“I know,” I say, heaving a deep breath. “But it doesn’t stop me from feeling that way.”

There’s a slump to his shoulders as he spears a mushroom. “If only we could control our feelings.”

I give him a bitter smile. “If only. But I guess we just have to make the most of what we have. At least I have my sister. At least you have your mother.”

The corner of Emmitt’s mouth twitches. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like it’s just been me and my mum my whole life. Always her hand on my shoulder, that kind of thing.”

“It must have been cool growing up with someone like her as a mother,” I say. “She has such an amazing job.”

“It is an amazing job,” he agrees, but it doesn’t sound like a good thing. “I wouldn’t be here today without her.”

“You don’t look too happy about it,” I say slowly.

Emmitt’s gaze catches mine, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not that I’m not happy about it. It’s just...tiring, I guess. To have to meet her expectations all the time. To be what she wants me to be.”

My heart suddenly feels like a boulder. “Do you not want to be an actor?” I ask, even though it feels almost sacrilegious to say the words aloud.

I expect him to deny it, but he’s quiet for a long time.

“I don’t mind,” Emmitt finally says. “But I...liked it a lot more before.”

“Before what?”

“Before it started to define me,” he says tiredly. “Before I became known as Emmitt Ramos the actor, rather than Emmitt Ramos the person. Sometimes it seems like my mother just sees me as one of her projects.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, but then I think of my own parents and I’m not too sure.

Emmitt laughs, the sound hoarse. “You’d be surprised, love. I think after my dad died, she just kind of threw herself into her work and forgot I was there.”

The space between us is too vast all of a sudden. I want to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm and tell him I’m sorry, but it feels like moving will break the strange, honest atmosphere we’ve managed to create.

“There are good parts to life as a celebrity, though, right?” I say lightly.

“I guess, yeah. It’s nice knowing that I’ve touched people with my work. But... I’d rather do that with something I’ve created myself, you know?” He swallows, his throat shifting with the movement. “Rather than because I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”

My eyes drop to his camera. “Is that why you took up photography?”