“I trust him,” I said quietly, my fingers tightening around the warm paper cup.
“I just…
don’t trust her.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Simple.
Honest.
Painfully true.
Lena didn’t respond immediately.
She didn’t give me the exaggerated gasp some friends would’ve.
She didn’t launch into a rant about Elara.
She didn’t tell me I was overthinking.
Instead, she simply walked beside me in silence.
Her arm remained linked with mine, her grip tightening just enough for me to feel it.
It was a silent acknowledgment.
I understand.
We made our way toward the craft services table, where the wrapping crew had already begun raiding the coffee urns before heading home.
The familiar aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the cooling evening air.
Without asking, Lena reached for two paper cups.
One black.
Mine.
The other received her usual splash of oat milk and a squeeze of honey.
Some habits never changed.
She handed my cup over, waiting until we’d both taken our first sip before speaking.
“Elara Vance is trouble.” Her tone was completely matter-of-fact.
Not gossip.
Not bitterness.
Just…
A fact.
Like saying the sun would rise tomorrow.
I looked into my coffee instead of answering.
Lena continued.
“She gets attached to every lead actor she works with.” That made me raise an eyebrow.
“You’ve heard stories?” “I’ve edited enough behind-the-scenes footage to know patterns.” She shrugged.
“And I know enough assistant directors to hear things long before entertainment websites do.” I couldn’t argue with that.
Editors knew everything.
They saw footage the public never would.
They heard conversations that never made headlines.
Lena took another sip before looking across the lot.
Timothy was still talking with the director.
Even now, he stood with his arms folded, listening intently as tomorrow’s shooting schedule was explained.
Every now and then…
His eyes drifted.
Searching.
Finding me.
Then politely returning to the conversation.
Elara was nowhere to be seen.
Someone had mentioned she’d gone back to her trailer to change out of costume.
Good.
The distance was appreciated.
Lena lowered her coffee.
Her voice softened.
“She tried the same thing with two other A-list actors.” I looked at her.
“What happened?” “The first one…” She sighed.
“…was already in a shaky relationship.” I waited.
“By the time filming wrapped, he’d broken up with his girlfriend.” My stomach sank.
Lena quickly added, “I’m not saying Elara was the only reason.” “But?” “But she certainly didn’t respect the relationship.” She looked me straight in the eye.
“She likes being chosen.” Those words settled heavily between us.
Not because I suddenly doubted Timothy.
Because they perfectly described what I’d seen today.
Elara hadn’t been trying to perform.
She’d been trying to win.
To prove something.
To herself.
To me.
Maybe even to Timothy.
Unfortunately for her…
She’d picked the wrong man.
I wrapped both hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers.
“I’ve never been worried about kissing scenes.” Lena nodded.
“I know.” “It’s his job.” “I know.” “He has amazing chemistry with almost everyone.” “I know.” I laughed weakly.
“You really do know.” “I’ve watched every movie.” She smiled.
“Perks of having a best friend married to a celebrity.” I shook my head.
“I trust him.” The words came easier this time.
“I’ve never questioned him.” “I won’t start now.” Lena’s expression softened.
“I know you won’t.” She paused.
“But trusting him doesn’t mean you have to trust the woman who’s actively ignoring boundaries.” Exactly.
That was it.
That was what I’d been trying to explain all day.
Trust wasn’t the problem.
Temptation wasn’t even the problem.
Respect was.
Or rather…
Someone else’s complete lack of it.
Lena studied me for another moment before speaking again.
“He looked at you.” I blinked.
“What?” “After ‘cut.'” I frowned slightly.
“He looked at you every single time.” My brows knitted together.
“What do you mean?” She turned fully toward me.
“I was standing behind Video Village.” Her editor’s eye seemed to sharpen as she replayed the footage from memory.
“Every time she clung to him…” I listened.
“Every time she added something that wasn’t in the blocking…” Another pause.
“Every one of those ridiculous little sounds she kept making…” My grip tightened around the coffee cup.
“He looked over here.” She pointed toward the monitor area where I’d stood all afternoon.
“Right where you were.” I hadn’t noticed.
I’d been too focused on keeping my own emotions under control.
“He wasn’t looking at her?” Lena actually laughed.
“No.” “Not once?” “He looked at her when the characters were supposed to.” She smiled knowingly.
“But Timothy?” She shook her head.
“He kept checking whether you were okay.” The lump in my throat returned.
I remembered his expression after the director had finally called “Cut.” The way he’d stepped away from Elara immediately.
The quiet request to talk after the next take.
The gentle squeeze on my shoulder.
Every glance I’d caught across the set.
“I don’t think he relaxed once,” Lena continued.
“He looked tense the entire scene.” “He was.” “I know.” She gave me a sideways smile.
“You’ve been reading his expressions longer than anyone.” A comfortable silence settled between us again.
The evening breeze carried laughter from the crew packing up equipment.
Someone called out goodnight.
A forklift rolled past carrying lighting crates.
The workday was finally over.
Lena nudged my shoulder.
“You know what impressed me the most?” “What?” “He never looked relieved when the director praised the scene.” I thought about that.
“He only looked relieved…” She smiled gently.
“…when you nodded and said you’d talk to him after the take.” My heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
Of course he had.
For Timothy…
Awards mattered.
Reviews mattered.
His career mattered.
But at the end of every filming day…
Coming home to me mattered more.
Lena took the last sip of her coffee before tossing the empty cup into a nearby bin.
“So…” She smirked, some of her usual personality finally returning.
“When your husband finishes talking to the director…” I already knew where this was going.
“…are you going to make him suffer for at least another ten minutes?” I laughed.
“Only ten?” She grinned.
“There she is.” For the first time since the cameras had started rolling that morning…
The tightness in my chest eased.
Not because the hurt was gone.
But because someone had reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten.
Elara might have shared a scene with Timothy.
She might have stolen a kiss that belonged to two fictional characters.
But every time the cameras stopped…
Every instinct he had brought him back to me.
And that was something no performance could ever fake.