Page 1 of Love Unscripted
Chapter 1
Aaron Cortelli—the lead actor and director of the upcoming biblical epicEsther—sat in the rehearsal room with his arms folded across his chest, posture rigid, expression unreadable.
Sunlight poured through the high windows, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily above the polished floor. Script pages lay scattered across the long table—evidence of earlier auditions.
Ray Donovan, the film’s producer, stood near the back wall, jacket draped over a chair, arms loosely crossed, eyes alert. He hadn’t spoken much since they arrived, but his presence altered the room’s gravity. Ray never attended auditions unless he was already convinced something important was going to happen.
“This is the right call,” Bruce Brown, the casting director, said, for the third time. “You’ll see.”
Aaron didn’t look at him. “Adriana Callas was excellent. Thoughtful. Reverent. She understood Esther.”
Ray’s mouth twitched faintly. “She was safe.”
“That’s not a flaw,” Aaron said.
“No,” Ray replied evenly. “But it’s not an attribute either.”
Aaron finally turned. “There are other actresses we can consider even if you don’t like Callas.”
Ray met his gaze without blinking. “I want the best Esther.”
Aaron scoffed softly. “And you think that’s her.”
“I know it is,” Ray said.
Aaron opened his mouth to respond—but the door opened.
Camille Carlucci stepped inside.
Aaron stood without meaning to.
She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not the polished seductress splashed across tabloids, not the woman whose image had been commodified and consumed. She wore a simple black dress—elegant and modest. Her dark hair was pulled into a highponytail, her makeup was minimal, and her jewelry restrained. A delicate gold cross rested at her collarbone and a jeweled gold cuff, the most statement making item she wore, caught the light on her hand.
He wondered briefly if it was all an act.
She greeted them with a composed nod. “Good afternoon.”
Her voice was softer than he’d anticipated too. Not coy. Soft but suggesting quiet strength.
Ray straightened, openly studying her.
Bruce made the introductions. Camille nodded at Ray but her gaze lingered on Aaron.
“Mr. Cortelli.”
“Aaron,” he said, too quickly.
She hesitated—just a fraction—then nodded. “Aaron.”
Bruce handed her the pages. “Scene twenty-three.”
Camille nodded, setting her bag down carefully beside the chair. She picked up the script from the table, flipping through the marked pages with quiet concentration. Her eyes moved steadily over the scene notes Aaron had scribbled in the margins—small adjustments to tone, pacing, emotional beats. She didn’t rush.
Aaron watched her for a moment before his phone vibrated against the table.
A text from his mother.
Dana:Madison’s dance teacher pulled me aside after class. She wants Madison to be the lead in the children’s recital next month. Said she picked up the routine faster than the older girls and has “natural stage presence.”
