Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

"I'm guessing that you're the one who took my room?" she hissed.

"Not your room to be taken," I replied, grinning at her as hard as I could. I could hear Harrison shuffle his feet behind me. He had no idea what to do, and I was leaving him hanging.

"Hm. Well," she said, standing up on her tip toes to reach my ear in her five-inch-tall heels, "You could clear out the bimbos you inevitably have staying there and let me room with you. It's a big suite. We wouldn't have to see each other."

I grinned back, hoping my eyes portrayed the cold steel I felt in my gut. "And where would your precious wallet-fuckers sleep?"

She laughed joylessly, kissing me on the cheek. "I already rented rooms for them on the floor below. And you know that I don't stay anywhere but in penthouses."

I grinned. "Unless it's in the beds of my friends. Then you're not as picky."

Her eyes flashed, and she leaned up to kiss me on the mouth again. Before our lips met, she hissed, "You let me stay in that suite or in my next song I tell the world about your habit of crying when you ejaculate." Her lips met mine and then parted. “Among other things.”

I had no response to that. I knew she was as good as her word when it came to threats. She knew she'd won.

"See you upstairs, Wilde," she called back as she walked to the elevator. "Tell your assistant to give mine a room key."

I turned back to Harrison and nodded. He gave me a quick look of disapproval but rushed over to Hailey to give her the key card. I left the lobby and made my way back to the restaurant, fuming silently. She could think she would win this, but she couldn't.

I knew as much about her as she knew about me.

CHAPTER TEN

OLIVIA

The steely-grey skies of Milan belied the warm temperature on the streets. I fanned myself with the back of my plane ticket as I stood on the corner waiting for a taxi to pull up, my rolling suitcase on the ground next to me.

It was the only thing I owned that looked new, but that was only because I scarcely had reason to leave the Burbank area on any given day, much less pack up my clothing and hitch a plane ride somewhere.

My blood felt like it was buzzing from the excitement of being back on the streets of Italy. I'd already spoken Italian to the flight attendants, feeling the language in my mouth for the first time in years.

When I was alone at home, I would speak to myself in the language, even if it was just in my head. It was the only practice I managed to get, but it had been enough to keep me from getting too rusty.

A man's voice called out to me. "Ms. Martin?" I turned around, feeling shocked since I wasn't expecting anyone to know my name. A silver-haired man in a suit was standing there holding his phone.

"Sorry to bother," he said, "But you are the woman I'm driving to the hotel." He stared at the surprised reaction on my face. "I'm sorry, did they not tell you that you were to come with me?"

I shook my head. "No, they didn't."

He smiled and held out his hand and his identification. "My car is just over there. If you'd like to call the woman who called me...she's Mr. Fox's assistant. She can confirm that this is the plan."

I hesitated for just a moment before deciding that I trusted him. "Lead the way!" I said, pulling my suitcase. He rushed forward to take it from me. I thanked him, switching to Italian to do so. Then I asked him his name.

"Bruno," he replied, opening the door to a black Mercedes. A few minutes later, my suitcase was tucked safely in the trunk of the cab and we were trundling through the streets of Milan. "So you are here for the movie shoot?" he asked me in Italian.

"Yes," I replied back, hoping my accent was still on point. Not that I expected him to criticize me or anything.

"So you are here to shoot with Ms. Holliday and Mr. Wilder, then?"

I felt my stomach jump out of my body, roll down the window, exit the vehicle, and get crushed underneath the wheels of Bruno's black Mercedes. "I'm sorry...what?" My English returned in an instant.

"Mr. Roman Wilder is here with his girlfriend Hailey. They're filming a movie together. It's all over the Internet." He looked in the rearview mirror. "Aren't you on Twitter?"

I shook my head in shock. "No…well, yes, but I haven't been on it recently," I replied. I had a Twitter account but the multiple, long plane rides over with no smartphone and zero interest in using the Internet connection on the plane meant that I was completely out of the loop. "It might be another movie. To be honest, I didn't ask too many details. I just needed the job and there wasn't a lot of time, so I took it."

