Chapter Three
Amelia
Shooting was to take place in Chicago, so our flight was for 4:00 a.m. Yet it was now 7:00 a.m., and we were still on the tarmac waiting for none other than Noah Sloan.
“He’s unbelievable.”
“Think on the positive side, at least you get to finish the book,” Ollie whispered. He was sitting opposite me and slid over the novel.
I leaned back against the seat, flipping the book open to the fifth chapter just as the pompous ass came in with sunglasses, dressed in dark blue jeans, a casual shirt, and a leather jacket.
“So sorry we’re late,” his manager said, beside him. Noah didn’t say a word. He sat down in the seat opposite mine and next to Ollie’s, and immediately leaned back. He did not care about the producer that sat in the seat behind him.
“No good—” I started.
“Amelia,” Ollie leaned in, whispering. “What is it about him that boils your blood like this?”
“He’s just a horrible human being. That should make anyone upset,” I said, softly gripping my book. I’d never gone to school, but I’d acted in enough TV shows and movies to know there is always that one bully. Noah was mine.
“Sorry we all can’t all be princesses,” Noah yawned, turning his head toward me. “You are horrible at whispering.”
Do not engage. Nothing you say, Amelia, will change him.
“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll work on it.” I forced a smile before opening the book again.
He gave a snide laugh. I tried to focus.
“Did you get to the part where Blair sucks Damon off in the car yet?” he asked, just as the plane started to move. I dropped the book, much to his amusement. “I guess not.”
“I’m still in the beginning,” I replied, reaching back down to get it.
“I have to give you credit, London. Who knew you’d be bold enough to read erotica in front of people? Then again— never mind.”
My teeth gritted together. How had he not changed in all these years? He was even worse now. I gripped the armrest when we took off and didn’t relax until we were completely in the air. When the seat belt sign went off, Noah rose from his seat, taking off his glasses and standing over me.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Let’s read lines,” he said and glanced over to Ollie, giving him some sort of signal to leave. Ollie complied, moving to the other side of the private jet. Noah sat down right in front of me, rubbing his eyes tiredly rather than focusing on me.
“You look like you were up all night,” I said.
“I was.” He winked.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a script. “Who was it now, a Victoria’s Secret model? No—two Victoria’s Secret models?”
“Jealous?” he asked.
“As if.” I scoffed. “I feel sorry for them. You use them for sex and toss them away like used tissues.”
“They know what they’re getting into. I’m just as much a notch in their belts as they are in mine. Not everyone is as prudish as you.” His eyes never left mine. It felt like he was looking right through me.
“I’m not a prude.”
“Yeah, okay—”
“Didn’t you want to read lines? Where is your script?”
“Just start from where you would like.”
“Fine,” I muttered, opening to the middle. “‘Do you ever think of quitting?’”
“‘What would I do?’” Noah replied, staring at me.
I shifted in my seat but kept reading. “‘Anything we want to do? We could go to Paris, Rome, Istanbul. Anywhere, just you and me—”
“‘You still haven’t answered my question, Blair. What would we do, not where would we live. We’re thieves—always have been and always will be. Or is that not who you are anymore?’” I glanced up at him as he recited it perfectly, his voice annoyed and steady.
“‘Damon—‘”
“‘Answer me. Are you done? If you want to go, babe, then go. But I can’t go with you. This is who I am until the day I die. I don’t know how to do anything else. I don’t want to do anything else. My two greatest joys in life are taking what I want and taking you. I’d rather resent myself for not being able to walk away than resent you for making me give this up.’”
After that scene, Blair strips down and kisses down his chest.
So I flipped to another section and read “‘What do you mean what did I do?’”
“‘I told you to knock him out, not kill him.’”
I paused, putting the script down to look at Noah, who was still staring at me. “You memorized the whole script?”
He finally looked at me, confused. “Haven’t you?”
No, I hadn’t. Most of my lines, but not to the point where he was.
“You’ve gotten lazy.” He closed the book and slid it back to me. “The old Amelia used to know every line of all her scripts to the point where she would correct the other actors.”
“Yeah, and you’d call me annoying or make fun of me,” I muttered, looking out the window. The clouds drifted right by us.
“I was a kid.”
“And what’s your excuse now that you’re an adult?”
He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, sighing before asking, “When are you going to stop holding the past against me?”
When it no longer hurts to think about.
“Why should I? After all these years, it’s not like you’re a different person. Like always, everything must work on your time. You were horrible then, and you’re still horrible now,” I snapped, which stirred a few people around me. Smiling apologetically to them, I focused my attention back on Noah.
“You have no idea what it was like dating you,” he said, shaking his head. “The amount of pressure you added to my life then. Jesus. I felt like I couldn’t walk out of the bathroom without some bastard telling me, ‘Don’t break Amelia’s heart. Don’t do anything stupid. How’d you manage to date Amelia?’ My favorite were the times when people thought we shouldn’t be together because they saw us play siblings. Dating you was a nightmare.”
“What?” My mouth dropped open. He could have shot me in the face, and it still would have felt better than hearing that.
He frowned and shrugged like it was nothing to him. “Do you remember just how many fan letters you got each day and how many parents would bring their kids to set? You were always surrounded by guys, all of them trying to date you. All of them taking your attention away. All of that on top of the fact that we never saw each other. Our relationship was doomed from the start. The only love that lasts in Hollywood is the one we fake and sell to others.”
“So back then, you figured, ‘Hey why not just end it sooner?’ Is that why you cheated on me?”
“Now that you know, maybe you’ll be able to stop grumbling over me and focus on your work.” He yawned, leaning back and closing his eyes.
“Wow.” I had no words.
“Let’s call a truce already.”
“Fine,” I replied, still trying to wrap my head around his confession. It didn’t make sense, and it only pissed me off more.
I was sixteen! He had no idea how it felt waking up one morning and finding out in the paper that he’d been spotted making out with some model. I felt like the world had crumbled at my feet. I cried for days. Now he was telling me it was my fault and that I should get over it already.
Glancing up at him and noticing how his chest rose and fell over and over again, I couldn’t help but remember the times we did have together. He would surprise me in my trailer with gummy bears—only the red kind—and leave a handwritten note with two words on it: “You’re beautiful.”