minute, like she might jump out of her own skin.
Suddenly no longer tired, she got up and stood in the center of her living room. She was about to commence an impromptu oh-my-God-I’m-famous dance when a knock sounded on her door.
“Who is it?” she asked, startled and extremely glad she hadn’t already begun said dance.
“It’s your loooover,” said a voice that she immediately recognized as Luke’s. “Your lover … on-screen—and in real life.” Then Carmen heard a laugh. “Can I come in?”
She sat down and composed herself, checking her robe to make sure she wasn’t showing too much cleavage. “Yeah, it’s open.”
He stepped up into the trailer, even more handsome now that his face had been scrubbed clean of its makeup. “Did I hear cackling in here?” he asked.
Carmen widened her eyes and placed her hand so that it covered her picture in Gossip. “What? Me? No!” She smiled. “I’m just relaxing with some tea!” She nodded toward the mug of chamomile she’d made for herself and then forgotten about. “Do you want some?”
Luke looked at it and wrinkled his nose. “Is that herbal tea? Because, as a subject of the British crown, I must frown upon anything that is not Earl Grey or PG Tips.” He laughed. “Also, forget tea—it’s happy hour. Do you have any tequila?”
Carmen pointed him toward her mini refrigerator. “I don’t know. Do I?”
Luke walked over and perused the fridge’s shelves. He held up a tiny plastic bottle, like the kind they served on airplanes. “Patrón!” he said. But then he exhaled and put it back. “Actually, I’m too tired to drink it. If it wouldn’t call my manhood and patriotism into question, I’d absolutely have some tea.”
Carmen patted the seat beside her. “Sit,” she said. “Relax.” When he complied, she said, “I can keep it a secret if you want the tea.”
He smiled and yawned. “You’re a love.”
That was what Carmen’s grandma said to her, but with Luke’s sexy accent it sounded totally different. Totally better.
His eyes fell to the cover of Gossip magazine, which she had forgotten to keep covered. “‘Little CC no more,’ huh?” he said, green eyes twinkling. “Check you out.”
She yawned, too—it was contagious—and then giggled. “I’m sure the article, if you want to be generous and call it that, talks all about you, too.”
Luke shrugged. “Probably,” he allowed. “Seeing as how I’m your loooover.”
“Stop saying it like that.” She laughed.
“Loooover,” he whispered, grinning.
Carmen threw a pillow at him. “I saw us on D-Lish,” he said. “Not that I, uh, check that or anything.”
“It’s so weird,” Carmen said. “Don’t you think?”
Their pictures were all over: Perez, Just Jared, Life & Style, Celeb! According to Cassandra Curtis, who— incredibly—had a Twitter account that she actually checked regularly, “#LukeandCarmen” had trended high for the last eight days. Their fake relationship was making them a hot topic. Because what was more fun than a new Hollywood couple? Especially one playing lovers in the next Colum McEntire blockbuster?
But it was strange, too, because it was just more acting. Sam had even suggested that Carmen walk off set holding hands with Luke. The paparazzi had been camped outside every End of Love location lately, hoping to get photos of the two of them leaving. Carmen had always made an effort to avoid their lenses. After a day of acting in caked-on makeup, obscure hairstyles, and fitted costumes, the last thing she wanted was her photo taken.
Besides, she couldn’t stand those creeps. It was one thing to show up to a red carpet—polished, brushed, powdered, and fitted—to pose for photographers with press badges. But the street photographers that waited outside celebrities’ homes and hid in bushes across from elementary schools? They were a different breed. The idea of giving them exactly what they wanted didn’t sit well with Carmen, but after some persuading she had reluctantly agreed.
“They’re going to get their photos one way or another,” Sam had pointed out. “Might as well make it on your terms.”
Carmen had mentioned the idea to Luke earlier that morning, in a break between scenes, and at first he’d seemed unsure. He’d gazed out over the set, a wistful look on his face, and Carmen wondered if he was thinking about Kate. But then his manager had called with news about a script that Scott Rudin wanted Luke to read—some political thriller or something—and Luke had mentioned the cute-couple photo op.
His manager had been shocked at Luke’s reluctance. “It isn’t a coincidence that all these offers are rolling in after you two have come out as a couple,” he’d said. “Your star is on the rise, and Carmen has a lot to do with it! You’re a known quantity now. Go with this, Luke.”
So Luke had agreed. And why wouldn’t he? Since Kate had basically told him she never wanted to talk to him again, what did he have to lose? It wasn’t as if he could piss her off much more than he already had.
But the more Carmen thought about it, the weirder she felt. Because Carmen probably could piss her off more. Based on their hesitant but not totally unfriendly interactions at the Library Bar, it seemed like there was a chance for Carmen to repair the damage that the faux-dating had done. Like—if Kate would ever call her back so Carmen could apologize.
On the other hand, what good would an apology do if Carmen kept flaunting her fake romance with Kate’s ex? Following Sam’s PDA instructions in order to get tabloid coverage would probably make her apology seem pretty bogus. Carmen thought back to her costume fitting and her resolution of being more honest. Maybe she and Luke should come clean—or feign a breakup. Which wasn’t exactly being honest, but it was close enough.
She cleared her throat. “So I was actually thinking about this whole you-and-me business,” she began.
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