One Week With The Best Man. Andrea Laurence
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there’s not much left to worry about.”
“Do you do a lot of sex scenes?” Gretchen asked. She couldn’t imagine how invasive that would be. She couldn’t even work up the courage to take her clothes off in front of one man, much less a roomful.
“There’s usually one in every film. I typically save the female lead from the bad guy and she thanks me with her body. It’s always seemed a little cliché and stupid to me. You’d think someone would be too traumatized for something like that, but apparently I’m so handsome, they can’t help themselves.”
“I’m sure most women in real life couldn’t help themselves either. You’re in...excellent shape.”
He grinned wide, exposing the bright smile that charmed women everywhere. “Thank you. I work very hard to look like this, so it’s nice to be appreciated.”
“I can’t imagine what it would take.”
“I can tell you. I do high-intensity interval training four days a week and run about ten miles a day the other three. I have given up all my vices, and my trainer has me eating nothing but lean protein, vegetables and some fruits.”
Gretchen’s eyes grew larger the more he talked. That sounded miserable. No pizza, no bread, no cookies. He looked good, but what a price. “I, obviously, am not willing to put that much work in.”
“Most people aren’t, but I make my living with these abs. It’s not exactly what I’d planned when I moved to California, but it’s worked out. Even then, there are days where I’d kill for a chocolate chip cookie. Just one.”
That just seemed sad. She was no poster child for moderation, but there had to be some middle ground. “I guess the wedding cake is out, then. That’s a shame. Amelia does amazing work.”
Julian narrowed his gaze at her. “Maybe I’ll make an exception for a bite or two of her amazing cake. I’ll let you feed me some of yours so I’m not too tempted.”
She couldn’t even imagine feeding Julian cake while they sat together at the reception. That seemed so intimate, so beyond where they were together. She knew nothing about him, aside from the fact that he was out of her league.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. The words shot out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His dark brows went up curiously. “What’s that?”
“It may be painfully obvious to you, but I’m not very good with this kind of thing. I haven’t been in many relationships, so this whole situation is alien to me. I don’t know if coaching will be enough for me to pull this off.” She stopped talking and waited in the silence for him to put an end to this torture and terminate the relationship agreement. If they hurried, maybe they could find a more suitable replacement before the welcome dinner. Anyone would be better than Gretchen.
“I think that’s charming,” he said with a disarming smile. “Most of the women I know mastered flirting in kindergarten. But no worries. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
“How can you teach me how to have a relationship in only a few hours if I haven’t mastered it in almost twenty-nine years?”
He leaned in and fixed his bright blue gaze on her. “I happen to be an actor,” he confided in a low voice. “A classically trained one at that. I can teach you some tricks to get through it.”
Tricks? How could a few acting drills undo fifteen years of awkwardness around men? “Like what?”
“Like reframing the scene in your mind. For one thing, you’ve got to stop thinking about who I am. That’s not going to help you relax. I want you to look at the next few days like a play. You and I are the leads. I’m no more famous than you are. We’re equals.”
“That’s a nice idea, but—”
Julian held up his hand to silence her. “No buts. We’re actors. You are a beautiful actress playing the role of my girlfriend. You’re meant to be here with me and you’re perfectly comfortable with me touching you. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
Gretchen sighed. It would take more than a little role-playing for her to convince herself of that. “I’m not a beautiful actress. I can’t be.”
“And why not?” He frowned at her, obviously irritated by her stubbornness to play his game.
“To be a beautiful actress, one must first be beautiful. Only then are acting skills relevant.”
Julian narrowed his gaze at her. She squirmed under the scrutiny. They both knew she wasn’t Hollywood starlet material; there wasn’t any need to look so closely and pick apart the details of her failures.
He reached out and took her hand in his. “Did you know that Bridgette has a mustache she has to get waxed off? She’s also not really a blonde, and most of her hair is made up of extensions. Her breasts are fake. Her nose is fake. Everything about her is fake.”
“And she looks good.” The money was well invested in her career if what he said was true. If Gretchen had a couple grand just lying around, she might make a few improvements herself.
“Julia Monroe is legally blind when she isn’t wearing her contact lenses. If her makeup artist doesn’t contour her face just right, she looks like a guy after a losing boxing match.”
Julia Monroe was one of the biggest and most sought-out actresses in Hollywood. Gretchen had a hard time believing she could look anything but stunning.
“Rochelle Voight has the longest nose hairs I’ve ever seen on a woman, and her breath is always rancid. I think it’s because all she ever eats or drinks are those green juices. I hate when I have to kiss her or film close scenes.”
Was he serious? “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because you need to know that it’s all an illusion. Every single one of the Hollywood beautiful people you’ve compared yourself to is a carefully crafted character designed just for the cameras. We’re far from perfect, and more than a few of us couldn’t even be described as beautiful without our makeup and hair teams.”
“You’re telling me everyone in Hollywood is secretly ugly, so I shouldn’t feel bad.”
He smirked and leaned in to drive home his point. “I’m saying you’re an attractive woman—a realistically attractive woman. You shouldn’t put yourself through the wringer comparing yourself to an unrealistic ideal. It’s all fake.”
Gretchen’s brows went up in surprise. Even with her makeover, she felt as if Julian were only tolerating her because he couldn’t get out of the arrangement. Could he actually believe what he said, or was he just trying to boost her ego enough to get them through this week together?
“Everything about me is fake, too,” he said.
It was easy to believe the women he’d spoken about were painted to perfection, but everything on Julian looked pretty darn real to her. “Come on,” she chided, pulling her hand from his. She knew he was putting her on now.
“No, I’m serious. These baby blue eyes are colored contacts. The highlights in my hair are fake. My teeth are porcelain veneers because my parents couldn’t afford braces when I was younger. My tan is sprayed on weekly. Even my accent is fake.”
“You don’t have an accent,” she argued.
“Exactly. I’m from Kentucky,” he said with an unmistakable twang he’d suppressed earlier. “I have an accent, but you’re never going to hear it from me because I hide it like everything else.”
Gretchen sat back against the cushions of the couch and tried to absorb everything he was telling her. It was a lot to take in all at once.
“We may all have fake hair and wear makeup and put ourselves through all sorts of abuses to chase the elusive beauty and youth, but we’re all actors. This is just our costume. So think of your