Page 26 of Love Unscripted
He took a deep breath and looked away and she could tell that he was trying to control his anger. Eventually, he turned to her with blazing eyes.
“Do you think I don’t understand Esther?”
The question was quiet. Dangerously so.
“I didn’t say that—”
“You implied it.”
He leaned forward, voice low and controlled.
“You’re not elevating her, Camille. You’re reshaping her into something that fitsyourperception—not the story we’re telling. Who do you think you are?”
She straightened her spine. “Camille Carlucci. Two-time Emmy Award winner.”
He scoffed. “Prima donna is more like it. I’ll have you know I’ve directed my father—a three-timeAcademyAward winner. In our last film he gave a monologue completely wrong. I made him redo it, giving him the tone and expression I wanted. It would have been inconceivable that he would refuse, because I was the director and he is old school and knows therightway to do things. You need to understand your role. You are not the director. You are the actor. You need discipline and self-control. If you continue to behave like a spoiled brat on my set, we’re done.”
Camille leaned back slowly. The fight… drained.
Because she now understood.
Simon’s voice echoed faintly in her mind—pushing her to assert, to dominate, to take control. But Simon always sounded right—right up until everything fell apart. He was the gold that turned out to be brass. Why did she ever listen to him?
Her gaze dropped to her plate. She’d misstepped. Badly.
And now she had to fix it—without losing her dignity.
~*~*~*~
They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Julie came to take away their empty plates. She then returned with Camille’s apple pie and ice cream.
“Dessert?” she asked Aaron.
“Coffee for me,” he said, just as Camille took a bite of her pie.
Camille murmured, barely audible, “You didn’t answer my question, Aaron. Do you regret casting me?”
His heart pinched. She looked close to tears, and it tore at him. He hadn’t meant to wound her—he’d only been frustrated. Still, honesty mattered.
“Actually… it wasn’t my decision to make.”
“Whose decision was it?”
“The studio’s, ultimately. Ray influenced it, of course.”
“So, I acknowledge it wasn’t your decision to cast me. But do you regret that the decision was made?” she asked, eyes shining.
He grew quiet, reflecting on the past two months. The early weeks had been good. And even after she’d gone rogue, he still enjoyed directing her. Ray called it patience. Aaron called it something else.
He met her gaze.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t regret that you’re the lead. Despite our disagreements, you’re an asset to this film. And Iadmire you. It takes courage to walk away from a celebrated television career for Christian film. No one does this for fame.”
She smirked. “My mom reminds me daily.”
He smiled sympathetically. “Sorry.”
He checked his watch—an hour and fifteen minutes had passed.
