“Thank you, Scotty! I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Yes, you could.” Leia squeezed back and let go. “It’s a shame Morgan couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, well…” Shantelle bit her glossy lip and peered past Leia where her mom and dad happily chatted over FaceTime to the Midwest. She whispered in Leia’s ear, “Don’t tell my parents, but…Morgan and I split three weeks ago.”
Split? Three weeks— Leia’s head jerked back. But Morgan’s lovely! A cinnamon roll of a guy! “Oh, Shan…” she muttered under her breath. “What happened?”
Loud squeals from the far end of the carpet disrupted their conversation. Fans draped over the metal barricades cried out for autographs and selfies every time another Lost for Breath star joined the press parade. Shantelle did a double take. “My psychic advisor, she recommended it.”
Oh, god. She didn’t! Leia’s face blanched. “What!?” She blurted through a fake smile, plastered on for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Joy. Her family loved Morgan like a son. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No!” The actress let out a rushed breath. “She said Morgan was holding me back…like, physically.”
“How?!”
“One guess—sex scenes. Morgan hates them. I’ve told him repeatedly, ‘They’re make-believe, they’re part of my job,’ but he kept freaking out about Bastien.”
Leia peered over her friend’s shoulder. Bastien Soulier. Dressed in a floral print designer suit, the quirky French actor raked a confident hand through his thick mop of shoulder-length mahogany curls and held court in the middle of the carpet, teasing the baying photographers and hysterical fans with his pouty air of Gallic indifference. Known more for his sensitive musings and love of existential poetry than his pecs, “beautiful Bastien with the f*ck-me eyes” (trademark The National Mail) had given Hollywood gossip magazines a huge scoop during his previous film’s press junket, announcing his newfound—and fan-criticized—celibacy. With his whimsical je ne sais quoi, the twenty-nine-year-old had divulged that by forgoing sex, his on-camera love scenes were indulgent and raw, sizzling with pure, primal instinct.
He’s not signing for his fans? Leia curled her lip as Bastien ignored their frantic pleas and lingered just out of reach before sauntering toward Radio City Music Hall’s entrance, its open doors dispensing frigid air onto the steaming pavement. Morgan had good reason to freak out. Shan confided that they had to stop filming their nude scenes twice because Bastien got a raging hard-on inside his flesh-colored modesty pouch. And once, he ejaculated! Blech! Leia’s flesh crawled. Shantelle might call that make-believe, but I call that real—and really gross.
Shantelle stared at her left hand and the three-carat pink diamond ring on loan for the premiere from her former employer, Tiffany & Co. “I don’t want a fight every time a role requires love scenes. I’ve supported him through injuries, trade rumors…if Morgan can’t support my dream, it’s time to move on—from hockey and him.”
Two months ago, she was talking wedding dresses, hoping he’d propose. Leia exhaled heavily. Morgan didn’t seem controlling. He was a nice guy.
“Leia, you left Tyler when things weren’t good. You understand, right?” Shantelle blinked, eager for approval.
I don’t regret my decision, but will she?
“And look! You’ve rebounded nicely!” The actress grinned. “What I wouldn’t give for a steamy sex-fest with a London hunk! Now, why you broke it off with him is beyond me. He looked tasty!”
I wish I’d never told her about Tarquin. I should tell her about Cressida later—that’ll shut her up. Leia clocked the impatient huff of the film’s publicist behind Shantelle’s back. “Shan, maybe tomorrow you should give Morgan a call—”
“Shantelle!” The PR guy waved her forward. “You’re up.”
Leia banished her questions and doubts and gave her friend a soft hug—a tight one could’ve crumpled her gown. “This is it! You’ve earned this, Shan! Go, enjoy tonight!”
She squeezed Leia’s hand. “Aw, thanks, Scotty—love you!” She blew a kiss to her beaming parents. “I’ll see you inside!”
“SHANTELLE, OVER HERE!” A slew of photographers beckoned, jockeying for the perfect shot.
Chin up and shoulders back, wearing a cheek-pinching smile, Shantelle pranced toward the noisy crush and posed, fluffing out her gown in front of the Lost for Breath publicity backdrop like Leia had taught her.
Look at her, Hollywood’s brightest new starlet—in my gown! Leia’s heart swelled with joy as she snapped several photos on her phone.
Shantelle followed each photographer’s hollered prompt, swiveling left then right before looking over her shoulder with a sassy, confident grin, any hint of nerves long gone.
I did good, Mom. Leia grinned and lowered her phone, blinking back tears. Shantelle began chatting to microphone-toting reporters, boasting