A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

No Fun Being the Second Unit

Had Billie not been watching - and rewatching - Billingley's Henry Tilney for many, many hours, Billie would have missed the change in his micro-expressions. Rather, she saw the exact moment when he regained his composure, considered his options, and set on a plan - which to Billie's shock, involved her.

The actor fixed his famed 'soulful eyes' on her and smiled his most charming smile. She weakly returned it. Billie knew his smiles. This one? Irresistible.

"Evening. You must be our contact in this lovely county," he murmured. "I'm Archie."

Are those two still kissing? Focus, Sybil.

"I know who you are," Billie exhaled. "I'm Billie." She swallowed a knot in her suddenly scratchy throat. "And yes, I am your local liaison. Um... And– evening."

His grin grew even wider.

"Finally joining us, Archie?" Bondarenko shouted to him from her spot.

"Evening, Julia," he answered amicably. "Yes, I'd love to! I'm famished. Pedro, do you mind moving?" he addressed the man to Billie's right, Pedro Sanz, Bondarenko's cinematographer.

Oh god.

"Oh Archie, you're here!" Ms. Moretti exclaimed. 

Her chin was resting on her hands folded on Dair's shoulder.

"Hello, Laura," the actor answered in passing. "Eric."

Just as before, nothing but a nod came from Dair.

"So, Billie, tell me about the Nidhogg Hall and the county," Billingsley said, sitting down.

He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and hung it on the back of his chair. Someone was already getting him a plate and cutlery. Billie was silent, so stunned at the realisation that Archie Billingsley was next to her, in the flesh, giving her warm looks, that she might have forgotten to blink for the last couple of minutes.

"Or better so, tell me about yourself," Billingsley continued and put the first forkful of Mrs. Owens' famous breaded garlic mushrooms in his mouth.

In her research into his work, Billie had once read an article where the journalist just couldn't stop describing the small details of the man's physicality: how his throat moved when he drank wine in that film, or how his lips wrapped around a rim of a teacup in that telly series. The author of the three page long encomium had never met the actor personally, and Billie thought that it was perhaps for the best. A real life experience of being exposed to him eating or drinking would have probably unhinged the poor 'Billingsley's upper lip aficionado.'

Nothing beats a man with good table manners, innit?

Except, he's only being extra suave and enticing, squinting and as much as ogling you, Sybil, because he is jealous.

Billie started the long and, no doubt, mind-numbingly boring account of her education and work experience. Let's see if he retains the same mask of courteous interest on his face when she reaches the end of the lengthy list of all her accreditations.

Also, her ever so catechistic mind was wondering which of the two people on her left were the reason for the green in Billingsley's eyes. Billie wouldn't judge either way, obviously. After all, quoting the Reverend Holyoake's latest sermon, 'Oysters or snails, both, or neither? Love is love.'

Billingsley hummed, and nodded, and asked constructive questions; and Billie switched onto an excruciatingly detailed lesson on the history of the Bjornssons' manor.

Just look at him! He's still going strong. One can tell that he's a Shakespearean actor. Any other would've cracked under the 'monotony torture.'