Hollywood star and I’m a postdoctoral student?

When I’m the brother of his best friend.

The awkward, agonizing conversation I had in Fiji with my father about Marcus slides into my head.

I’d waited until the evening that Dad disturbed us. When I’d seen him emerge from his villa and start walking toward the restaurant, I’d raced out of mine to catch up with him.

“Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?” My voice did that thing where it tried to hit every octave at once.

Dad kept his gaze straight ahead. “Sure thing.”

“About what happened this afternoon…”

“I think we can both agree that living through it once was enough. We don’t have to relive it,” Dad said.

I scratched my chin awkwardly. “Uh…yeah. Definitely.” I took a deep breath, but despite that, the next sentence still came out of me in a rush. “I just wanted to check you aren’t going to say anything to Saskia.”

My father stopped on the path to stare at me. I stopped too, cringing slightly. It was like I was nine again, and Dad just discovered I’d repurposed his golf clubs as impromptu poles for my homemade weather station.

“So, I’m taking it Saskia doesn’t know about this.”

“No…I mean, yes, she doesn’t know about it.”

“Marcus is Saskia’s best friend,” Dad said slowly. “That friendship is important to her.”

“I know that. But Saskia can’t satisfy one particular need of his, can she?” I’d felt my cheeks heating, probably doing my best impression of a tropical sunset, but I hadn’t backed down.

My father just stared at me until I dropped my eyes to the path.

“I won’t say anything to her,” he said finally. “She doesn’t deserve any drama right now.”

“Thank you.” Relief was woven into my words.