Chapter 9: Secret Dates and Real Feelings

The official photographs from their latest "date" at Chateau Marmont were everything the studio could have hoped for—Elara and Liam gazing into each other's eyes over champagne, his hand resting possessively on her thigh, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt in a gesture that screamed intimacy. The images had already generated millions of likes across social media platforms, with #Starfire trending worldwide for the third time that month.

What the cameras hadn't captured was the conversation that had taken place just moments before.

"We need to stop meeting like this," Liam had murmured as they posed for the hidden paparazzi they both knew were positioned across the restaurant.

"What, you mean in public? With photographers documenting our every breath?" Elara had replied, leaning closer to maintain the illusion of romantic conversation.

"I mean pretending that what happened on set was just good acting."

The words had sent electricity through her, but before she could respond, their server had approached with the champagne that Miranda had pre-ordered for maximum photogenic effect. Another performance, another carefully orchestrated moment in their fake romance.

But that had been three hours ago. Now, at nearly midnight, Elara found herself driving through the winding streets of Malibu toward a location that definitely wasn't on any publicity schedule.

Her phone buzzed with a text: Third trailer from the left. I'll leave the door unlocked.

She parked behind a row of food trucks that served the late-night crowd at Malibu Creek State Park, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was insane. If anyone saw them, if any photographers had followed her...

But as she made her way through the darkness toward the vintage Airstream trailers that served as mobile diners, she realized she didn't care. For weeks now, every moment of her life had been choreographed, every interaction filtered through the lens of their contract. She was desperate for something real.

The trailer door opened before she could knock, and Liam pulled her inside with urgent efficiency. The space was cramped but cozy—red vinyl booths, chrome fixtures, and the lingering scent of coffee and pie. They were the only customers.

"This is where you've been disappearing to," she said, taking in the decidedly unglamorous surroundings.

"Best pie in LA, and nobody expects to find Hollywood actors here at midnight," he replied, but his eyes were focused on her face with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she admitted, though food was the last thing on her mind.

The elderly woman behind the counter—Betty, according to her name tag—seemed utterly unfazed by their presence. She served them coffee in chipped mugs and slices of apple pie that were works of art, then retreated to give them privacy.

"So," Elara said, settling into the booth across from him, "are we going to talk about what happened during filming?"

"Which part? The kissing scene where we forgot we were acting, or the part where we've been avoiding each other for the past week?"

"Both."

Liam ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she'd learned meant he was struggling with something. "I've been thinking about what you said in Iceland. About feeling like you could be complicated with me."

"And?"

"I think you were right. About both of us being scared." He met her eyes across the small table. "I'm terrified that what I'm feeling isn't real, that it's just some kind of Stockholm syndrome from being forced to pretend we're in love."

Elara felt something twist in her chest. "And I'm terrified that it is real, and I'm going to ruin it like I ruin everything else."

"You don't ruin everything."

"Don't I? Look at my track record, Liam. Every relationship I've ever had has ended because I couldn't figure out how to be myself instead of what the other person wanted me to be."

"Maybe you never found someone worth being yourself with."

The words hung between them, loaded with possibility and danger. Elara took a bite of pie, using the time to study his face. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the diner, stripped of Hollywood glamour, he looked younger and more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him.

"What are we doing here?" she asked finally.

"Eating pie. Having coffee. Talking without cameras recording every word."

"You know what I mean."

Liam was quiet for a long moment, turning his coffee mug in slow circles on the table. "I think we're trying to figure out if there's something real underneath all the performance."

"And if there is?"

"Then we're completely fucked," he said with a rueful smile. "Because our contract explicitly states that any real romantic involvement could void the agreement and cost us both our careers."

Elara laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So we're trapped. If we're pretending, we're lying to ourselves and everyone else. If we're not pretending, we're violating our contracts and potentially destroying everything we've worked for."

"That's about the size of it."

They sat in silence, the weight of their impossible situation settling between them. Outside, the distant sound of waves crashing on the beach provided a soothing counterpoint to the tension in the small trailer.

"I have an idea," Liam said suddenly.

"I'm listening."

"What if we give ourselves permission to find out? No contracts, no cameras, no publicity schedules. Just us, figuring out what this is."

"How exactly would that work?"

"Secret dates. Real ones. We keep doing the public appearances, the staged photo ops, all the stuff that keeps the studio happy. But in between, we see each other. As ourselves."

