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“Your assistant didn’t come along?” she asks Vadim.
“Maximilian will join us in a few days. He’ll let you know when he arrives.”
“Abby,” as Vadim calls her, must eat batteries for breakfast. First, she immediately relieves us of our luggage, then serves us drinks while rattling off the latest neighborhood news at top speed, before dashing off to check that everything is ready in “our suite.”
“She is… efficient.”
Vadim looks at me with a teasing glint in his eyes. “And you, you’re jeal—”
“Shut up.”
I push him against the nearest wall and silence him with a kiss. Standing on my tiptoes, I pin down his mouth with my own, slipping my hands around his neck at the same time. Vadim growls against my lips, then lifts me into his arms. My feet leave the floor. He turns me to face the wall, presses his body against mine, and looks at me, clearly pleased with himself, before kissing me again. I can no longer control my body, let alone my emotions, but he suddenly sets me back down and… releases me.
“It’s time for a tour, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I’ll get my revenge…” I grumble before following him.
Seven bedrooms, each more lavish and spacious than the last, and just as many luxurious bathrooms; a contemporary, refined living room of over sixteen hundred square feet; a small, elegant, cozy sitting room; a library full to bursting; an office filled with screens and various works of art; a kitchen with islands longer than my life expectancy; a screening room equipped with theater seats; an oversized bar; a game room; a gym; a wine cellar larger than my apartment.
We are a long way from the little studio he rented as a student.
And yet, here too, every room and every object seems to have a soul.
A little piece of his soul.
***
During our week in California, we go from meetings to film shoots to dinners with television and movie stars. Alongside this man who has clearly made a name for himself here, I gradually find my own place. I live at a hundred miles an hour, marveling at everything and learning a little more about my profession every day. Vadim guides me and shares his knowledge with me, never once losing patience.
I immerse myself in his world, my eyes constantly filled with wonder. I step into legendary film studios; dizzying skyscrapers where ten-figure decisions are made, and the most closely guarded editing rooms. I discover the wild, groundbreaking ideas of prop makers and makeup artists, the revolutionary techniques of animation and 5D. I attend glamorous dinners, loud, hectic meetings, and off-the-wall casting sessions. Cinema in all its complexity, all its splendor, has always swept me away.
A new lease on life, a million desires and sources of inspiration: that’s what this journey across the Atlantic gives me.
May Sim—Mr. King’s supposed girlfriend—isn’t on the trip, but her name comes up again and again. As the deputy director and right-hand person to the millionaire at my side, I simply smile politely and wait for us to move on to the next topic.
Officially, there is nothing between Vadim and me.
Unofficially, I want everything.
I had underestimated how frenzied the paparazzi are here. They’re ruthless, lawless leeches who might snap pictures of you all day long without even knowing who you are or what you’re worth to them. Vadim King is a star in the United States. He couldn’t care less about the commotion he causes, but he is nonetheless a prime target.
“Hide your face and make a dash for the car, Alma.”
Behind closed doors and tinted windows, we are free. It never lasts long, but we enjoy those moments as if there were no tomorrow. Far, very far, from the hustle and bustle, we finally find our way back to each other. We stop being defined by our professional roles and become Vadim + Alma again. We talk, we fall silent, we tease each other, we kiss, we play, we give in, we get even, we burn for each other, safe from prying eyes and everything that keeps us apart.
***
“You can answer it, you know?”
I thought I was being discreet, sending yet another call from Raphaël straight to voicemail before tucking my phone under my towel.
“No need. It can wait.”
Vadim shakes the water from himself, then gets out of the pool, hauling himself up with his arms. I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from his water-slicked body.
“What does he want from you?”
Vadim sits on the lounge chair next to me, and I stare at him, taken aback.