Bruno nodded. "Ah, I see. But I am pretty sure it's the only one being filmed here right now. Would be quite a coincidence if it were another."

"Coincidence indeed," I muttered under my breath.

"Are you a secondary role?" Bruno asked me.

I guffawed. "I'm behind the scenes, actually. Script supervisor."

"A
bella
woman like you behind the camera?" Bruno smiled. There was that Italian flirtatiousness that I'd missed so dearly. "I can't imagine that."

"Oh, Bruno, I bet you say that to all the girls," I replied, grinning at him. "Nah, I like being behind the scenes. It means I can show up to work in a messy ponytail and not be yelled at by anyone. Oh, and I actually get to enjoy craft services during meal breaks."

Bruno laughed. "So much obsession in America with being skinny. Those American actresses need to eat a bit more, in my opinion."

We drove along and I tried not to think about how I wish I'd packed nicer clothes. I was working on a Roman Wilder film.
Roman,
I thought. It was so weird that he'd changed his name to Roman.

And now everyone called him Wilde. I thought about that night onstage with his face buried in my...well. I was just surprised that the nickname hadn't caught on sooner than it did. He was certainly wild enough in my experience, that was for sure.

I stared out the window, deep in thought as to how this trip was already turning out incredibly differently from how I'd envisioned it.

I felt my expectations climbing against my will. I shoved them back down as hard as I could.

Well-managed expectations were the key to happiness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WILDER

I stormed into Fox's trailer; it was parallel parked across four spots on a blocked-off street in downtown Milan.

"What in the
royal fuck
is going on, Fox?" I yelled.

Fox was getting sunscreen applied to his face by a young blonde woman holding a white makeup sponge.
Only in Hollywood,
I thought.

"I'm guessing you just found out who your new costar is, then?" he asked me, sighing and waving away the woman. He still had white smears of sunblock where it hadn't been adequately rubbed into his skin.

I didn't bother telling him
. Let him walk around like a complete asshole,
I thought bitterly. He deserved it. “What happened to Candace?”

"Wilde, what did you expect? This whole turnaround has been like seventy-two hours, which is just absolutely ridiculous. Almost nobody from the original film could drop everything that they were doing in that amount of time. Candace walked away from her contract. One of her adopted children came down with the measles.”

Fox sighed again. “Even if her kids were healthy, did you expect her, honestly, to be able to drop everything and fly out here for your little art project?" Fox said the last part and it hit me like a dozen knives.

"I just think it would have been nice to get a
fucking
courtesy call before walking into my ex in the lobby of my hotel," he replied. "She's not even an actress, Fox. She's a
singer
. Barely," I muttered pettily under my breath.

Fox sighed. "I don't know, I liked that last tune that was all over the radio. Something about 'Fuck you, go to hell, you cheating, lying prick?' I'm pretty sure that one was called
Wild Child
.” He stood up and poured himself a glass of water, drinking deeply from it.

"She's never been accused of being subtle, I'll give her that," I replied.

"You should get royalties for her selling your life story over the pop radio airwaves like that, in my opinion. You gave her some great material." I could tell that Fox was enjoying himself entirely too much.

"Don't believe everything you hear," I said, shoving down the urge to explain exactly why we'd broken up.
I
hadn't been the one cheating. Not that Hailey cared about truth. "I really don't get this. Out of all of the actresses in the entirety of Hollywood, she was the only one willing to fly out here?"

Fox shrugged. "Her people have been looking for a vehicle for her for a while now to get her acting career off the ground. Apparently they thought a movie produced by an irresponsible, overly arrogant actor was a low-risk starting point. Especially since you're footing the bill for most of this production."

There was no maybe about it. He was enjoying this. "At the worst, I'm sure her handlers just think she'll have a nice month-and-a-half vacation in Italy," he said, tapping his knuckles on the countertop twice. "That's the most I'm hoping for out of this, to be honest. It's not like we're filming
Casablanca
here, after all."