Elara felt her heart start to race. "That's incredibly risky."

"Everything worth doing is risky."

"If we get caught—"

"We won't get caught. We'll be careful."

She studied his face, looking for any sign that this was just another performance, another angle she wasn't seeing. But his dark eyes were steady and honest, and she could see her own desperation reflected there.

"Okay," she said finally. "But we need rules."

"Such as?"

"No social media. No phones when we're together. And absolutely no one can know—not our agents, not our friends, no one."

"Agreed. What else?"

"We keep the public appearances exactly as they are. Professional, performed, nothing that crosses the line." She took a breath. "And we're honest with each other. Completely honest. No games, no trying to impress each other, no performing."

"That might be the scariest part," he admitted.

"Good. If we're going to do this, we might as well terrify ourselves properly."

Liam reached across the table and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. The gesture was simple, but it sent warmth spreading through her entire body.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Now we finish our pie and go home to our separate houses and pretend this conversation never happened."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we have the photo shoot for Vanity Fair. We'll be the perfect couple, completely in love, selling the fantasy."

"And tomorrow night?"

Elara felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Tomorrow night, maybe you show me another one of your secret places."

"I know just the spot."

---

The next evening found them hiking up a narrow trail in Griffith Park, the city spread out below them like a carpet of stars. Liam had picked her up in a baseball cap and sunglasses, driving a borrowed pickup truck instead of his usual sports car. They looked like any other couple enjoying an evening hike, which was exactly the point.

"This is beautiful," Elara said as they reached a secluded overlook. The Hollywood sign glowed white in the distance, and the lights of Los Angeles stretched to the horizon.

"I used to come here when I first moved to LA," Liam said, settling beside her on a flat rock. "When I was doing student films and waiting tables, convinced I was going to set the world on fire."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two. Arrogant as hell and completely clueless about how the industry actually worked."

"Did your father help you?"

She felt him tense beside her, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer.

"He got me meetings," he said finally. "But he also made it clear that if I embarrassed him, I was on my own. Every role I booked, every good review I got, I spent half the time wondering if it was because of my talent or his name."

"And now?"

"Now I think it was probably both, and I'm finally okay with that."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the city lights twinkle below them. Elara found herself studying his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she said.

"Everything about this is personal."

"Have you ever been in love? Really in love, not just Hollywood dating?"

Liam was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer.

"Once," he said finally. "In college. She was a literature major, completely unimpressed by anything having to do with Hollywood. We dated for two years."

"What happened?"

"I graduated and moved here. She stayed in New York to get her PhD. We tried the long-distance thing for a while, but..." He shrugged. "She said I was becoming someone she didn't recognize. Someone who cared more about being famous than being happy."

"Was she right?"

"Probably. I was so focused on proving myself, on building a career that was mine and not my father's, that I lost sight of everything else."

Elara reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "And since then?"

"Since then, I've dated actresses and models and socialites, and every single relationship has felt like another performance. Another role to play."

"Until now?"

He turned to look at her, his dark eyes serious. "Until now."

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Elara felt her breath catch as he lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"What about you?" he asked. "Ever been in love?"

"I thought I was. A few times. But looking back, I think I was just in love with the idea of being in love. Of being the kind of person who had epic romances and fairy-tale endings."

"And now?"

"Now I'm starting to think I've been looking for love in all the wrong places."

They were sitting closer now, drawn together by some magnetic force that seemed to exist outside their conscious control. Liam's free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

"This is dangerous," he murmured.

"I know."

"If anyone saw us here..."

"I know."

"We should go."

"We should."

But neither of them moved. Instead, Liam leaned closer, and Elara felt her eyes flutter closed as his lips brushed against hers in a kiss that was nothing like the passionate performance they'd shared on set. This was soft and tentative and achingly real—a question rather than a statement, a beginning rather than a culmination.

When they broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, Elara rested her forehead against his.

"What are we doing?" she whispered.

"I think," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "we're falling in love."

The admission should have terrified her. Instead, it felt like coming home.

As they made their way back down the trail in comfortable silence, hands linked in the darkness, Elara realized that their fake relationship had become the most real thing in her life. And despite all the contracts and complications and potential consequences, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

For the first time in years, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

The question was: how long could they keep their secret before the carefully constructed world around them came crashing down?