Whatever After (Someone Else's Fairytale #5)

Chapter One: Phone Call

Seated in a trailer that looked out on the Icelandic highlands, I felt like I was on the Moon. Locals assured me that underneath the bleak expanse of January snow were pleasant, rolling hills punctuated by boulders that had been deposited by glaciers. The only sign of warmth now was the steam rising from volcanic vents in the distance.

The chill seemed to seep in through every crevice of the trailer, which had all kinds of extra insulation and other winter-proof features. The interior wasn't much more sophisticated than what an American family would take cross-country though. There were no luxuries. Just the standard two bench seats that faced each other across a table bolted to the wall, a kitchen that doubled as a hallway, a bedroom that was usually empty, and a flush toilet—the most luxurious feature of the entire vehicle.

The air was damp and musty, and the heater gave off a chemical smell that turned my stomach if I thought about it too much.

I didn't want to be cranky. I was doing my level best not to be cranky, but I was also seven months pregnant—this was the only thing keeping me warm. Wedged into this bench seat, my shoulders hunched over so that my baby bump was tucked under the table, I could not get comfortable. My options were to sit like this or turn sideways, stretch my legs out along the bench, and contend with leaning back against the cold, unergonomic wall.

But I was looking across at Jason Vanderholt, who was every bit as hot in person as he was onscreen. He had his blue eyes closed, and his lips moved as he recited his lines to himself. Then he took a deep breath and stilled. He was getting into his role, and I didn't want to disrupt the process. After a moment, he twisted his wedding ring with the fingers of his right hand; it was a tic I didn't realize he had before now.

Muffled voices chattered outside, and someone carried a boom mic past the window. Normally, Jason worked on big-budget studio productions, but this was a small indie deal, hence the stripped-down trailer. It had the feel of a camping trip with camera equipment.

"It's snowing again!" someone shouted.

This was an insane place to be filming a nostalgia flick about a man mourning his deceased daughter. For that matter, doing a film about losing a daughter was a rather sick choice at the moment; our unborn baby was a girl. But I was learning that this was part of the deal, being married to a guy who made a living in the arts. He'd probably keep going to all kinds of emotionally dark places that were at odds with his idyllic life.

In this particular case, it was the screenwriter and director who had attracted him to this project. Her name was Priya Singh, and he was convinced she would be the Next Big Star. She had chosen Iceland for a bunch of artsy reasons I didn't understand, but Jason endorsed, so there we were. What little money there was went towards keeping the cast and crew warm rather than providing them other creature comforts.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of lunch. Most of the crew ate from craft services, but Jason had hired a private chef to cook for the cast so that they could eat their perfectly balanced meals and preserve their muscular, zero-fat bodies.

I wriggled out of the seat to answer the door, and sure enough, it was dumping down snow again. I thanked the production assistant who handed up the steaming tray, and she grinned at me before darting off into the whiteness.

This now felt like an Arctic expedition.

Jason had his eyes open and was smiling as I brought the tray to the table.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm a cranky pregnant lady is all."

"On a scale of one to ten, how bored are you?"

I pushed his meal across to him and pulled mine closer to me. It was brown rice and steamed vegetables and grilled chicken—again.

"Boredom is good," I said. "Soon, I will never have a free moment to be bored, right?" I pointed at my baby bump.

"You're allowed to complain, you know."

"I don't have to if I don't want to. You can't tell me what to do."

Our baby decided to wake up then and give me a good punch at the base of my ribs. I winced.

"She beating up on you?"

"It's fine."

"Hey there," he ordered. "You stop hurting Mom, all right? This is your dad talking."

Baby stilled.

"Oh, fine," I said. "Listen to him and not me."

My phone rang and my friend, Lori's, name popped up. I blinked in surprise and answered it. She was in New Mexico, where it was five in the morning.

"Hey, everything all right?" I asked.

"I'm sorry to bother you."

"You're not bothering me. Are you kidding? I'm sitting in a camper in the Icelandic highlands. Speaking of which, if I lose you, I'm sorry."

The set had a cell signal booster, also courtesy of Jason. But, in a snowstorm, it didn't always work.

"Chris was here last night."

"What? And you're only calling me now?"

The connection went dead.

I bit a curse back and redialed, but I had no bars.

"Everything okay?" Jason asked.

"My homicidal brother paid Lori a visit. So no."