Fat Funny Famous

Chapter 11

"Guys, you are absolutely killing me!" Olivia stomps out from behind the camera. Our director's normally serene face is stormy, and her rings catch the sunlight as she waves her hands wildly. "What the hell is going on?"

Erik and I shoot each other guilty glances. I chew on both my lips, trying to control my mouth, while Erik says, "Apologies, Olivia. One more take – I'm sure we'll be successful."

We're standing on a clifftop in Byron Bay, pretending to be in Europe. This is meant to be the biggest, most dramatic point of the movie, even higher stakes than the kidnapping. Alrick has whisked Trish back to his kingdom, waiting until they reached the castle before actually confessing to her that he was a prince and that his extended family was responsible for trying to have her murdered. In the autobiography, Trish is depicted as reacting 'poorly,' breaking up with Alrick before fleeing back home to Queensland.

In my opinion, Trish's reaction was completely justified. I feel strongly about how to portray her in this scene: not as a whiney, hysterical female, but as a young woman in love whose entire world has been flipped upside down by this guy who doesn't even trust her enough to tell her the truth about himself. I want to give this scene weight, ground it in reality, show all the nuance of Trish and everything she has to process in this moment.

The problem? Erik and I can't stop smiling. Seriously, it's like an uncontrollable facial tic at this point; both of us are grinning like lunatics and no matter how much Olivia yells and talks about losing the light or accuses us of ruining the most pivotal scene in the film, we can't reign it in.

I'm trying to get it under control, but it's useless. Erik came to the location straight from the airport, and from the second he appeared on set, neither of us can take our eyes of each other. God, he looks so freaking good. His blond hair is windswept, his bright eyes shining at me, his body hidden beneath an elegant trench coat. I want to peel it from his shoulders, rip off every item of clothing until we're both bare and exposed, nothing between us-

"Mila! Are you even listening?" Olivia's voice is raw with frustration. She snaps her fingers in my face, saying, "We get one more take, then that's it, we have to pack up. If either of you care about this film, about the future for everyone involved in this production, I suggest you find an ounce of professionalism and get it together!"

"Yes, Olivia," we both murmur.

She stares at us for a moment. "I don't know what is happening here, and I don't care – use the next two minutes to remember how to do your jobs." She stalks away, leaving the two of us alone as the production crew swirls around us, resetting for a final take.

It's the first time we've been able to talk privately all day. Erik leans in, his voice low. "It's good to see you," he says, his words understated, contrasting the love in his eyes and the desire in his tone.

"You too," I reply, my voice throaty. I need to touch him, more than I need my next breath. How in the hell am I supposed to pretend to fight with this man? I don't have the ability to show anything but love; it pours from my pores, an aura of lust and infatuation that clouds my ability to think and function.

"We need to finish this scene," says Erik, his lips tugging into a dreamy smile again, "but if you don't have plans this evening, perhaps we can meet up later and, uh... discuss things?"

"I'd like that," I say, quickly giving him my room number. The production team has booked everyone into a boutique hotel at the top of a neighbouring cliff. "I'm in the honeymoon suite."

Erik sucks his teeth, his eyes darkening. "How... quaint. I look forward to catching up."

I am nothing but flame and liquid desire; I'm wearing a floaty white dress that whips dramatically in the wind, and my skins crackles with anticipation as the cotton gently rubs against my sensitised flesh. Before I complete dissolve in a puddle of my own juices, Olivia calls for a final take.