And I was sure that fear of failure was his biggest worry, though he’d never admit that out loud. Sure enough, his insecurities manifested just after midnight last night. He’d been tossing and turning and wrestling with his pillows, punching and kneading them into submission, like they had angered him.

We had just had amazing, energy-zapping sex, so I knew it was his mind that kept him from passing out.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked, hoping to get him to talk it out so he’d curl back around me.

He tugged at the covers again. “Just restless. Close your eyes, babe.”

Yeah, his mind was working overtime. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. Go to sleep.”

I rolled to face him. “Worried about tomorrow?”

He sighed, frowned, and then said, “No.”

Yeah, that was an obvious little lie. “You’re already there, you know. Just takes time for the rest of them to realize it.”

Ryan dipped his chin to look at me, brushing my hair back. “Where’s that?”

“To where you think the rest of them are in their careers and where you think you aren’t.”

He made a small, noncommittal noise.

“You’re working with two men who have been in this business the same amount of years you’ve been alive. I know you worry about it.”

Ryan wrapped his other arm over me, resting his chin on the top of my head. His tiny, pained sigh was confirmation enough.

“You’re just as brilliant and talented as they are, Ryan. You just don’t see it yet, but you will and they will, too.”

I waited for a reply, but he remained silent.

“Besides,” I added, nuzzling deeper into his chest, “you have something they’ll never, ever have.”

“What’s that?”

I closed my eyes and felt myself slip for a moment. Blessed sleep was grasping at me hard. “Eighty million screaming fans,” I mumbled.

Ryan snickered and kissed my head. “I love you. Go to sleep.”

The last thing I remember saying was “I love you more.”

Ryan stood immediately to shake Jeremy’s hand, awkwardly dropping his cloth napkin to the floor.

Even someone as famous as Ryan had his own celebrity gushing moments.

Fortunately Parker Shay joined them and eased some of the awkwardness.

After breakfast, Anna and I were placed inside a chauffer-driven Lexus for our day of shopping. I could smell the credit cards burning a hole in her purse.

It was going to be a long day.

I used this opportunity to pick her brain, learning as much as I could about what it meant to be a film producer, as Ryan had also signed on to be an executive producer of Slipknot. She was like my own private tutor, filling me in on all the sordid details and nuances of the film industry and introducing me to the wonders of shopping as if things didn’t have price tags.

Over the following days she gave me guided tours of the sets, introducing me to the different film crews, set designers, wardrobe assistants, and boom operators, explaining as best she could what everyone’s job was.

During a break, I called my answering machine, weeding through numerous requests for interviews and questions about who was representing me. Like what the hell does that mean? Do I need a freaking agent now that I’m engaged to Ryan? Delete, delete, delete.

“Hello, Miss Mitchell, this is Sharon Palmer from United Fidelity Bank. I’m calling regarding the safe-deposit box rental fee for Daniel Mitchell, which is now sixty days past due. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.” I fumbled with my phone, making sure I didn’t delete that one since I didn’t have a pen to write her number down.

Would this nonsense with my parents’ estates ever be done? I had gone through all of mom and dad’s files; how the hell did I miss this one? I wondered if I still had copies of his death certificate . . . My thumb clicked for the next message.

“Taryn.”

I froze. Just hearing my name in that voice sent a shock through my body. Suddenly it became hard to swallow.

“Listen, it’s Thomas. I stopped into the bar the other day but I hear you’re out of town. Shit. Um . . .

listen, I really need to talk to you. It’s important. Call my cell. My number is . . .”

My mind raced. What the hell could he possibly need to talk to me about? A hundred different scenarios ripped through my mind, including him possibly having nude photos of me and having been hacked or something stupid like that.

Is he going to try to get me back into his life? It’s way too late for that to happen. After witnessing his unbridled ass-pumping into that skank, and even if there were no Ryan in my life, I wouldn’t take him back.

Jonathan Follweiler yelled for me, hailing me over with his hand. I shoved my cell in my pocket, wondering if I should tell Ryan that Thomas called me.

“Ah, Taryn dear, we’re in a bit of a pinch,” he said, somewhat flustered and breathless. “Would you mind standing over there on that mark? We need to check lighting.”

“Mark?” I questioned, pointing to the X that was taped on the ground a few yards away, and beating down the echo of Thomas’s voice in my head.

Jonathan and the three other men surrounding him appeared stressed, while another man, who said he was the grip, raised some sort of handheld device near my face. The uncertainty of whether I was doing this properly had me frozen in place while enormous cameras and large lights were adjusted around me.

The first assistant director, a man I had come to know by the name of Denny, trotted to my side.

“Where? Here?” he asked, wrapping his rough, paw-like hand around my upper arm to relocate me.

Jonathan hurried over and pulled his headphones down around his neck. “Taryn, see that first mark? I want you to stand over there and then when I give your cue, I want you to walk from there to here.”

“Sure. No problem.” I walked to the first mark and waited.

I made the same walk from point A to point B several times while the commotion of filmmaking and lighting adjustments happened around me. I had no idea why I was chosen to walk back and forth, but it didn’t matter; I was just relieved to finally feel like I was serving some purpose instead of being a useless body in everyone’s way. Ryan was off giving some sort of quick interview so I really didn’t know what to do with myself.

While I stood on the second mark, I noticed Mike escorting Ryan out to the set. I saw panic flash over Ryan’s face a moment later. He ran over to me like a father removing his child from the middle of a busy highway. Thankfully his concern for me made thoughts of Thomas disappear.

“Sorry,” Ryan said in apology to Denny. “Taryn—what are you doing?” he whispered furiously. He started to tug my arm, pulling me off my mark.

“No! Wait.” I tried to hold my ground.

“No, no. Ryan, leave her there,” Denny instructed. “We needed a standin for Nicole.”

“Oh,” Ryan uttered. Relief washed over his face.

“Jonathan has found a use for me,” I explained, bouncing slightly on my tiptoes on the large silver-tape X, trying to keep warm. Even though it was sunny outside, the temperature in Vancouver was on the chilly side. I nodded when Jonathan told me to stick around, but he needed ten minutes.

“Jees, I sort of panicked there for a minute.”

I frowned at him. “I think I know better than to wander out in front of the cameras.”

“I didn’t know. Sorry.” His lips curled in amusement. “Just think, your first official job in the movie industry is as an actor standin,” he said with a laugh. I could see the hint of pride touch his face. “You know they have you on film now? We’ll have to see if we can get a copy.”

I nudged him softly with my elbow. “This isn’t a job. It’s a quick favor for Jonathan. So, are you ready?

Know your lines?”

Ryan nodded. “Yes, I know my lines. I presume you know them, too.”

As if he had to ask. “I’ve been given my own official copy.”