Page 9 of Love Unscripted
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Camille’s was preparing for the scene in which she would be presented to the king for one night. She had rehearsed it so many times it lived in her body now, instinctive and memorized. The lines were not her concern. She knew them. She and Aaron had discussed the scene at length—how she was to play it. With restraint and with bashfulness. After all, Esther was a virgin. Aaron had made that point abundantly clear. She was not worldly. Not seductive.
Today, however, posed a particular challenge for her. This would be the first scene she and Aaron shared together. She understood the intention clearly: she was to appear modest, deferential. Yet was it truly wrong to want to be appealing as well? To want to glimpse that spark—that flicker of interest she was accustomed to seeing in men’s eyes?
In Aaron’s eyes, she saw nothing. And that bothered her because the attraction she felt for him was strong. Was it terrible that she wanted him to feel the same way about her? After all, it wasn’t as though he had a wife like Simon had. He was unattached. His wife had passed away three years ago. He was a young, virile man. There was no reason he shouldn’t get on with his life.
She turned the scene over in her mind and resolved to play it accordingly—faithful to Esther, yes, but honest. Because surely Esther wanted to be desired. Surely, that was why she had taken the eunuch’s advice on what to wear and the scents and beauty treatment to apply. And sure she was demure but she was also a woman seeking to win the heart of the king.
When she finally stepped into wardrobe and makeup, the transformation startled even her. They had done extraordinary work. She looked radiant. Regal. Beautiful.
Surely, she thought, that would stir something in Aaron today.
~*~*~*~
Aaron was already on set when Camille entered.
The chamber had been dressed for evening—oil lamps placed low and deliberately, their flames softened by amber glass. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, pooling behind columns and tapestries, while the central space glowed with a warm, intimate hush.
Camille’s gown whispered as she crossed the threshold. The jewels in her hair and throat caught the lamplight with each step, throwing brief glints across her cheekbones and her throat.
Aaron looked up. And the reaction was immediate.
His gaze followed the line of her movement, the fall of fabric against her body, the way the light gathered at her shoulders and traced the curve of her neck before slipping into shadow again. For a moment—just a moment—he forgot to mask the reaction.
Camille felt his reaction like heat.
For the first time since rehearsals began, she knew he wasn’t simply observing her. He was feeling her.
“Places,” the assistant director called.
Aaron didn’t look away right away. When he finally did, he drew a measured breath, straightened, and nodded once. “From Esther’s entrance,” he said, voice even, controlled.
Camille stepped forward.
Her movements followed the blocking—slow, reverent—but something lived beneath it now. Awareness sharpened her senses. The lamps seemed closer, the air warmer, the space between them charged. She kept her eyes lowered, but her body knew where he was, tracked him instinctively.
When she reached the mark and stopped, close enough now to feel the heat of his body, her breath caught—not intentionally, but genuinely.
She lifted her gaze. Just briefly. And the contact struck like a match.
Aaron’s composure cracked—only for a heartbeat, but it was there. His chest rose a fraction too quickly. His jaw tightened. The hand resting at his side flexed, then stilled, fingers curling as though resisting an impulse to reach out.
They were close enough now that the air between them felt thin.
She spoke her line softly, as directed, her voice barely more than breath. He answered, his tone low, measured—but the restraint rang loud. As he stepped closer, per the scene, the light shifted, drawing them into the same pool of glow.
His hand rose. Just as it was scripted.
But when his fingers brushed her wrist, the contact lingered too long. Camille’s breath caught. She swallowed, instinctively moistening her lips before she could stop herself. His gaze dropped to her lips. He gulped. When he lifted his eyes again, they locked with hers.
Their faces were close now. Close enough that she could feel his breath, warm against her cheek, close enough that the tension was palpable.
“Cut.”
The word snapped through the space like a blade.
Camille remained frozen in position, heart pounding, skin tingling where his hand had been. She hadn’t planned this—not the intensity, not the way it had taken hold of her so completely.
