Page 34 of Romance Is Dead

Oh God, I was still half covered in blood. I looked like Carrie after the pig’s blood incident — hopefully with less crazy eyes.

“They’re not trying to squeeze in another scene tonight, are they?”

Teddy shrugged. “I just wanted to watch. You mentioned being excited about shooting it — how could I pass it up?”

My cheeks burned. “I said that a long time ago.”

“I remembered.”

There it was again, that fizzy, bubbling feeling telling me this is something special.

“Quinn!” Julian, the head of the wardrobe department, was hurrying toward us, nearly running into a PA who was wheeling a cart of props through the foyer in the process.

“What’s up?”

“I need you to think hard. We’re missing one of your wigs.”

I stared at him blankly, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Sorry, what?” A hand strayed to my head, where a wig covered in fake blood was most definitely secured.

“One of your wigs!” He waved his arms in frustration. “The things you wear on your head? We noticed earlier today that one of them is missing.”

I wracked my brain, trying to remember how on earth I could have lost one of them. I hadn’t shot anything earlier that day, and yesterday. . .

Oh.

My cheeks reddened as I remembered exactly where my wig was. I’d taken it with me after Teddy and I filmed our sex scene on the table, and once Teddy had followed me to the spare room, I’d thrown it. . . somewhere.

“Uh, I think I know where it might be. Can you give me a minute?” I shot a look to Teddy, who wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“Of course. Just make sure you find it.” Julian marched off, his eyes already searching for someone or something else as he hurried away.

I immediately grabbed Teddy’s arm. “You’re helping me find it.”

“Jeez, you could ask nicely.”

“Considering you played a pretty big role in distracting me yesterday. . .” I stared at him pointedly.

“You had it with you?”

“You don’t remember seeing it in my hand?”

“I definitely wasn’t looking at your hands.”

“Alright, well.” I headed for the stairs. “Let’s go.”

We tiptoed up the stairs, down the hall, and into the spare room, which was thankfully as empty as it was the day before. I closed the door behind us, leaving it open a crack, and turned on the light.

The room was just as we’d left it, and there were only so many places I could have thrown the pile of synthetic hair.

As I glanced around, I tried not to lose myself in memories — how he’d come up behind me, gripping my hips with need.

Or how he’d splayed me on the sofa before burying his face between my legs. The way he’d moaned when he did it.

I shook my head, wiping away the images. Teddy was already peering around, clearly unaffected by what had happened here between us.

“You start on that side, and I’ll take this one,” I said, moving toward the far corner. It was unlikely that I would have tossed it behind the TV that had inexplicably been parked there, but you never knew. Maybe my arm was extra powerful when I was horny.

“Roger,” Teddy said. He moseyed over to a clothes rack, eyeing the garments that hung from the rail.

“I guarantee it’s not hanging there.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked already?”

“No, but I know for a fact I did not take the time to hang it up.” I bent to peer behind an armchair that looked like it was from the 1970s.

“And why’s that?”

I didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, so I promptly ignored him. If I wedged myself completely behind the chair, I could claim plausible deniability. And if I found the wig, even better. But all I found was dust bunnies.

“We haven’t talked about it, you know.” He said it softly, all the joking and teasing out of his voice.

I froze, still wedged behind the armchair. He wanted to talk about this now? I finished scooting out from behind the chair, praying I’d misheard. He was still next to the clothes rack, fiddling with a hanger.

“Do we need to?” I kept my voice light. Casual. Not at all panicky.

“I don’t know. I guess not. I had a good time, though.”

My heart clenched. I’d had a good time, too. Of course I had. But talking about it made it real, and if it was real, then it would have consequences. Frantically searching for a way to change the subject, I noticed a small piece of wood stuck in his hair.

“Do you have a wood chip on your head?”

Teddy’s hand swiped over his hair, quickly finding the offending splinter. “Oh. Yeah.”

I waited for him to elaborate. He did not. “Why?”

“I went to a woodworking class today.”

“A woodworking class? They have those?”

“Sure they do.” Teddy turned his attention to a large chest that looked like it’d crossed the ocean in the days of the Titanic . “Haven’t you ever felt the urge to make something out of wood?”

Sidestepping the obvious innuendo, I moved to the sofa. “Can’t say that I have. Is this an urge you feel regularly?”

“It’s relaxing. And it takes my mind off things. You can’t be anxious about making a phone call when you’re trying to make sure you don’t saw your finger off.”

I laughed. “That’s true. What did you make today?”

“Just a picture frame. They were only offering a beginner’s class.”

“So you’re an expert, then?” I teased.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He smiled, obviously pleased. “But I have been doing it since I was, like, six.”

“Six? I didn’t know woodworking tools were approved to be used by children.”

“Oh, they’re definitely not. My grandpa kept catching me sneaking into his shed to play with his tools and decided it’d be easier to teach me how to use them safely than to teach me how to leave them alone.

” He chuckled. “My mom hated it. She was so pissed when she came to pick me up and found me using a saw that was almost as big as I was.”

“I bet.”

Teddy shrugged. “She eventually changed her tune. I made her a set of built-in bookshelves last summer.”

“That’s really cool. I had no idea you were talented like that.” I was genuinely impressed. And I also understood. Crocheting wasn’t the same as woodworking, but it helped me relax and it was always satisfying to complete a project.

“You just thought I was talented in other ways, huh?” There was that wicked grin again. “And hey, look what I found.” Straightening from where he’d been bent over the chest, he stood — with my very disheveled-looking wig in hand.

