Miss Matched

Chapter 9

That little revelation by Astrid seems like something Felicity needs to know about. I make an excuse, something about on-location equipment that I totally pull out of thin air, so I can escape from our conversation. Walking away from her limo, I pull my phone from the pocket of my super comfy linen pants, courtesy of Sasa's, and speed dial my mother.

"Hel—"

"Hell is exactly right, Mom. We have a completely hell-ish situation."

"I'm sure everything's fine. It's far too early in the morning for Hell, perhaps you're afloat on the River Styx."

"Very funny. Listen, Astrid just told me she isn't interested in being matched. She wants to be your replacement on the show when you decide to retire."

"I suspected as much."

Why isn't she rattled by that? When I think about her bone-crushing heartache after Peter moved out, and how she wasn't fully functioning, I ask myself how she can handle this with such a sense of aplomb. "You suspected? What does that even mean?"

"It happens occasionally. A candidate who wants to use the show for fame. Some hide it better than others. Surely you've noticed it before."

I had seen it in some of the earliest seasons. People who seemed like they were playing too much for the cameras. Lately, however, there hadn't been much of that, and I'd always assumed that Felicity had developed a good system for weeding them out. "Yes," I replied with hesitation.

"If you were able to see it when you were younger, so will Antonio, and so will the viewing audience. Poor Astrid. I fear social media won't be kind to her when the episode airs. The audience consensus is that Antonio is quite a catch."

"So, you're saying she'll be shooting herself in the foot?"

"More like hoisted with her own petard, Dear. I need to run. Peter is meeting me this morning to go over some of our financial options. Everything will be fine. Ciao."

Oh, God. I've been so caught up in getting everything right for the job, I'd forgotten about Mom's troubles. Her hold-it-togetherness in this situation surprises me, and I feel ashamed to have bothered her with something so trivial. I'm not totally convinced that we don't have a pending disaster with today's shoot, but sometimes the audience loves that as much as a successful match. Regardless, I don't have any ideas for averting it.

There are three trailers in a municipal lot next to the beach. Astrid's disappeared into the one designated for her wardrobe and make-up. There's one for Antonio, and the other is for the crew to use for food and breaks. Antonio is hanging out with his driver. Like always, he looks like he stepped out of the pages of GQ. Today his Italian style is on display. He's dressed in a white shirt, untucked, sleeves rolled up to his forearms with gray shorts. I don't want to stare but can't help myself. I slip on my sunglasses to hide the fact that I'm gawking at him and try to will my libido into submission.

C'mon brain, you need to take charge.

It doesn't work. I want to be close to him if only for a minute, and my feet lead me to his side.

"Hi! It's beautiful today, isn't it?" It seems like such a weak conversation starter, but truly the day couldn't be any more perfect.

"Cosí bella ... like you." A small smile spreads across his face.

The heat in my face is so intense I know I must be blushing a fuchsia hue.

"C'mon. It's way better than me."

"Don't say that, mio cara. She shouldn't say that, right Duke?" He asks his pal, the driver, who nods in agreement because, well, he's being paid by the production company.