I clenched my fist angrily. "This is bullshit, and you know it. Does anybody even know if she can act? Why wasn't I consulted?"

"There weren't any other choices. She was ready to go. Came out on her private jet overnight like it was nothing. She's between albums." A look of recognition grew over his face. "You know what, I think I've solved it!" he said with a heavy veil of sarcastic enthusiasm. "She's just here to dig up more inspiration for her next album. Be sure to break her heart again, Wilder. I prefer sad, angry songs to happy ones anyway. It's the perfect ironic backdrop to my eternally sunny disposition."

And with that, Fox tapped his hand on my shoulder and exited his own trailer.

I took a few deep breaths and walked out after him, turning an opposite direction and going to stand in an alleyway where I barely refrained from punching a brick wall. This was not going like I'd planned it to. At all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

OLIVIA

After having a major
Pretty Woman
moment in my glamourous Four Seasons hotel room, flouncing around like cameras were following me; I took a shower. After I pulled myself away from the incredible water pressure, I realized that I hadn't bothered packing any makeup.

I looked at the clock. I had two hours before I needed to be on set. I argued with myself for a good five minutes before I called the concierge and asked in Italian if they knew of the closest makeup store.

I nearly dropped the phone when they replied. "There is a shop around the corner, but the spa is also available to send someone up to do your face for you and your hair."

When I asked the price, they informed me that anything I put on my tab would be covered by the production team. I ordered that makeover so quickly it was like I was asking for a lap dance at my own bachelorette party.

Then I called the kitchen and ordered a plate of fresh pasta with pesto and a glass of sparkling water. The makeup people were there in five minutes. I asked for a more natural look, terrified I'd look like a
RuPaul's Drag Race
contestant in broad daylight if I let them be too heavy-handed.

It came down to this: I wanted to look amazing for my first day on set. For Wilder. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. I had no idea if Wilder was going to be there or not today. I'm not the only woman who has done that for a man, and I won't be the last.

I ate my pasta while the hair stylist talked to me in rapid Italian about her family and baby. She took twenty minutes to give me what was essentially a hundred-dollar ponytail. But I had to admit when I looked in the mirror that I felt incredible.

After they left and I had devoured the contents of the breadbasket -something I'd been too self-conscious to do in the presence of my styling team - I picked up the hotel phone and dialed Lydia's number back in the States. If the movie was covering everything, I might as well take advantage of that to make a long-distance phone call.

"Lydia?" I said into the phone.

"Talk fast, hon," she replied quickly. I could hear about half a dozen voices in the background and the sound of furiously working sewing machines going behind the scenes.

"Okay, this won't take long," I said, looking at myself in the mirror as I spoke on the phone. I almost didn't recognize myself. "Did you know this was a Roman Wilder film?"

Lydia paused for a half second too long. "Uh, no," she said quietly.

"Lydia!" I knew she was lying.

"Okay, okay, hang on a second, I can barely hear you," she shouted. I heard fabric and metal shifting and then the sound of a door being opened and closed. Instantly, the kerfuffle around her dimmed to a faint background noise. "I am now in the
closet
of my studio. Are you happy?"

I said nothing. She could dance around the subject all she wanted but I was getting my answer come hell or high water.

She sighed. "Okay, Liv. Yes, I did know it was a Roman Wilder movie."

"Does he know I'm going to be on the set?" I asked. I realized it was a ridiculous question the second it was out of my mouth.

"Um, you mean do you think that the most famous actor on planet Earth has been informed the script supervisor is a woman he fucked onstage in his college auditorium's theater? Yeah, no," she said. "I doubt your name came up at all, frankly. From what my contacts tell me him being a producer is essentially just a vanity project. He's really not that involved and you're not
that
memorable."

"You don't have to be mean about it," I replied, feeling stung. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

Lydia was quiet for a moment. I heard a tapping noise that sounded suspiciously like she was drumming her fingers on a metal object.