Back on set the next morning, the atmosphere was electric. Jake and I were preparing for one of the more intimate scenes—a slow dance in the gym, scripted to feel like the culmination of our high school romance. My stomach flipped, not entirely because of the scene, but because of the previous day’s paparazzi chaos.
I tugged at the hem of my hoodie, trying to hide my nervous energy. Jake noticed immediately.
“You’re jittery,” he said, smirking. “First-time dance nerves or the press making your life miserable?”
“Both,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “And I don’t need your commentary, Mr. Expert.”
He laughed, the sound echoing warmly across the empty gym before the crew and cameras settled. “You’re adorable when you’re stubborn.”
I scowled but couldn’t suppress a small smile. Adorable? That word didn’t fit my persona. Not me, Eleni Vireli—the sarcastic, untouchable rookie actress.
Lights, camera, action.
Jake guided me into the first steps. Hands brushing accidentally—deliberately?—my heart raced. Every movement was choreographed for the camera, but the proximity made it feel too real. I reminded myself: this is work. Nothing more.
During a break, my phone buzzed incessantly. I peeked—my social media notifications were exploding. The photo of the SUV, the paparazzi flashes, the questions about me and their father—gone viral. Fans were speculating, comments pouring in:
"Is she dating him or Jake?"
"Why is she always with his kids?"
"Something’s definitely going on!"
I groaned, tossing my phone onto the bench. Jake leaned over, reading the screen, and chuckled.
“You look way too stressed for a love scene. Maybe you’re jealous?”
“Ha. Very funny,” I snapped, though my cheeks warmed anyway.
Before I could respond, Liam and Noah appeared, tugging at my sleeve. “Come play with us!” Liam said, eyes wide and excited.
“Nope,” I said, holding up a finger. “I have work. Can’t abandon your dad or Jake—or whatever you’re thinking about me.”
“No! You have to come!” Noah insisted. “You always come with us!”
I sighed, giving in, knowing how quickly the kids could make me soft. They pulled me toward the mini arcade section the studio had set up for breaks, laughter filling the space. Their father watched from afar, arms crossed, eyes sharp but amused, his girlfriend hovering slightly behind, clearly unsettled by my presence.
The tension between us—the paparazzi frenzy, the kids’ possessiveness, the girlfriend’s glare—was palpable, but strangely, it made the day feel alive. And as I helped the younger one reach for the basketball claw and teased the older about losing a game, I realized something: no matter the chaos, no matter the rumors, no matter the pressure, I was carving out my place—not just in acting, but in this strangely intertwined world of kids, fame, and complicated friendships.
YOU ARE READING
Between Scripts and Heartbeats
RomanceAt twenty, I never planned on fame, let alone working alongside one of the most famous actors in the industry-a man fifteen years older than me, widowed, and raising two mischievous boys on his own. I was stubborn, sarcastic, and too proud to admit...
