‘That was perfection, Ana,’ Robin gushed. ‘Always a great sign when things go so well on a first take. Keep it up and we’ll have this thing wrapped in three days.’
* * *
Unfortunately the second day went in the opposite direction. Rain disrupted half a day’s shoot, fraying tempers and causing diva fits from Xander.
By the middle of day three Ana’s feet hurt and her whole body was mired in physical and emotional exhaustion. Striking poses for the photographer in charge of taking the stills—a tyrant who hid behind a perfectionist label—wasn’t going as smoothly as the filming had.
She heard the photographer’s annoyed huff one more time and suppressed her own huff. She wanted to scream, to tell him to take his camera and shove it somewhere dark and disturbing.
Swallowing her irritation, she tried another pose.
With another curse the photographer lowered his camera. ‘This isn’t working, Ana. Your shoulders are all hunched up. Relax!’
She gritted her teeth.
‘Think of something evocative...naughty. A lover kissing the back of your neck.’ He smirked.
Heat unfurled in her stomach as the image of Bastien doing exactly that rose in her mind. Her cheeks flushed, her body reacting instantly.
‘Yes! That’s it. Now, look straight into the camera!’
Ana responded to the directive automatically. The shutter clicked several times before she could wipe the look off her face. Shame drenched her as the photographer crooned his approval. Even after she’d lowered her eyes he clicked away.
The minute he took a break she sprang to her feet and rushed out, but the refrain in her head wouldn’t stop.
She loved him.
She loved Bastien.
The knowledge swamped her, wrapped tight around her heart, sent a dizzying wave of warmth through her even as her heart broke with the knowledge that she’d never have him.
Keep it together. Keep it together.
Somehow she made it through the rest of the afternoon and the next day without crumbling into a heap of pathetic hopelessness and bawling her eyes out.
Perhaps Robin was right and she was a natural, because she even managed the passion required for the final tower scene in which her onscreen lover presented her with the Crown Jewel—the signature marquise-cut yellow Heidecker diamond.
By simply closing her eyes and imagining she was kissing Bastien the scene was shot in a single take.
And, best of all, no one knew her heart was breaking into a million little pieces.
THE SHOOT WRAPPED just after midday, only half a day later than scheduled. Ana’s bags were packed, Bastien was gone and she had no right to be here when he returned. She had no intention of sullying the Château D’Or with her presence for longer than necessary.
She was packing away the last of the clothes Bastien had bought her when Xander entered her room and plonked himself on the antique armchair.
‘You’re coming out tonight, right?’
Tatiana had booked an exclusive restaurant and bar in Montreux for the wrap party but Ana had no interest in celebrating. ‘I was thinking of giving it a miss—’
‘No way. You’re the belle of the ball. You don’t go— I don’t go.’
‘Xander—’
‘There won’t be any paps around, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not.’
His face became unusually thoughtful. ‘Are you worried about those absurd drug charges?’
She froze. In the midst of falling in love with a man she could never have she’d shoved all thoughts of her upcoming trial to the back of her mind. They flooded back now. ‘Absurd or not, they’re real.’
He nodded. ‘Do you have any idea who put the hook into you?’
‘No, but thanks for not assuming I’m guilty.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Please—you go green if anyone so much as mentions taking an aspirin. You could be the poster child for a universal anti-drug campaign.’
‘That doesn’t give me any idea of who did it.’
He eyed her silently for several seconds, making her heart race.
‘Xander...?’
‘I’m not pointing fingers, but perhaps you need to look closer to home for the culprit. And I mean home in the literal sense.’
Her heart lurched. ‘Are you sure?’
He shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is explore that avenue thoroughly.’ He jumped up and pecked her on the cheek. ‘Now, doll yourself up. It’s time to par-tay.’
About to refuse again, she paused.
She was in love with a man she’d wronged beyond forgiveness. In the middle of the night, racked with pain and guilt, she’d toyed with calling Tatiana to find out where he was. In the end she’d decided the best thing to do was to give him his space.
There would be time for nursing her broken heart later. Once she was far away from here.
She’d achieved what she’d set out to do for Bastien—salvage his ad campaign. To cause tongues to wag now would undo all the good she’d done, and refusing to attend the party would do just that.
‘Okay, I’ll come.’
Xander whooped on his way out, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone.
She chose a designer outfit that was more of a tunic than a dress. Its large sleeves covered her arms, but the bold, colourful, striped dress stopped at mid-thigh. Hoping it lent her an urgently needed vibrancy, she cinched it with a bronze diamante-studded belt and bronze high heels. Leaving her hair loose, she expertly applied her make-up and headed downstairs.
The trip to Montreux took less than half an hour.
The Hotel Suisse’s Belle Epoque private dining suite had been reserved exclusively for their use. Appreciative murmurs went through a crowd who, even used to working in an industry of blatant wealth, weren’t used to such extravagance.
Ana tried to feel joy in her surroundings but failed miserably. Desolation crashed over her, closely followed by the pain she felt every time she thought of Bastien.
She loved him. He would never love her.
But, with time, would he love another? Jealousy, hot and fierce, seared her at the thought of him married, perhaps raising children with another woman. By the time that happened—please God—she’d be at the opposite end of the earth with no access to newspapers or television. Because Ana didn’t think she could stand it. She couldn’t stand thinking about it now—
‘Hey, Ana, my Twitter fans are asking about you. You want to say something to them?’ Xander shoved his phone under her nose.
She froze, the familiar wave of shame gripping her as she stared at the phone.
‘Type in any message you want.’
She took the phone and carefully typed in five letters, feeling a quiet sense of triumph when she succeeded. Xander looked at the screen.
‘“Hello”? That’s all you’re going to say to two million