âAlright, didnât you say thereâs an early scene to shoot? Get moving. Donât keep the cast waiting.â
Everyone knew the drill in showbiz, but when Balfour mentioned that the cast was waiting, Colton quickly scooted out, not wanting to hold Ivy up.
The rest lingered, but Balfourâs presence felt like a thorn in their side, so he shooed them all out before sprawling on Ivyâs couch.
That couch, Ivyâs regular haunt, still carried the sweet scent of her perfume.
Balfourâs furrowed brow eased a touch, but the thought of their earlier spat soured his mood.
He couldnât fathom when Ivy had thought about leaving him.
Yet, deep down a voice roared clear he wouldnât allow this woman to walk out of his life. How to prevent it, though, he had no clue.
Balfour curled up his long legs, settling into the narrow couch. Ivyâs scent enveloped him, making the tight space suddenly comforting.
Unwittingly, his eyes closed, and he drifted back to sleep.
Ivy carried on, ignoring Balfour, her morning performance done and dusted.
Despite the makeup ordeal that morning, Colton was thrilled with the scene â as usual with Ivy. Her ability to layer personal insight on top of the character analysis provided by the writer and director made her a constant delight.
âYou didnât get much sleep last night, and youâve been at it all morning. Go get some rest,â Colton advised before Ivy could leave, hinting that Balfour was still in her dressing room.
âOkay, thanks, Colton,â Ivy said, her face still painted for the screen, planning to remove the makeup once she was back.
Now adept with her crutches, she needed no assistance.
Pushing open her dressing room door, Ivy found Balfour asleep on her couch.
With a frown, she approached, her crutches clicking on the floor, failing to rouse him.
âHow can you be so tired? If youâre this sleepy, why not rest at home? Why come here to disturb me?
Isnât Mara enough for you?â
Silently, Ivy stood beside Balfour, watching him sleep. So aloof when awake, yet so innocently harmless in slumber. Looking at his face, she felt torn resenting her inability to leave but also resenting his reluctance to let her go.
If only relationships could be cut in two as cleanly as a ribbon.
While Ivy was lost in thought, Balfourâs phone on the table buzzed. She instinctively grabbed it, not wanting the ring to wake him, only to see âMaraâ flash on the caller ID.
As she hesitated, Balfour woke. He saw Ivy with his phone, and stood up to take it from her.
âSorry, I wasnât trying to snoop,â Ivy started, but Balfour walked off with the phone before she could finish.
His reaction stung Ivy. Did he think she was so desperate to eavesdrop on their conversation?
She wished she could be miles away from both of them.
Biting her lip, Ivy wondered, why couldnât this man have left already?
Balfour answered the call with an indifferent âWhatâs up?â