She reached out and touched his face as his steely grey eyes fixed on her. She felt him tense at her caress, but Lucy was glad he didn’t draw away. Her fingers moved lightly over the craggy planes of his face, across the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, tracing the fine lines of his cheekbones.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered, and a strange look came into his eyes.
“Dear one, you are so young,” his voice shook with emotion. “If you agree to this, know that I will strive to make you happy.” He took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “But I know that my age may prevent you from ever loving me the way I would wish to be loved.”
“I don’t see age,” Lucy said, her blue eyes serious, her tone fervent. “I see experience; I see adventure; I see so much I could learn from. Surely love—real love—is based on more than a number?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Then it is settled.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, drawing near to him, “It is settled. I am yours, Thornton. Yours.” And she pressed her lips gently to his…
“Cut. Okay, that’s good. Let’s move on.” Cosimo DeLuca’s voice was weary and the dark circles under his eyes obvious. Biba May shot the director a quick glance as she moved in to drape a robe around Stella’s shoulders, but Cosimo was lost in his notes already.
Stella, her blonde hair piled up under a 1920s Marcel Wave wig, glared at Biba. “I’m freezing. Be a bit quicker next time.”
Biba said nothing. She’d learned a long time ago that rising to Stella’s bait was never a good idea. Instead, she would just fix her dark brown eyes on the actress, and Stella would smirk. Biba never understood why Stella kept requesting her to be her assistant on set but, despite her bitchiness, Stella paid very well and having the odd cell phone thrown at her head was worth it. Besides, the second time Stella had gotten physical, Biba picked up the vase Stella had just hurled at her—and had thrown it right back, missing deliberately by an inch or so. Stella had been shocked…and then had burst into peals of laughter. “Quid pro quo, Biba May.”
Biba knew Stella liked her feistiness and the fact that she, Stella, could go on a full-blown rant, and Biba would listen to it all and then tell her exactly what she thought, whether Stella liked it or not.
Which wasn’t to say Stella liked Biba or anyone else, for that matter. Stella Reckless was the world’s biggest movie star, a staggering beautiful blonde with curves to die for, a wide smile that could break into the most infectious laughter. Stella didn’t give a fuck what people thought of her, rarely did anything for charity unless she got something out of it, and surrounded herself with her ‘squad’—a flotilla of easily replaceable minor actresses and pretty boys who never said boo to her and instead kissed her ass to the press.
Except Biba. Biba wouldn’t take any of her crap. An army brat, Biba May was used to tough people: her African American father, a hulking giant at nearly seven feet, was an army general, and her Creole mother was a major in the I Corps at the Joint Base Lewis–McChord just outside Tacoma. Biba had every intention of following her mother into the military until it was discovered at age fifteen that she had a heart murmur. After a failed surgery, Biba had spent her lengthy recovery watching old movies and falling in love with them, and she decided to pursue work as an assistant on movie sets. There she found a world where she could observe the inner workings of film and movie magic. Her natural efficiency and organizational skills had easily found a home behind the camera.
Often though, she was asked why she herself didn’t want to act. Biba rolled her eyes, aware of why they asked her. She knew people considered her beautiful—her gorgeously clear caramel skin, large dark eyes, short cropped black hair and curvy, petite figure drew admirers constantly, but she insisted on resolutely downplaying her physical beauty.
“Hey.” Someone nudged her now, and she turned to see her friend—her best friend as it turned out—Reggie, grinning at her. “You were out of it. Did Madame Lash need her ass kissed?”
Biba chuckled. “If she did, she came to the wrong person.” She looked around. “They setting up the next scene?”
Reggie, who was the cowriter of the film, nodded at Cosimo DeLuca, who was still reading his notes and talking in a low voice to his director of photography. “You met him yet?”
Biba shook her head. “Not yet. He seems…sad. I didn’t want to intrude by introducing myself. I mean, what does he care about a personal assistant?”
Reggie half-smiled. “Actually, he’s one of the good ones. Cares about everyone. Too much, I think, sometimes.”
“You know him well?”
“Not well, but I’ve worked with him a few times these past two years. His wife died a couple of years ago.”
Biba looked at the director. “So that’s what it is.”
“What?”
“The sadness. How did she die?”
“She was sick, I think. Died young, too, she was only thirty-three. They had a kid, too. Nicco. He lives with his grandmother in Seattle. Doesn’t see his dad much.”
Biba shook her head. “That’s terrible. Poor guy.”
Reggie moved away, and Biba took a moment to study the director. He was devastatingly handsome, or he would be if he didn’t wear his grief across every cell of his body. His dark curls were in disarray, there were purple shadows under his bright green eyes, and his thick brows were knotted and brooding. Biba’s eyes dropped down to his mouth, his lips, and found the curve of them sensual and appealing.
