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through any of thisalone. Whatever is coming, whatever happens, you’ll have me. I promise.”
    I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. I swear he can, too. “Thank you,” I say.
    He keeps looking at me, and I think he’s going to say something more, something about what it’s like where I’m headed—where we both are. The moment stretches, and the air seems to pause around us. Even the wind stills.
    But he doesn’t say anything, and after a bit I follow his gaze back to the water. There is one windsurfer in particular who catches my eye. He has a blue sail and is farther out than the rest of them. So far, in fact, that it’s hard to see whether he’s moving at all. The only way I know for sure is that he gets smaller and smaller. By the time we stand up and walk back to the car, his blue sail might be the ripple of a wave.

CHAPTER 7
    I didn’t swim this morning, and I’m lounging around in my condo, still in my pajamas and, yeah, thinking about Rainer. Listen, I don’t think he’s into me. Not like
that
. I get that he’s a full-fledged movie star and I’m a total newbie. But something about our day yesterday makes me feel like my crush isn’t completely unwarranted. God help me. I have a total crush on Rainer Devon.
    A loud knock on my door jolts me back to reality. Two knuckle raps. When I swing it open, Wyatt is on the other side. My stomach instantly pulls back, like someone has socked me.
    “Paige,” he says. “We need to talk.” He’s wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt and black pants, and his hair is standing up every which way.
    “Fucking wind,” he says, catching my gaze.
    He follows me into the kitchen, and I take out some of the Evian water bottles the craft service people keep stocked in my fridge. They asked me what I liked to eat the first day on set, and since then coleslaw and peanut butter crackers have been showing up in my refrigerator and cabinets.
    “So,” I say. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t even open my water bottle. “What’s going on?” Wyatt has never visited me in my condo, ever. He sometimes goes to Rainer’s but that’s usually only when Sandy is there. This is bad. I know it is.
    Wyatt shoves something at me. It’s his iPad. And on it are grainy photos of Rainer and me from yesterday, splashed across a tabloid website.
    I see pictures of Rainer and me driving with the top down, holding hands at the Fish Market. Snapshots of him putting his sweatshirt around me at the overlook and even ones of us talking, so close it looks like his forehead is pressed up against mine. And a stupid headline to top it all off:
L OCKED
C OSTARS A LREADY G ETTING C OZY .
    I suddenly become intensely aware of the crescent moons on my pajamas.
    “Oh,” I say.
    He turns his face to me. He doesn’t look pleased. “Yeah.
Oh.
Want to tell me what’s going on?”
    “Nothing,” I tell him. “They were taken completely out of context, I swear. We were just exploring the island—” But I stop talking when I catch the look on Wyatt’s face. It seems to say that any explanation I give him is only an excuse.
    “I don’t really give a shit what you do with your personal life,” he says. “But I will not have my movie go up in flames because you two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
    “Hey,” I say. Anger flares up in my chest. “That’s not what happened. This hasn’t affected—it won’t—we’re not even—Rainer—” What I want to ask is why he isn’t bringing this up with Rainer. Why this is suddenly all
my
fault.
    Wyatt holds his hand up. “You might think this is just some teenybopper fantasy, but do you have any idea how much thought and attention and time has gone into this project? How many hundreds of millions of dollars? People’s careers?”
    “I know,” I say, but I can’t continue. My chest feels tight. I’m afraid I’m going to start crying.
    Wyatt flicks his eyes across my face. “You think I’m hard on you,” he says. “You think