CHAPTER 1

Heat and makeup do not mix, especially when a medium-coverage foundation begins to melt over the high white lace collar of a French lace dress. Summer had arrived early, and no one was prepared for it. The actress's nervousness ahead of a wedding scene certainly didn’t help either.

— Everyone ready? You’ll be on set in minutes! — a sharp voice cut through the trailer door, making everyone even more anxious.

— Makeup will be ready in five... — the makeup artist tried to smooth things over, his palettes spread across the illuminated vanity.

— Hair is good! — confirmed the hairstylist, pinning the last strand into a braided updo woven with flowers.

The cool air blowing through the small gap of the AC unit wasn't enough to chill the cramped space. Panting, the actress fanned herself with her hands.

— Excuse me, whoever is done, please step out! — a velvety yet firm voice cut through the claustrophobic atmosphere, making room for the actress to breathe. — Let me look at you, darling!

Rachel stepped closer to Lana, a popular actress used to playing tough characters in action movies, but who was now starring in her first romance.

— Hmm... — Rachel examined the hem of the lace dress, the satin ribbons at the waist, the pearl buttons on the fastening, the heart-shaped embroidery on the sleeves, the sheer fabric of the bodice, all while checking her clipboard to see if everything was as requested in the script. — This isn't right... Something isn't right. — Rachel stepped back to get a wider view. — I knew it. The bride was supposed to have long, light blue nails. Why is she wearing short French tips? Where is the manicurist? — she asked, rummaging through the accessory folder in search of the blue press-on nails until she found them.

— I'm here! — the manicurist hurried in, sliding right next to the actress's hands in a single motion and immediately beginning the application of the fake nails, which were put on in no time.

— I'm done here. — the makeup artist rushed, giving the final touches with setting spray.

In exactly nine minutes, Lana was in position, ready for the long-awaited scene.

The scene consisted precisely of a bride walking alone down a long stone pathway toward the altar, where no one was waiting, no one was watching, and no one was accompanying her. It was just the bride and the long stone walkway.

At the edge of the set, away from the cameras and boom mics, Rachel walked silently, evaluating the drape and fluidity of the dress as the actress moved. Until...

— What is the meaning of this? — A shout came from the director’s chair, as he stood up immediately and strode to the center of the set where the actress stood. — Who did your makeup? — Thomas asked rigidly, leaving Lana speechless.

Everyone on set fell silent, startled by Thomas’s outburst, as he realized he had gone too far and pulled back for a brief moment.

— It wasn't the makeup artist's fault... — Rachel stepped up to take charge of the situation. — It's hotter than usual today, it's normal for the makeup to smudge a little.

Thomas walked right up to Rachel.

— What do you think you're doing? Going to act as a shield for other people's incompetence now? — he spoke in a low, yet unyielding voice.

— No, I'm not, but if you give me a minute, I'll fix it.

Thomas chuckled with disdain as he glanced around, noticing that everyone was watching.

— You have five minutes — he said quietly, walking away without meeting her eyes. — Someone get me some ice water, this place feels like hell today.

Quickly, the commotion on the set began. Rachel ran back to the trailer, where she rummaged through the costume rack until she found a strip of French lace similar to the dress fabric. Back on the set, she hurried to the actress, who was standing beneath a fan trying to cool off. Rachel wrapped the stained collar of the dress with the piece of lace trim, completely covering the stain and finishing it with a discreet bow at the nape of the neck.

The five minutes given by the director passed, and the problem was resolved, allowing filming to continue.

The pressure of the film set, combined with excessive heat, tested the skill and composure of everyone involved in the production. However, Rachel's speed and calm demeanor, paired with her experience, ensured that the issue was fixed efficiently and discreetly. The scene, which could have been compromised by a simple mistake, proceeded without further hiccups.

After filming wrapped, the crew gathered excitedly for a celebratory dinner, marking the successful shoot and taking the opportunity to unwind after an exhausting day. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and chatter, everyone marveling at how a simple scene could turn into such an exhausting ordeal.

Rachel, however, kept to herself, declining the invitation yet again, as she had on previous occasions. Her eyes didn't share in the others' excitement, and her silence seemed out of place amid the festive mood.

Upon arriving home, Rachel noticed her stepson wasn't alone. The pair of men's shoes by the door told her there was a visitor. Deciding to ignore the situation, she headed straight up to her room, planning to spend the next few hours unwinding in solitude. However, the sound of lively conversation drifting up from downstairs interrupted her.

"Could Thomas be home already? And did he bring the crew back with him? No, he's not that sociable... But then, who could it be?" Rachel thought, confused.

Curious, she stepped cautiously out of her room, almost as if she were committing a crime. Leaning softly over the mezzanine railing, she spotted three male figures gathered in the living room.

Thiago, her stepson, with his hair messy as always. Next to him, Thomas, her husband and Thiago's father, with wrinkled clothes and looking exhausted. And finally, a tall young man with dark, equally unkempt hair, whose features were entirely unknown to Rachel.

The three of them were talking and laughing loudly while she watched, trying to make sense of the unexpected gathering. But in a subtle movement, the unknown young man turned his head, and his eyes locked onto Rachel's as she peered down from the mezzanine. Startled, she scurried back to her room. The gesture was so discreet that, apparently, no one else had noticed the brief eye contact—just her and the young man.

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