Apex

09 | wolf in sheep's clothing

MAY 18

DAKOTA

"So, Dakota." The journalist was beautiful in the artificial and polished way that I'd come to associate with Hollywood. Her platinum blonde hair and the unnatural whiteness of her teeth seemed ridiculously out of place on a rainy island that was a thousand miles away. "How has the recent tragedy in your hometown impacted you?"

"Home island," I corrected with a tight smile. Beneath the scorching afternoon sun, my tact threatened to evaporate. "It's been a challenging week, and I'm lucky to be part of such a supportive community. We're sharing the weight of this loss together."

Deep down, I felt guilty for regurgitating the statement my publicist gave me. I didn't want to morph into an emotionless robot only capable of obeying directions and smiling when I was told. However, the dead orca had raised hell on Friday Island, and I'd convinced myself to make an exception.

"You have the heart-felt support of the Cinema Chronicle during this trying time," she said, oblivious to my inner turmoil. She transitioned to a series of mundane questions that I had no problem answering.

After another grueling fifteen minutes, my facial muscles were numb from conjuring too many fake smiles.

"One last question," she said, her lips twisting into a coy smirk. "Is there anything you can tell your fans about the mystery brunette who you shared a hug with on the ferry last week?"

The question didn't catch me off guard. Not even in the slightest.

For starters, my publicist showed me the photo earlier today. It'd first surfaced on a gossip blog, but now it was scattered across prominent tabloids that I'd learned to resent. Then, of course, there was the fact that my relationship status existed under a microscope ever since my split with Maud. There was always at least one photo floating around, fueling rumors that made me want to throw my phone into the sea. The rumors had reached an apex in March, and Brenna even suggested that we stage a fake romance in an attempt to stop them. I hadn't considered it, preferring not to invest in something that wasn't a long term solution.

I should've known that the photo would come back and bite me in the ass. The only silver lining was that said mystery brunette was facing away from the camera. That detail might be enough to deter Allix McGovern from plotting my demise.

"She's not a mystery," I replied, my smile calibrated. "She's a friend from the island who values her privacy, and so do I."

The journalist seemed satisfied with my response, and thanked me for my time. With my interview finally over, an actor swooped in to take my seat, and I excused myself.

I took my good sweet time navigating through today's filming location - a marina of one of the island's most elegant resorts. In addition to its waterfront location, the lush gardens and historic white buildings that made it a popular wedding venue. I'd attended more weddings here than I could count thanks to my mom's business, and I'd be lying if I denied envisioning my wedding here one day.

I eventually found Brenna sitting on a bench beside a blue hydrangea bush, sipping a cappuccino. Her faded jeans, band-tee, and Birkenstocks made it evident that she hadn't changed after shooting her scenes on set today. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing an outfit like this otherwise. She was too east coast and old money for that.

"Would you believe me if I told you that you look good?" I asked, joining her on the bench.

Brenna threw me a sideways look. "I always look good. I just hate that this whole ensemble screams fake hipster."

"Don't let the locals hear you say that," I chuckled. "How did your interview go?"

"Miraculously uneventful." She bit down on her bottom lip as she considered me for a long moment. "So, are we going to talk about it or what?"