Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

Though her smile doesn’t waver again, her upturned nose twitches like a rabbit’s and for a moment, I could swear that she looks at me as if she recognizes me from some other place—some other time.

Must be my imagination though, because just as quickly, she’s bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to get back to business, no trace of that dreamy familiarity to be found.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she stage-whispers, conspiratorially.

“I was terrified to come to this screentest. I thought for sure I was going to be totally fucked showing up to do anything for a western.” She giggles again, like a bubbling brook, and I can already feel the dumb smile spreading across my face.

“You seem to know what you’re doing, though.” She nods to Jasper and Dutchess.

Before I can reply, she’s off again at a mile a minute with nervous energy, “and my goodness—these animals are so beautiful, as long as I don’t fall off and crack my head open, they should do most of the work of looking good on camera for me, right?”

I laugh. Not a for show chuckle or a dry scoff, but a full laugh that sneaks up on me, straight from the gut.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Miss Dale, we gotta get you onto the horse first.”

After a few fitful starts, Daphne is able to get up and into the saddle with minimal assistance. Since we don’t have any wardrobe today, we don’t bother trying side saddle yet, but she sat astride just fine.

In the course of our chatting and practicing, I learned quite a bit about Daphne Dale.

Turns out Miss Dale was one of the only girls in her elementary school that hadn’t wanted a pony. Instead, she’d insisted that her daddy take her to see Elvis’ collection of pink Cadillacs in Graceland, for a trip to Dollywood, and copies of old movies like Maison Blanche.

Though she’d been scared of horses as a girl, and generally an indoor kid, Daphne had grown to appreciate the great outdoors after she’d moved to the sunshine state. Though she admits to being clueless about horseback riding or mountaineering, she spends lots of her free time on the beach and loves surfing.

She even offered to teach me sometime.

I must confess, it was a struggle to redirect my thoughts from Miss Dale in a swimsuit. Heroically, I manage.

I was preparing to walk Daphne around the ring on Dutchess for the camera a few times when Amelia re-appeared, her phone on mute, hands waving to grab my attention.

“Probably close to time for you and Dutchess here to shine,” I encourage Daphne, leading her toward the edge of the ring and Amelia’s flapping.

I watch Daphne’s fingers gently stroke Dutchess’ white mane, the gesture tender and thoughtful as she whispers something beneath her breath to the old mare.

I feel a pang of guilt for imagining her as vapid and spoiled earlier, but the feeling is just as quickly replaced with relief that she is none of those things.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by Amelia, who hasn’t waited for us to get to her and has begun shouting from the whitewashed boards of the corral. “Change of plans. Barton wants to get a sunrise shot of you two riding tandem! ETA ten minutes till daylight so you two and Jasper better get moving to the creek just before Fraser field D straightaway!”

Daphne looks down at me, more than a little worried.

“We’re gonna have to ride together?” She asks, golden eyebrows pitched high with surprise.

“As long as you’re up to it, Miss Dale.” I nod, my heart beating a traitorous, speeding rhythm in my chest at the thought of her held close against me as we ride into the golden sunrise.

“And… We’re gonna ride fast? Like we would for camera, right?” She hesitates. Amelia sees it too, Daphne’s hands tightening on Dutchess’ reigns.

“Only if you’re up to it, Miss Dale,” I assure her.

Her shoulders round as she folds in on herself. It’s been less than an hour, not too surprising that she might be nervous, especially if she doesn’t trust me yet. My hopeful vision of our rose-gold ride into the dawn seems to be slipping away with each passing second—even if my fantasy is only a screen test for a role ultimately to be played by another man. The layers of irony in my current situation are stung with a poetic, bittersweet pain.

Damn, if I’d ever stop being a hopeless romantic…

“Well,” Daphne gulps down a huge breath.

“You really gotta cut it out with the Miss Dale stuff. It’s just Daphne.” She grins at me, all pearly teeth and high, freckled cheekbones. I feel myself smile reflexively back.

“I suppose that if I’m going to do this with anyone, it should be with you.” She’s still smiling but in a more coy, closed way—lips pursed together in the shape of a heart, those dishy aquamarines gleaming at me with trust, with hope.

Amelia helps her down off of Duchess, and Daphne does a good job applying everything I’ve taught her about stepping up and into the saddle to join me astride Jasper.