She realized that she was staring just as Cosimo looked up and met her gaze. A jolt of adrenaline—and of desire—shot through her stomach, and she looked away, embarrassed. Luckily, Stella grabbed her at that moment, and she was kept too busy for the next hour to process why she had felt such a shift in her soul when DeLuca looked at her.
They were filming at Lakewood Manor, a gorgeous Tudor-type Gothic house just outside of Tacoma, Washington—Biba’s hometown. So, she asked herself later as she trudged to Stella’s trailer, why haven’t you been home, May? She had made excuses to herself over the three days they had been in Washington, such as: they had only been there three days, things were always hectic at the beginning of a shoot and… and… and…
The truth was…she didn’t want to go home only to be made to feel like a child again. Her mother had never been the warmest person, and Biba’s father, with his fragile male ego, had taken his insecurities out on Biba from a young age. He could barely talk to her as an adult, but if Biba dared to get annoyed by it, Travis May would get verbally aggressive.
Biba loathed the idea of seeing him, not wanting to feel that sense of rage, betrayal, and injustice that her father kindled in her. Her mother…Biba had always felt that she was just an inconvenience to her mom, to their lives. She would never side with Biba over her father’s behavior.
Biba blew out her cheeks as she knocked at Stella’s trailer door and went in without waiting for a response. She felt the trailer moving and rolled her eyes. Stella must be in the bedroom with Damon.
Damon Tracy—or ‘Prick Tracy’ as he was called by the crew—was Stella’s latest paramour—not that Stella cared much for him. Biba hated Damon—he was as bland as a beige wall and as dumb as a bag of hammers, but he thought himself wildly appealing to the opposite sex—and had, on more than one occasion, flirted with Biba, his eyes roaming freely over her body. He had a habit of cornering her suggestively with seemingly innocent requests. Biba gave him short shrift, but that just seemed to encourage him.
Stella’s last boyfriend had been a sweetheart—Sasha, a businessman from Portland—and Stella had sent Biba to break up with him. Biba had been horrified and had burst into tears as Sasha took the news stoically, something she rarely did. Sasha had in turn comforted her, and they had remained good friends.
Damon? Biba would happily dump his ass for Stella, and knowing her boss, that day wasn’t far off.
The trailer stopped rocking now, and to Biba’s amusement, she heard Stella say, “Is that it? Jesus…”
Biba stifled a snort of laughter, but she didn’t hide her grin when Damon stomped out of the bedroom in his shorts, shooting her a glare as he pulled his jeans on and disappeared out the door. Stella appeared a moment later, seeing Biba’s grin. She shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to make him think he needs to up his game.”
Biba grimaced. “Rather you than me.”
Stella chuckled darkly. “I don’t think there’s much mileage left in Damon and I. Besides, I’ve got my eye on a much bigger prize.”
“God, who now?”
Stella grinned at Biba’s sarcastic tone. “Our delectable director, of course. You must have noticed how damn sexy that man is. God, Italian, too… I bet he fucks like an animal.”
Biba turned her face away, not wanting Stella to see how utterly thrilling that thought was to her. “He’s still mourning his wife, Stella. You might want to tread a little carefully.”
Stella made a noise. “Please. This is the movie business. I bet he was screwing his leading ladies the second the wife was put in the ground.”
She had a point, but somehow, Biba didn’t think Cosimo DeLuca was like other men. She changed the subject. “Want to go over tomorrow’s lines?”
Stella shrugged. “Sure. Then you can help me with a plan to seduce Cosimo. That man isn’t leaving Washington without being fucked by me.”
Sex was the last thing on Cosimo’s mind. He went through the day’s filming with his DP, Channing, and his assistant director and co-producer, Lars, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything. This movie wasn’t his first choice to make, but at least he had close friends on the crew, friends that understood that his priority, ever since Grace’s death, was to try to find common ground with Nicco, their sixteen-year-old son.
Cosimo tapped his phone’s screen and raised it to his ear. “Hey, Mom.”
Olivia DeLuca’s voice was warm. “Cos, how lovely to hear from you. How’s filming?”
“First day. Always a strange one. We’re shooting out of sequence, so the actors and crew haven’t built up that chemistry yet. Same old, same old. How’s Nicco?”
“Well…he likes his school, so that’s something. After that trouble at Olympia High, I thought we would never get him settled. Just a shame we had to go private to find his niche.”
“I’d pay any amount for that, Mom, so please don’t worry.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose he wants to speak to his dad today?”
Olivia sighed. “I’ll see, Cos, but don’t hold your breath.”
There was a long pause, and then Cosimo heard his son pick up the phone. “Yo.”
