Chapter Two : Camera Chemistry
626 Words
The mansion was a dream on the o
“You think I looked at you?” she said, voice low. “Maybe I was just looking through the camera.”
“You weren’t,” he said quietly. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but next to Romeo.”
Zara leaned against the wall, suddenly tired. “And if I did?”
“Then you’re playing a dangerous game.”
She stepped forward. Just enough to feel the tension spark between them.
“So are you, Jesse. You’re the only one on this set who doesn’t pretend not to see me.”
The silence crackled.
For a moment, they were two people. Not a camera operator and a cast member. Not a script and a scene.
Just Jesse and Zara.
Real and raw.
“I’m not in your show,” he said, barely above a whisper.
She looked up at him. “No. You’re the onlyutside—flawless architecture, overflowing roses, fairy lights strung like constellations across the garden—but it was a cage in disguise.
Zara Blake knew it better than anyone.
She sat on the velvet swing in the “date garden,” the producers’ favorite setting for capturing romantic close-ups. A glass of champagne dangled in her hand, untouched. The cameras hadn’t started rolling yet, but she was already exhausted from pretending.
“Places in ten,” a PA called, headset crackling.
Right on cue, Romeo Sinclair strutted toward her—tanned, teeth gleaming, every movement designed for maximum charm. America’s favorite showmance prince. Her assigned love interest.
“Wow,” he said with a practiced grin, “they really knew what they were doing when they cast you.”
Zara smiled, just enough to keep the illusion alive. “And they knew what they were doing when they cast you too. You’re very… palatable.”
“Was that a compliment or a roast?”
She raised her glass. “Why not both?”
The cameras rolled, and the performance began.
Romeo leaned in closer, flashing his signature smile. “So, Zara. Tell me your biggest turn-on.”
She laughed on cue, tilting her head. “A man who doesn’t ask that question on a first date.”
The crew chuckled behind the scenes. Good banter meant good footage. But Zara’s smile faded for half a second—and only one person noticed.
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Jesse Cruz adjusted the focus on his lens, his jaw tight.
He should’ve been numb to it by now—the lights, the fake intimacy, the obvious edits. But something about Zara always got to him. She didn’t fake it the way the others did. There were flickers of rebellion beneath her glossy performance, cracks she tried to hide.
Like when she subtly pulled her hand back as Romeo reached for it.
Like how her laugh stopped just short of genuine.
And like the way her eyes—just once—drifted to where Jesse stood, behind the camera, and lingered.
He looked away first.
---
After the shoot, Zara slipped into the side hallway behind the production lounge, still mic’d but now out of sight. Her heels clicked softly. She unpinned her hair, breathing out the character she’d been forced to play for hours.
Jesse stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed.
“You missed your mark tonight,” he said.
Zara startled, then arched a brow. “Did I? Pretty sure we got our kiss, our spark, and our fake chemistry for the highlight reel.”
Jesse didn’t smile. “You hesitated. Twice.”
“I always hesitate. It’s called being selective.”
“You looked at me, Zara.”
She paused. For a beat too long.
part of it that feels unscripted.”
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