Good at Being Alive(49)

I swallow hard. Just because you have an impulse to do something doesn’t mean you have to act on it. And I definitely won’t act on it, but bloody hell, I think of it often.

Her stilettos echo across the marble floor as she takes her suitcase over to a bellman, then turns my way. “You need a cover-up for that cover-up,” I grunt as she approaches, taking careful, tiny steps. “And why the hell are you wearing high heels to go on a boat?”

She rolls her eyes, moving toward the revolving door. “You don’t actually think this was my decision, do you? I just wore what Mindy told me to wear.”

“Go get the sandals,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes at the gawking bellboys and valets. “I’ll have the crew wait.”

She shrugs. “I’m trying not to piss anyone off this early in the process. Besides, I’d have to unpack the whole suitcase.”

When the van appears, she’s ogled equally by the valets and Caden as she climbs in. I’d pay a thousand bucks to put her in a full-coverage robe and a pair of flip-flops right now.

“Lars isn’t available this morning,” says Caden. “Paula’s directing and I’m AD1.”

Excellent. I’ll be taking direction from Caden, then. Caden, who has checked out Bex at least ten times in the past minute. I can’t possibly see how this could go awry.

We careen down a steep, twisty road carved into a cliff face and pull up behind the other van at the marina. Caden jumps down from the passenger seat and waits by the van’s sliding door, eager to help Bex out.

“I’ve got it,” I bark, bumping him out of the way and helping Bex climb down in the ridiculous shoes.

“Fucking take them off,” I demand. “If you try to climb those rocks in heels you’re going to break something. Mindy isn’t all-knowing.”

“I’m not sure I want to climb them barefoot either.”

She’s right. And I can only see one solution at present, one solution I’d prefer not to employ, but fuck it. I swoop her up into my arms, as if she’s a bride being carried over a threshold, and continue to walk, ignoring her surprised gasp.

“Wait,” calls Caden. “We’re not ready.”

“Not everything is a performance,” I growl, ignoring him and trying very hard to ignore the fact that it’s her bare thighs resting on my forearms.

Bex raises her sunglasses, her eyes twinkling up at me. “I didn’t know you were capable of this much chivalry, babe.”

“It’s not chivalry,” I reply. “I’m just sick of wasting time.”

She smiles, wrapping her arms around my neck. “That reminds me of this poem. ‘Porphyria worshipped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do …all her hair In one long yellow string I wound / Three times her little throat around.’?”

I frown. “Is this more Byron? I can’t really masturbate here.”

She laughs. “No, this time it’s Browning. Also British, obviously—you guys are a laugh a minute. It’s about a guy who loves this girl Porphyria but doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, so he strangles her to death.”

I suppose, in this scenario, I’m the guy and she’s Porphyria. She’s joking, but inside me those words echo like a rung bell, one I hurry to silence.

“Maybe Porphyria was mouthy,” I say, setting her down abruptly. “You can’t assume he didn’t have his reasons.”

She dons her heels, grasping my arm for balance as a wave rocks the dock beneath us, before climbing aboard the waiting boat. I follow, poised to grab her the minute those heels become an issue.

We sit on the prow while the crew gets set to shoot, graced with yet another view straight out of a postcard. The sky is the same deep blue as the sea this morning, broken only by the cliffs and the old stone homes clustered along them. There are trees at the top—a vineyard, perhaps? An olive grove? I was never much of an explorer—I left that to Kieran—but I wouldn’t mind an extra day here with Bex to see what we missed.

If we could do so without the bloody cameras following us, that is.

Paula and Caden approach with LJ behind them. “Are you both ready?” Paula asks.

We nod, and then Caden looks us over and tips his chin at Bex. “Take off the cover-up.” He’s smirking, as if it’s an inside joke, and I don’t know what the joke would be, but I dislike the idea of them holding a single unchaperoned conversation. “We need some eye candy if we’re not gonna have you miked.”

She sheds the robe and Jesus…Mindy must have bought a child’s bikini with as little as it covers. Bex stands in front of the whole crew with far too much skin on display: lean legs, flat stomach, surprisingly ample chest. And as brazen as she is, as apt as she is to talk about her vibrator with a relative stranger, there’s a flush to her cheeks, her arms wrapped around herself.

She knows these people. She helped Jon choose the diamond he purchased. She helped LJ’s kid write a history paper, and now she’s practically nude in front of them all. Her discomfort is palpable.

Caden wolf whistles. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

I’ve had it. “Keep objectifying her and commenting on how she looks and I’ll make you regret you ever signed on to this show.” I turn. “Bex, put the cover-up back on.”