She wasn’t Sophia. She didn’t get to exist without apologies or explanations. Her life didn’t hold up under scrutiny, and never had that been clearer than when Sophia connected her to the character she was playing. The two women couldn’t be more different, and the reasons Vic had listed only scratched the surface. She just wished the underlying concerns didn’t cut so deep. Perhaps if Sophia had shown any real interest in her sooner, or maybe if she only wanted help with things like her accent, Vic could have convinced herself there was no harm in following that path a little further, but that’s not what had happened.

Sophia had been easy to talk to, with her wit and sardonic humour. Time passed quickly in her company, and she seemed to enjoy herself as well at times, but her eyes never sparked with any overwhelming passion until she connected Vic to the character she saw as life-changing. She only wanted Vic when she thought of her as some sort of inspiration for Regina. Even now a sense of cold spiralled through her at the memory, and all the others that preceded it in her life. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, or rather, she could, she had, and she still did, but not with a romantic interest. Not ever again.

“Whoa,” James called, shaking her from her musing. “Ma’am!”

She spun to see a handle from one of the cameras pressed flat against an oil painting of Henry the Hearty, her tenth great-grandfather. Her heart hammered against her already tight chest. “Whoa indeed.”

The cameraman turned to stare at her, then back at the director, clearly uncertain who to take his cues from.

“Don’t step back any further,” Brian said dismissively.

“Actually, I need you to step forward,” she corrected quickly.

“He’s not hurting it,” Brian argued.

“Any contact with the canvas is unacceptable.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Move the painting.”

She shook her head. “You’re not qualified to move it. If you’d like it relocated, I’ll contact one of our preservationists to make sure it’s handled in accordance with its value.”

“We don’t have time.”

“I understand it seems tedious, but I can’t compromise on this.”

“And I can’t compromise on my shot,” Brian growled.

“The camera has a certain depth of field,” the cameraman offered, still literally trapped in the middle.

“Then perhaps you should use a different one.”

“Hey, now,” the director snapped. “Don’t tell my men what camera to use. Do you have any idea what that piece of equipment is worth?”

“I don’t,” Victoria admitted, “but I’m sure you can tell me.”

Brian blinked a few times and shrugged.