Cosimo, relieved, chuckled. “Yo back to you, too. How’s things?”
“Cool. School’s good.”
“Glad to hear it. What’s been going on?”
“Not much. Playing some football.”
Cosimo was surprised. “Really?”
Nicco gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, Dad. Surprise, surprise, your son’s good at something.”
Cosimo’s hands curled into fists. Here we go… “Nic, I’ve never thought you were bad at anything.”
“I don’t know, I’m a pretty shitty son.”
“You are not.” Nicco had been like this since his mother had died. They’d kept a lot of Grace’s illness away from Nicco, and when she had died so unexpectedly, Nicco had been away on a school trip. The last time he’d talked to Grace, he’d been distracted and had gotten irritated with her fussing—what he called fussing—over him and had snapped at her. He’d never forgiven himself for that—and he’d never forgiven Cosimo for keeping the severity of Grace’s illness from him. Cosimo felt the pain of that perceived betrayal every time he talked to or saw Nicco. He was losing his son, and he knew it.
“Whatever, Dad. How’s the filming?”
“Just got started. You know, if you wanted, you could come down here on the weekend, hang out, see what we do?”
There was a long pause. “I have a game this weekend.”
“Then I’ll come to you.” Cosimo had filming scheduled for both days, but he would let Channing direct them.
“Nah, you have work.” Nicco hesitated. “Maybe the weekend after, I could come down on the bus.”
“I’d like that.” Cosimo felt a wave of hope flow through him. “Love you, buddy.”
“Yeah.” Nicco’s voice had gone cold again. “Later, Dad.”
“Later, Nic.”
Cosimo heard the phone being handed back to his mother. Only Olivia DeLuca would still insist on a landline. “Hello, darling.”
“Hey, Mom. Nic says he might come down the weekend after next.”
“I heard. That’s wonderful, Cos.” There was a long pause. “Cosimo…try to be happy, son. I worry that you’re going into one of your hermit phases. I worry you’ll get depressed again.”
Cosimo rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine, Mom, honestly. It’s been two years, that’s all. I want to know how to move past it, but I’m stuck at the moment. It’ll work out.”
“Open your heart again, son,” Olivia said in a soft voice. “Grace would want you to find love again.”
“I know. Thanks, Mom.”
After he hung up, he half-heartedly made some notes before going out in the twilight down to the lake. The mansion was built alongside one of the biggest lakes in the area and the surrounding area was tranquil this late in the evening. Cosimo breathed in the night air, the sharp cold of it revitalizing his senses. It really was a beautiful place to film. The estate itself had been converted into a bed-and-breakfast some years ago and refurbished to an exquisite standard. The movie studio had bought out the rooms for the duration of the shoot, and some of the cast and crew were staying in the bedrooms that weren’t used for filming. Cosimo looked back at the mansion now, lit up and warm. He knew he should be grateful for this job, and he was—he loved directing—but lately, he had been craving more solitude. Maybe his mom was right—he was becoming a grumpy old hermit again.
He shook his head and began to walk down to sit at the lake’s edge. He heard a dog bark and looked around to see a German Shepard, one he recognized as the caretaker’s dog, bounding around a slight figure who was brandishing a tree branch. The other end was in the dog’s mouth, and they were playing tug-o-war with it. He heard the woman laughing and pretending to growl at the dog, and squinting through the gloom, he recognized Stella’s personal assistant—Biba? Was that her name?—teasing the dog, and then rolling and playing with it on the grass.
Cosimo smiled. Sweet. He watched for a few minutes from his lakeside seat. The girl saw him as she was about to turn and go back inside. For a long moment they gazed at each other, reading the other’s expression, and he saw her give him a slightly embarrassed wave. He raised his hand to wave back, but she had already turned to go back inside.
Cosimo turned back to the lake, but his mind remained on the young woman. He knew Stella Reckless was a mean boss, but this girl seemed to have the measure of her, and that intrigued him. He also knew Stella had been batting her eyes at him for the last three days, and he really didn’t want to go there. Stella Reckless was not his type at all—he preferred nerds, like him—girls that would talk to him about something other than Hollywood, parties, or the Kardashians. Grace had been the biggest science geek and had been applying to NASA when she got sick.
He sighed and got up, walking slowly back to the mansion. His mom might be on him to find someone new, but Cosimo knew—she would have to be very special indeed.
He watched the director walk back to the mansion before slipping back into the woods. He’d been delighted when he discovered they’d been filming here. Open woods, the lake—these would all make it easier for him to get closer to Stella. Soon, he would contact her and make it known that he was there for her—in every way a man could be there for a beautiful woman like Stella Reckless. No one would stand in their way of their epic, once-in-a-lifetime love story…and God help anyone that tried…