Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(69)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t support you. I moved down here for you. I thought you realized how I felt.”

“I thought you moved down here so that you could control every aspect of my career.”

“I made it hard to think otherwise.”

I nodded.

He held up a book I hadn’t realized was in his hand. His finger was holding his place about halfway through. “I’m reading it.”

“Reading what?”

He turned the cover toward me. “Dancing Graves.”

“What do you think so far?”

“It’s good.”

“Did you buy that? I have a copy in my car, you know.”

“I bought it. And it just occurred to me that I’m going to have to buy another when they redo the cover with the movie edition.” He dropped his hand back to his side. He looked a little defeated.

“Dad, I promise I’m not going to go wild and crazy.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“Will you stop loving me if I do?”

“No. I’ll always love you.”

I smiled. “Then either way, we’re good, right?”

He laughed a little and opened his arms. I stepped into his hug.

He kissed the top of my head. “I’m not going to let you stop doing your homework.”

“Don’t worry, Donavan won’t let me stop either, so I think we’re good there.”

“I chose a pretty good tutor, yes?”

I bit my lip and looked up at him. “If I told you that I’m dating him now would that count as going wild . . . or crazy?”

He tilted his head in thought. “Really? I thought he’d be too straitlaced for you.”

“He is. But there’s this weird thing I learned: apparently I can’t plan everything that happens. That’s a good lesson for you to learn too.”

He let out a single laugh. “It is. And I’m learning it.”

“Good.”

“Well, I approve of Donavan, not that my approval matters for much with you right now.”

“It does, Dad. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It matters a lot. It’s all I’ve wanted these past couple of months.”

“You have it.”

I gave my dad one last squeeze, then said, “I’m going to be late.”

“Good luck with the drama. And just to be clear: this is something you don’t want me to get involved in?”

“Dad,” I said with a sigh.

“Okay, so no. See, I’m learning.”

If I thought my dad would be able to do anything about this, it might be something I wanted him involved in. But I’d already talked to Remy. He didn’t believe me. Having my dad swoop in was not going to make Remy want to hire me again or give me a good reference. Plus, I had a plan.





Dancing Graves


INT. LORD LUCAS’S LAB—NIGHT

SCARLETT perches on the windowsill outside her father’s lab, the place she had seen BENJAMIN sneaking into. He pulls a small leather pouch from his belt, looks around, and dumps the contents into the vials on the table, damaging any chance one might have been the cure. Scarlett growls and he turns.

SCARLETT

You betrayed us.

BENJAMIN

No. I’m trying to help.

SCARLETT

I don’t believe you.

SCARLETT lunges at him with a rusty metal fence post and drives it through his shoulder. She stands over him as crimson blood spills onto the marble floor. EVELIN appears in the doorway and gasps. Scarlett yanks the post from Benjamin’s shoulder and turns slowly, blood dripping off the tip.

EVELIN

It’s me, Scarlett. Don’t do this.





SCARLETT advances on her.





Thirty-Four


As I pulled down the dirt road that led to the camp, I saw the first set of security guards up ahead. They were stationed at a row of barricades. I stopped, powered down my window, and waved.

“Hi, Lacey,” the one on the right said as he moved a barricade for my car to go through.

“Hi. Thanks.”

I drove through and parked in the first small lot next to a black car with duct tape on the bumper. I narrowed my eyes. I’d been in it only once, but I knew that car. It was Donavan’s. Why was he here? Especially when he should’ve been at school. I jumped out of my car and walked quickly to my trailer. He wasn’t there.

Past the trailers, before the path that led to the filming in the trees, was a small amphitheater surrounding a fire pit and stage. That’s where I saw two guys standing and talking. Grant and Donavan.

Was Donavan “interviewing” him? Did he think Grant was a suspect, after all? I looked at my phone. I was supposed to be sitting in a makeup chair right now. I sent Simone a text: Give me ten minutes.

I knocked on Amanda’s trailer door. She answered, and when she saw it was me, a hopeful expression took over her face.

“You want to help me with something?” I asked. If she was being truthful about not trying to sabotage me, she could prove it to me now by backing me up with Grant.

She hopped down the two steps and shut the door behind her. “With what?”