“Oh my God, thank you.” I rushed over, reaching out to grab it. But at the last second, he stretched his arm straight above his head, sending the hairpiece very much out of my reach. I tried to jump and grab it, but to no avail.

“Hey!” I braced myself against his shoulder for leverage as I tried one more time, but he just stretched his arm even further.

“Tell me if you had a good time the other day. Here, with me.”

“No, it’s irrelevant.”

“Or you’ll have to go tell Julian you couldn’t find your wig.” He crooked a finger and used it to tip my head up towards his. “And do you want to have to do that?”

I stared at him, trying to suss out if he was serious. He was smiling but he also didn’t budge, his eyes boring into mine like a dare.

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

“That might have been my best performance. I need the feedback.”

“Oh, come on. Your best ever?”

“Definitely. I don’t pull out those moves for just anyone.”

He’d lowered his arm, the wig very much within reach, but I’d once again forgotten about it. Not just anyone. I hated to read into those words, but they were already making my heart squeeze.

“I had an ok time,” I finally admitted. I wanted to tell him that I’d had a fantastic time, an other-worldly good time, actually. But of course, I couldn’t.

“Just ok?” Teddy dropped the wig on the floor, placing his hands on my hips instead, drawing me closer ever so slowly.

My whole body hummed, feeling like it was fizzing and melting at the same time.

I looped my arms around his neck automatically, allowing our bodies to press together.

The cocky expression on Teddy’s face was gone, his eyes darkening as he looked down at me.

Maybe Mara was right. Would it be such a bad thing to give in and enjoy myself?

Shooting would only take a few more weeks, and after that I’d be gone. Hasta la vista, baby.

In the meantime. . .

Feeling reckless, I closed the space between us, pressing my lips to his.

I was done resisting, done pretending like I didn’t want this.

He immediately deepened the kiss, grabbing my ass and lifting me so my legs looped around his waist. I twined a hand in his shirt, trying to pull him closer than was actually possible.

I was alarmed at how desperate I was, how desperate my entire body was, for his touch.

He rolled my hips, rocking me against him, and I groaned into his mouth.

Footsteps.

Panting, we wrenched apart, glancing at each other wide-eyed. Rushing toward the door, I flicked off the light, shrouding us in darkness. Teddy crept up next to me, our shoulders pressing together as we leaned toward the door to listen.

It took me a moment to focus, trying to clear my brain from its sexually aroused fog.

But once I calmed my breathing enough to listen properly, I immediately recognized the voice.

It was Audrey, speaking in a hushed tone, like she was trying to avoid being overheard.

She paced the hallway, feet rumbling up and down, up and down the floorboards.

“. . . don’t need to worry, Mum,” she said in her posh British accent. “Everything’s going fine.” A pause. “Yes, I saw the article.”

I winced. The local paper had run a letter to the editor written by a member of the catering company claiming Brent’s death wasn’t an accident. Which, no shit. It had put Natasha in such a bad mood that she’d snapped at a PA earlier that morning for asking her if she needed a cup of coffee.

“It’s a relief he’s gone, honestly. He was fit, but he was a bit of a wanker. He even. . .” Her voice became inaudible as she wandered away.

“‘Fit’?” I mouthed to Teddy.

“It’s British for hot,” he whispered.

“I didn’t know you spoke British.”

He shrugged. “I’ve hung out with a couple girls from that Love Island show. A lot of them are Brits.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to think about Teddy hanging out with hot British women.

Or, sorry, fit British women. If the past twenty-four hours had taught me anything, it was that Teddy had a pretty loose definition of the phrase “hanging out.” But before jealousy could fully rear its non-fit head, Audrey’s voice drifted back into earshot.

“. . . no, nobody suspects anything, not. . . Oh, sorry.” She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her accent was gone — she now sounded decidedly un-British and instead straight out of the American Midwest. “Is that better? It’s become such a habit.

What was I saying?. . . Oh, yeah. The director is so damn worried about falling behind schedule, she wouldn’t notice — ”

My head snapped toward Teddy, whose own eyes had grown wide. Where had her accent gone? Had she been faking it this whole time? And what was the person on the other end worried people would suspect? I pressed myself closer to the wall, straining to hear better.

“No, I know. I know. No one’s going to find out though, I promise.” Her steps picked up again, this time heading our way. She was now dangerously close to our hiding spot, so close that if she stopped she would surely hear us breathe. I peeked through the crack in the door, unable to resist.

“That’s an idea,” Audrey continued. “Anywho, I’ve got to get going.”

I strained my eyes in the dim light, holding my breath as Audrey got closer. She reached up to swipe the hair out of her face as she passed, and there on her wrist, I saw Trevor’s friendship bracelet. The one his niece had made him.

The one that had been missing when he died.

“Please stop worrying. I’m keeping it under wraps.” Audrey gave a little laugh. “Mmm hmm. Bye-bye.”

My heart pounding, I listened to her descend the steps to the floor below. The conversation had been barely five minutes, but we’d learned a lot.

Audrey had been faking her accent.

There was something Audrey had to worry about people being suspicious of.

And Audrey possessed a missing piece of Trevor’s property, something he wouldn’t have let go of willingly.

I backed away from the door, shooting Teddy a look. His mouth was a grim line and his forehead was furrowed, suggesting he’d also seen what I had. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be anywhere near Audrey.