“Wow.” Vic bit her lip to hold in an all-out laugh when Sophia stepped into the sitting room wearing her full set costume for the day’s shooting schedule. “That’s so . . . wow.”

Sophia pursed her lips and gave her a stern look, which only made the whole picture infinitely more amusing. It wasn’t Sophia’s fault. She still had a killer stare, and two weeks of sleeping together regularly had done little to lessen its overall effect on Vic, but it was almost impossible to find someone intimidating in a pink and purple plaid dress with sleeves bulbous enough to serve as floatation devices. Then again, at least the sleeves kept the viewer’s eyes off the immense skirt of ruffles that protruded on a series of hoops cascading out into a tent large enough to camp under.

“Not another word,” Sophia warned.

She held up her hands as if to show she had no weapons to wield, but she couldn’t stop one tiny giggle from escaping.

Sophia rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know I’m dressed like a clown, okay?”

“No. I was going to say you look exactly like an oil painting we have of my grandmother.”

“Exactly what a woman wants to hear from her lover.”

Victoria’s breath caught at the term. It was the first label either of them had used in the time they’d been sleeping together or sharing space, and while she’d worked hard to hold her own fears at bay about where they could be headed, she did thrill at the idea of them at least being something to each other in this moment. “I didn’t mean you looked old or matronly, just the style, and the way you carry yourself reminds me of—”

“Your grandmother?” Sophia rolled her eyes. “You walked right back into that one.”

“Authentic!” Vic tried again. “I meant to compliment your authenticity. It was a compliment to make you feel better about the constraints of the role.”

“You’re terrible at compliments,” Sophia said, though her smile suggested otherwise.

“Fine, but for the record, my grandmother was a badass.”

“Oh yes, by all means, keep talking about your grandmother with the only five minutes we’re likely to get alone together today.”

Vic laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t seem to have any such trouble last night.”

Vic warmed at the memory and the jolt of confidence it gave her. “I’d gladly shoot for a repeat performance, but I suspect you’d have to redo your makeup, and I’m not sure I’d be able to get my hands under all those skirts and petticoats in the allotted time.”