Romy Sommer - To Catch a Star

Tessa pulled out a notebook and pen, and the call sheet Robbie, the Second Assistant Director, had provided her with, and scribbled notes. Christian was very specific about what he ate, when he ate, and how he liked his life run. If this was easy-going, she’d hate to know what a more demanding star would be like.

She was almost relieved when the fitting was over. The three of them left the wardrobe ladies bagging up the costumes to ship to Los Pajaros, and headed back through the maze of corridors to the rehearsal room.

Her relief was short-lived.

This wasn’t a group of people sitting around a table reading from a script. The rehearsal was a sword-fighting practice. With both men barefoot and stripped down to their jeans.

Tessa sat mutely in the corner, eyeing them over the top of the folder of printed-out emails from Christian’s publicist that remained unread, and tried to look as if two half-naked men trying to smack each other with dulled swords was an everyday thing.

The swords may not have been lethal, but they weren’t play-things either. They looked heavy, and the sound that rang out when they struck was pure metal on metal.

The two men were equally matched. Dominic’s skill was greater, but Christian was quick on his feet. There was something familiar in the way he moved: light and graceful, but she couldn’t quite place it. She rubbed her brow and the sense of déja-vu disappeared.

She hadn’t yet learned anything that wasn’t in the file her father had shown her. The first few pages, Christian’s official biography according to Wikipedia, IMDB and a dozen other websites, held no mention at all of his family or his childhood. Transcripts of various press interviews were less than helpful. They frequently contradicted one another and never asked the important questions. The gaps had been filled by the woefully short single-page report gathered by her father’s intelligence people.

Christian had been born on Los Pajaros, only child of a single mother, which was still a stigma in the islands. There was no father named on his birth certificate. He’d been in and out of trouble from a young age. Then mother and son had suddenly moved to Los Angeles when he was fourteen. And that was where Christian Hewitt became Christian Taylor. It was almost as if they’d wanted to disappear.

Tessa’s father had marked the print-out with a big, bold question mark. She knew what he wanted to know. Not just “ why?” but “how?” How could a single mother, working as a school teacher, afford to move countries to start a new life in middle-class suburbia in California?

They’d cut all ties to Los Pajaros. There was no mention of his being born or raised there in any of his official biographies. She rubbed her forehead.

The only new information Tessa had for her father was that Christian wasn’t wearing the ring now. She couldn’t have missed it if she tried. His bare chest glistened with a sheen of sweat as he and Dominic danced around each other, moving slower as they tired.

“Enough,” Christian said, breathing hard.

“You’re getting soft.” But Dominic’s laugh was just as breathy. “Are you letting this ‘being a movie star’ thing get to your head?”

“Never!”

They sheathed their swords and Christian turned to her. “I’m going to take a shower, then we can head back to my hotel.”

Tessa nodded and glanced at her watch. She needed to check in with her father. And Anna. And she needed to call Stefan. What time was it in New York anyway?

While the two men hit the showers, she made the most urgent call of all, to her dress designer. “I’m so sorry, Anton. Something’s come up. Is there any way we can re-schedule for later?”

She was going to have to put the wedding together in what little down-time her new job offered. This was one of those moments in life where the presence of a mother would have been good. Someone who could choose floral arrangements and discuss menus, and all the other stuff she still had to tick off her to-do list. For the first time in her life, she was going to have to leave the details to other people.

Anton wouldn’t let her go without an explanation. She could practically hear him drooling down the phone at the mention of Christian’s name. “You change your mind, love, and I’ll take the job!”

She smiled.

Christian emerged from the adjacent bathroom, his short hair still damp. “It’s a miracle: she smiles!”

She ended the call, her smile turning to a frown. “What are you wearing?”

“The usual.” He looked down at the old jeans and baggy sweatshirt he now wore. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re fine if you’re planning to be mistaken for a homeless person.” She’d thought Hollywood actors were obsessed with looking good.

Christian grinned. “You sound just like my stylist.”

She switched back to professional mode. “Gerry arranged for your car to meet you at the front entrance.”

“Tell him not to bother. You know where I stay. You can take me.”

She pursed her lips. She remembered way too vividly how he filled the space in her little car. But she’d promised her father she’d stick with this until she could get the intel he needed. The sooner she found out what they needed to know, the better. And where better to start asking questions than alone in her car?

Christian matched her pace as she strode out to the car park, texting his driver as she walked.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, practically jogging to keep up. “Or are you just eager to get rid of me so you can get to your hot date?”

That was a little closer to the truth. She’d love to get rid of him. The quicker she could get this job over and done with, the happier she’d be.

She slowed her pace. “How did you know about the Tortuga curse?”

She tried not to seem as if she was holding her breath. If he lied outright about having grown up in the islands, her work was going to be much tougher.

They reached her car, and Christian moved around to the driver’s door and held it open for her to climb in. His manners surprised her. Or maybe he was just avoiding her question.

He only answered when they were buckled inside. “I lived on the island of Arelat in the Los Pajaros islands until I was fourteen.”

She let go the breath she’d been holding. “The curse doesn’t bother you? You’ll be filming there in a few weeks.”

“I’ve been away from the islands long enough not to believe that old claptrap any more. But on Los Pajaros, the belief is still alive and well.”

“Why did you leave?”

He fiddled with the radio channels and Tessa gritted her teeth. Even Stefan knew better than to touch her pre-programmed settings.

Christian finally settled on a rock station, as far from her favourite classical station as one could get.

“This is a sweet ride. I bet she can do nought to hundred in four seconds.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Will you let me drive her sometime?”

“No.”

He leaned back with his elbow on the window frame, his gaze fixed on her. “Tell me about yourself.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the road. “There’s not much to tell.” She didn’t need to look to know he grinned at her. But she looked anyway. His eyes, an unexpectedly bright blue, so unusual against his dark skin, were mesmerising. With an effort, she forced her attention back to the road ahead.

“Okay, let me guess then.” Taking her silence as assent, he pushed on. “You’ve grown up with wealth and privilege. You’ve never wanted for anything in your life.”

Wrong. Living in a big house and not having to worry about bills didn’t mean there weren’t things she wanted and couldn’t have. Christian may not have had the same kind of wealth she had growing up but he had the one thing she’d wanted more than anything in the world.