Surreal

It all seemed so surreal, sitting on the quiet beach looking out at the horizon. But it was real. And after months of living in paradise, Rome had decided all of the running was for naught. He wanted to come back. Not to face his parents, but to make movies again. He’d arranged for them to sneak back into California, and to Ella’s knowledge, no one was aware that she was really Lloyd Sinders’s daughter, save a few people who worked for them, two of her aunts, a handful of friends, and Fae. It wasn’t until they’d come back to California that Rome found out his parents had sold the production company, on the condition he would make ten films under the new ownership. By the time Rome had discovered Henry was the new owner, it was too late for him to refuse.
Which placed Ella in her current position. In order to prevent her husband from being tortured daily for up to five years, making movies for a miserable man, she needed to earn Henry’s trust, perhaps even his love, and then take back what should’ve never been his to begin with.
It all sounded so sinister when she went over it in her head, but Ella knew her mission wasn’t evil. On the contrary, it would set right many wrongs.
It wouldn’t bring Tim and Mark back, though. It wouldn’t bring her back either, for that matter. She was the only one who could do that. Every day, she contemplated calling her father and telling him the truth. She didn’t though. Knowing that he was struggling with the part he’d played in her apparent suicide both saddened her and made her feel slightly avenged. If he had taken her side against her stepmother…. If he’d taken her side and allowed her to continue with her marriage to Rome instead or driving them apart and trying to force her to marry Henry…. If he’d done one thing differently, maybe the feeling she had that her father deserved to continue thinking that he was at least partially responsible for her actions would fade. So far, in all of the months since her world had been turned upside down, she hadn’t gotten over the idea that he needed to feel the same pain she’d felt when she’d been torn away from Rome.
The worry that he might recognize her had faded, despite her popularity. Rome had convinced her not to have any sort of permanent work done on her face, but that hadn’t stopped Ella from transforming the way she looked. Her skin was darker than it had ever been. Her hair was shorter and red. Thanks to colored contacts, her eyes were a different color. She’d put on a large quantity of muscle. But perhaps most of all, she carried herself differently. Juliet was so much more confident than Ella had ever been. Her father could’ve been standing in the same room with her and not recognized her.
Not that he traveled in the circles she was popular with now. He was in Europe at the moment and had been for much of the time she’d been in LA. In fact, the amount of minutes Ella had spent in the same room with her father since her mom died were likely less than two hours in total. Maybe if he’d paid more attention to his daughter when he had the chance, a good look at Juliet Montague would make him realize he needed to question who she truly was.
Ella had also been concerned that one of her two stepsisters might recognize her. But neither one of them was the brightest bulb in the bunch, and even though they both wanted to be famous actresses, they didn’t know much about the LA art scene. She hadn’t seen either of them in person since she’d faked her own death and didn’t expect to. Likewise, their mother, Teresa, wasn’t one to attend art shows either. She did read tabloids, though, and it was possible she might see a photo of Ella. The chances of her figuring out who she was truly looking at were slim, though. Teresa’s tree was fairly close to where her apples had fallen.
Her phone chirped, causing her to pick it up again. It was almost as if Henry Caron was reading her mind. He’d sent her a text that read, “What are your plans this evening?”
For weeks, she’d been putting him off. He’d asked similar questions more times than she could count, and she’d dodged him every time because she couldn’t even picture herself sitting across a table from him. But it was time to face the music, and she knew it. The longer she put it off, the harder it would be for her to actually go through with the task when the time came. Besides, she’d been mysterious and alluring for long enough. Now, it was time to start reeling him in.
She didn’t want to look too accessible, though. “Tonight is booked. But I have time for a drink tomorrow around 7:00 if you’re free.” She typed it in quickly, already having decided that was a good response, should Henry ask. She’d cleared it with Rome that morning who knew far more about how to flirt than she did. He also understood exactly what a man needed to hear in order to feel strung along.
It didn’t take long at all for Henry to answer, which made him seem more than a little desperate to Ella. “Tomorrow night would be great. Meet me at Chavet?”
She knew the club, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d never been there before. Perhaps it was one that her assistant, Tucker, had mentioned. He was always going out, trying to be part of the hip scene. “Sounds good,” Ella sent back. “I’ll try not to be late.” She said that only because she knew she would intentionally be late and wanted to seem as if she was just so busy she might not be able to help it.
“I’ll be waiting. Looking forward to it,” Henry replied. Ella swallowed hard, picking up her water bottle and trying to keep down the contents of her stomach. Thinking about flirting with Henry, letting him touch her, made her sick. She’d have to figure out a way to get over that because she couldn’t go through with her plans without at least some mild touching. In fact, if she was truly going to carry out what she had planned, she’d probably have to go far beyond a few incidental touches.
The idea made her nose wrinkle. At one time, she’d thought Henry a polite young man, someone who could potentially be a friend. She’d been having a cup of tea with him when she’d gotten the news that Tim was dead. He’d been kind enough to drive her and her aunt, Tim’s mother, to the morgue. It wasn’t until after her father had told Ella that he’d make sure her marriage to Rome was annulled so that she could marry Henry that the Frenchman had shown his true colors. He wasn’t the kind, thoughtful gentleman she’d taken him for. He was a monster--looking out for himself no matter what it cost others.
The thought of his mouth on hers, on her body, left her visibly shaking.
When she’d told Rome about her plan, he hadn’t been at all comfortable with the idea of Henry touching her either. But he had understood her compulsion to not only get vengeance on Henry for not stepping in and helping her with her father, he also understood her other reasoning, her plan to keep Henry from controlling Rome’s life. He’d told her, “There have been lots of scenes I’ve had to do with women I’m not particularly attracted to, including kissing, and even a few love scenes. It’s part of being an actor Ella, and even if we don’t like it, we put our head down and push through it. If I can do it, so can you.”
The thought of Rome kissing another woman or pretending to sleep with her didn’t sit well with Ella either, though she accepted it as part of his job--the way he’d have to accept her “relationship” with Henry. He’d given her some pointers, but she didn’t know if she could do it. He might play off his talents as an actor, but just because Rome was capable of doing something, that didn’t mean just anyone could. He was an accomplished actor, after all, and she wasn’t an actress--at all.
Or at least she hadn’t been a few months ago when she’d started all of this. Now that she was Juliet Montague, she could be an actress if she needed to be. She could be someone who was interested in Henry Caron if she had to be. She could be anything she wanted to be.
Satisfied that she’d find a way to do whatever she needed to do, Ella gathered her items and headed back to the house. She had work to do, and as much as she enjoyed staring at the ocean and clearing her mind, finding her muse, and digging inside of her soul, the real work would need to be done back at the house, the same house that had been the inspiration for Fae and brought the two of them together.
With her feet still in the sand, Ella paused and looked up at the house. It was a beautiful sight any time of day, but with the rising sun reflecting off of the white paint, it held a certain glow about it that brought her a peace she couldn’t put into words. Perhaps she could put it into a painting, though. Finding her inspiration for the day, Ella continued on her way to the house, certain she could do anything she put her mind to, including pretending to be interested in Henry Caron.