Page 189 of Beautiful Villain


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“I mean, I wouldn’t have to do anything, really. I’ve made enough money for several lifetimes and I’ll be earning a fortune off residuals for the rest of my life.”

“You’d be bored out of your mind in no time,” she scoffed.

“I kind of like carpentry, I could make high-end furniture.”

“Like a reverse Harrison Ford,” she mused. “I could see it. These gorgeous hands were practically made for artisanal work—you’d create beautiful furniture. I still don’t think it’s quite you though.”

“What do you think I should do?”

She smiled and kissed his jaw, her mouth landing on his scar. She liked kissing him there—it made her feel like she was healing it a little more with every affectionate peck. It was stupidly whimsical, but she was prone to occasional—okay, more like frequent—flights of fantasy.

“I need to give it a little more consideration, but for now I think you should help me fix dinner after which, we should cuddle up in the cinema room and watch a movie. My choice.”

He laughed and palmed her face to give her a long, sweet kiss before rolling her off him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Maybe I should be a chef,” he suggested, smothering a yawn.

“You’re a good cook, but you don’t have enough imagination in the kitchen, I’m afraid,” she told him, her voice filled with feigned regret, and she giggled when he swatted her arse on their way out of the room.

“Christ Almighty,” Trystan groaned when Iris gleefully pushed the start button on her chosen movie. “Where the fuck did you dig this old thing out from?”

“I rented it off one of the streaming services,” she said as she crept under his arm, nestling her head in the crook between his shoulder and armpit, huddling beneath the fleecy blanket as she settled in to watch the movie.

“Fuck, Iris, why would you want to torture me like this?”

“Ssh,” she hissed as the title shimmered onto the screen in a drippy, creepy font: Night of The Killer Wetas. “It’s starting.”He swore beneath his breath and dug a fistful of popcorn out of her bowl.

She squealed in delight when a painfully young Trystan Abbott appeared on the screen in his debut role. He’d been just twenty-one at the time of filming, not yet as big and muscular as he was now. He’d been a tall, skinny, good-looking young man, with striking eyes and moody dark looks. There were hints of the beauty to come, glimpses of his talent in the earnest delivery of every terrible line, and it was clear that he—and every other cast member—were having the time of their lives.

Trystan hooted beside her when Hunter Quinn—the boom operator—appeared in shot, gave the camera a deer-in-the-headlights look and awkwardly edged his way back out of sight. And laughed uproariously when his friend Darryl—who’d cast himself as the hero’s self-sacrificing best friend—died dramatically after having his face gorily chewed off by a gigantic, obviously fake weta.

The production values were appalling, the special effects horrendous, the acting mostly subpar, but some of the writing was brilliant. Trystan’s talent shone through though, as did Darryl Constanza’s directing skills. There was a reason this train smash of a movie was a cult classic. And it lay in the occasional witty one-liner, the obviously innate acting ability of a future leading man, and the hilarious on-and off-screen gaffes of the inexperienced cast and crew. It was endearing, and it was entertaining from beginning to end.

When the end credits rolled, Trystan remained silent and Iris, who was idly stroking his arm, murmured, “That is what you should be doing, Trystan. What you love. I don’t mean the Cryo Cops and the super-hero big-budget stuff, I mean passion projects alongside people you enjoy working with. As you so smugly boasted earlier, you have enough wealth for several lifetimes. You don’t need the money, so why not work on movies you’d enjoy doing? Quirky, off-the-wall arthouse ventures that showcase your talent more than they do your outstanding body.

“Rediscover the love you once had for your craft. Because you did love it at some point, that much has always been apparent. And maybe re-hire your idiot manager so that he can help you find these roles you love. He knows you better than most people. He’d know what to look for.”

Trystan was staring at her with something like reverence in his eyes. He blinked rapidly for a few moments before speaking, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I’m beginning to think my manager’s not quite an idiot. Because he certainly knew what the fuck he was doing when he sent you to me, Iris.”

“Do not remind me of what that duplicitous bastard did, Trystan, or I’ll want to punch his pretty face all over again.”

“You think he’s pretty?” Trystan asked with a glower, looking seriously aggravated at the notion that she might find one of his best friends attractive.

“Don’t worry, darling, he’s not as cute as you.”

He looked momentarily appeased before his brow lowered again. “What about Dazza?”

“He’s too surfer boy-ish for me,” she placated. “I like my men dark and glowery, and moody as fuck.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he warned in a dark, moody voice and she laughed happily.

“Now are you going to take me to bed, mister? Or am I going to have to seduce you on this uncomfortable love seat?”

He growled and picked her up caveman style. She squealed, laughing uncontrollably all the way back to the bedroom.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Iris asked Trystan two days later after they’d returned from their post-breakfast walk. It was a glorious day, with blue skies and moderate temperatures ranging in the mid-teens. They were back in the kitchen now, facing each other across the island. “I want to call my parents. I haven’t spoken to them in a week and I think they need to hear my voice. They like to pretend they’re cool, but I know they’ve been concerned about me. More so since I lost my phone. They probably think I’ve been kidnapped or something, despite my constant messages and emails. I think it would be good for them to see that I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to explain, Iris,” he said with a chuckle, handing his device over. “Of course you can call them. I’m sorry; I should have offered sooner. If you want to catch up with your friend, Evan, afterward, you can call her too.”

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