And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

Take 17

MY DAY AT work felt like what I imagine building a house with bare hands must feel like. Hard, uncomfortable and long. When the day ends at work, I'm practically tripping over my feet to be picked up by Harry Wolfe. 

As expected - Harry Wolfe is punctual and proper, waiting for me in the car as I try my best to attempt a cool walk inside. 

"Hey," I greet him.

He nods, silent as the car plays music. When "Stars on my Heart" comes on the radio, I note how Harry Wolfe switches the station. I grapple with the curiosity to ask him but also the fear of his ice. He wasn't warmer today, not even a little.

As though sensing it, he asks me instead, "Do you want to try and take our couple's picture?"

"Huh?"

Harry turns on his blinker and turns left. Then he says, "Our Instagram official couple picture. The one we're supposed to warm up to - to take. Let's take it while Priscilla and Charles aren't around."

I wasn't expecting this. My heart beats faster. "Sure," I squeak out. If Harry notices my voice has gone three octaves higher he doesn't comment on it.

"Great," his voice is cool. He increases the radio a bit more as the song plays through till we reach his house. Before he can suggest anything, I'm climbing up his stairs, two steps at a time to his guest room.

I'm stripping naked when I hear him knock on the door, "Vanessa?"

"I'm getting ready," I call back.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Give me half an hour."

"Alright," I can hear him move away. I'm not sure where but it doesn't ease the racing of my heartbeat. I'm not sure why I'm reacting like this. The way I was acting, you'd think I'd been asked out on a date by my crush. 

No, I'm just going to be doing very intimate, couple-like poses with my fake boyfriend for the gram. It's really not that deep.

So why am I getting my razor to shave off any bits of hair that have grown? Why am I using my favourite soap and splashing on my favourite perfume for him? It's not like the fans are going to smell it.

For my look, I did a natural make-up look. Light concealer on spots that look uneven or with a bit of a pimple. I use powder to contour my face, and cream blush on my cheeks, and just to cover up the paleness on my lips, I dab a bit of dark red lipstick and blot it out.

I'm gorgeous.

With this new wave of confidence, I walk out of my room and happily skip down the steps. I want to strike a pose but I also don't want to embarrass myself in front of him. So, I try to act demure.

"Are you alright?" He asks glancing at me from the sofa, his brows knitted together.

"I'm ready," I say trying to cool my voice and not to sound a little excited.

"Is that why," his voice is dry, a bit amused, "you're chin is sticking in the air."

I frown, trying to relax my face. He steps up from the sofa, amusement in his eyes as he steps closer to me. His hands, rest on my shoulders and press them gently down.

Maybe, I didn't need blush.

I can feel the colour rush up to my face with the warmth of his hands and the softness in his gaze. "It's just a photo," he teases, "you'll get used to it once they start airing Vanity High."

"I have done photoshoots," I say a little indignant. "And can I remind you, that it's you that was struggling."

I'm surprised. I expected a scowl but he rolled his eyes at it. Then he glances back to the living room, he moves away to turn on the lights. With his back to me he says, "I was thinking that we shouldn't focus so much on replicating the photos our agents picked out for us."