Chapter Text
The sidewalk outside the Carthay Circle Theatre sparkled. Reporters crowded together, autograph seekers' books raised, and sleek cars moved under the searchlights. Above everything, the white stucco tower shone in the night. The marquee lit up.
The world premiere of “City Devils”, starring Grant Malloy and Charlotte Matthews.
No one was really here for Nat Samuels. Not yet. But lately his name had begun slipping into columns beside Jackie Taylor’s, and Monarch Studios wanted to see if the world would buy what Van Doren was selling.
James Van Doren, head of publicity, had watched the early rushes of Rebel Hill and seen the chemistry between Jackie’s Peggy Dawson and Nat’s Ricky Cole.
“Photoplay, Screen Stories, the works. We sell them Peggy and Ricky on that hill, and we sell them Jackie Taylor and Nathaniel Samuels around town.”
It sounded like a strategy. To Nat, it sounded like a trap door disguised as a spotlight.
A year ago, he’d been another nobody on the bit-player circuit. Now the crowd’s roar crashed over him, flashbulbs popping, reporters shouting, the press leaning forward hungrily. He felt the world blur at the edges.
He should have worn his glasses, but Van Doren hated them.
“I never want to see you photographed in those things again,”
He had said, less joke, more threat, so Nat took them off, and the studio crafted his image however they pleased.
A flash caught the white scar on his chin, his father’s parting gift, before Nat left home for good. He summoned an easy smile, dimples showing, blue-gray eyes bright. He did what was required.
Beside him, Jackie Taylor moved like someone born to this light. Monarch Studios' crown jewel, her honey-blonde, glossy hair. Her pale silvery-blue dress caught the bulbs, dimming everything around her. Her hand curled around his arm in a polished pose. For a second, as the crowd roared, she was the still point amid the noise.
They’d been “an item” in the columns for weeks now.
Jackie Taylor and Nathaniel Samuels Share Laughs in Studio Canteen
Romance Rumors Swirl on Set
Nat felt like a passenger on a train he hadn’t agreed to board. And couldn’t get off.
“Jackie! Nathaniel! Over here!”
Jackie guided them with a light touch on his elbow and whispered so only he could hear. “Half-step left.” He shifted left. The cameras devoured it.
On set, she’d walked him step by step through marks and blocking with that same quiet precision, indicating where to stand and when to move. Out here, she made it look like flirting. He let his fingers brush hers, just for a heartbeat, a silent “Thanks.” He felt her responding grip, adjusting to support him, as if saying, “I’ve got you.”
A reporter called out, “Are you two a couple off-screen as well?”
Jackie’s smirk was gentle and playful at once. “If we are,” she said, “I hope the studio remembers to pay us overtime.”
The press cackled. Nat’s grin twitched just for her. They both knew this romance was staged. But in the brief hush between flashes, it felt like the world narrowed to a private joke shared just between them.
He tugged lightly at his collar. The stiff, starched edge dug beneath his jaw. Underneath the layers of his tux, the elastic bandage wrapped tight around his chest held firm. A constant inward pressure. A truth he could not risk revealing. The jacket broadened his shoulders and sharpened his silhouette. But the bandage did the real work. The quiet, necessary compression beneath all that glossy illusion.
No amount of fidgeting with his collar would ease that.
Jackie leaned in, warm breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Almost over,” she whispered, squeezing his arm once, a steadying touch.
“Hold that pose!” the photographer barked. Flashbulbs burst like mini explosions. Nat slid his arm around her waist. She pressed against him, as if sculpted for Nat to hold.
“Now look at each other!”
The world slid out of focus. Her hazel eyes met his. Lashes angled just so—a rehearsed hint of adoration that never veered into the tawdry. Beneath the act was something different. A flicker he’d glimpsed on set once or twice. Something that didn’t expose him but unsettled him all the same.
“Perfect! One more!”
They held the pose until the shouts shifted to the next car pulling up. The spell broke. Ushers shepherded them toward the theatre doors. Nat finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The bandage didn’t ease, but at least the cameras were behind them now.
Until the next flash.