Page 29 of Love Unscripted
“One evening a week,” he said. “For the next four weeks.”
Camille leaned back slightly, processing the suggestion.
The pros were obvious. She would learn more about God’s Word. She would understand Esther on a deeper level—the historical setting, the pressures, the faith behind her courage. Aaron was probably right that it would help her performance.
The cons? Camille searched for one. Any one. And came up empty.
“Alright, that can work, King Ahasuerus. But you’re not allowed to judge my lack of biblical knowledge.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “Deal.”
She held out her hand.
He took it. The contact was brief but electric. A sharp, undeniable current shot through her.
He released her almost immediately, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than before.
They pulled into a newly vacated space opposite Van Eaton Gallery.
“Here we are,” he said, voice quieter now.
~*~*~*~
The moment Aaron opened the gallery door, sound hit Camille first.
Laughter overlapped with animated conversation, glasses clinked, jazz hummed underneath it all like a live pulse. The air was warm, threaded with perfume, wine, and the faint scent of catered food.
Then the visuals overwhelmed her.
The gallery was alive—walls glowing under soft track lights, artwork stretching from floor to ceiling. People clustered in colorful knots, dressed in everything from elegant black to wildly experimental outfits. Aaron hadn’t been exaggerating about the artsy crowd. Bright scarves, bold jewelry, mismatched patterns—it felt like walking into a living painting.
She spotted a few familiar faces from the entertainment industry and stopped briefly to greet them, but Aaron caught her hand.
“I need you to stay with me,” he said. “Someone could get lost in this crowd. I didn’t realize there’d be this many people.”
“It seems your sister is popular.”
He nodded. “Looks that way.”
“Is all this her art?”
“No. She’s a featured artist. She has a large collection here, but other artists are showing too.”
“Oh. I thought everything would be hers.”
“That’s a solo show. This isn’t one. Alex has one room. The rest of the gallery belongs to other artists.”
“Do I have to buy a painting?”
He laughed. “Only if you want to. You’re here as my guest.”
When they reached the room, he released her hand. She missed the warmth immediately but understood when she saw the group waiting. It was his family.
His father, of course, and a tall, striking blonde woman Camille recognized as Aaron’s mother, Dana. She was a former supermodel who left the industry at the height of her fame due to religious convictions and now wrote children’s books. Then there was the beautiful woman with flowing black hair who threw a playful punch in Aaron’s arm and berated him for being late. She guessed that was Alexandra. There was another man who looked remarkably like Aaron, and then a younger blond man who was a clear combination of Dana and Robert.
Then Aaron turned to her. “Camille, meet my family. Dad you know. This is my mom Dana, my sister Alex, my brothers Adam and Damian. Family—meet Camille Carlucci.”
Warm greetings followed, curiosity flickering across their faces.
