Chapter 5 #3
She cleared her throat, blinking quickly. “Thank you, Aaron. That… means a lot. Truly. I just—I need room to actually play the role.”
He nodded once. “You’ll have it.”
Relief flickered through her. Then—
“However…” He lifted one finger slightly, eyes still on the road.
Her stomach dipped.
“There is a way to do this well.”
“Of course,” she said quickly.
“I need two things. First—before we shoot, you bring your ideas. We talk them through. During filming, you can improvise within reason. But if I redirect—” he glanced at her briefly, “—you adjust. No debate in the moment.”
She nodded immediately. “That’s fair. What’s number two?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “We study Esther together.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
“You say you know her,” he said. “But do you know the context? The culture? The theology behind her choices?”
She hesitated. Then shook her head.
“Then let’s fix that,” he said simply. “We study it together. It’ll strengthen your performance—and the film.”
“When would we even have time for that?”
“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.
“I invited her because we were having a meeting, a business meeting, concerning the film. I lost track of time and there was still more to discuss, but I didn’t want to miss this, so I invited her to accompany me and we finished discussing things in the car and—yeah—that’s what happened,” Aaron explained, suddenly babbling.
Camille noticed that he looked nervous. She also noted that the others exchanged knowing smirks.
Alexandra stepped forward, shaking Camille’s hand warmly. “Camille, I’m so happy to meet you. Thank you for making sure Aaron got here.”
“Oh… well, you’re welcome I guess,” Camille said, pulling a funny face that made everyone laugh.
“Aaron should take you around,” Alexandra added. “He knows every painting. I even made him sit for one—you’ll see it.”
Aaron obliged, hands tucked into his pockets.
The series followed men through every stage of life—babies, boys, young men, aging faces marked by time. The work was stunning. Real without being harshly literal—stylized just enough to hold the eye.
She noticed one handsome black man featured prominently in several pieces.
“Your sister’s boyfriend?” she whispered.
“Ethan? He’s an ex-boyfriend.”
“Wow. She’s generous. I wouldn’t want my ex hanging on walls. Though, come to think of it I wouldn’t mind seeing him hang.”
He only lifted a brow.
Then he stopped. “This is it.”
Then he stopped. “This is it.”
She didn’t need him to explain. The painting captured him perfectly—the quiet intensity, the restrained confidence, the slight distance in his eyes. Alexandra had done him justice.
Later, wine glass in hand, Camille drifted through conversations, meeting friends and associates of the Cortelli family. The room gradually softened as closing time approached.
She slipped away to an attendant. “Can I purchase a painting?”
“Of course. Just write the number here.”
She returned with the number.
The woman offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry—that one’s already sold.”
“Oh no.”
“Perhaps another?”
“No, I really liked that one.”
“It was one of the first to go. But if you leave your information, I can contact you if anything changes.”
“Does that actually happen?”
“Occasionally. Very occasionally. You never know.”
She hesitated, then left her number anyway. When she rejoined Aaron, he asked what she’d been doing.
“I tried to buy one of the paintings. It was already sold.”
“Sorry,” he said sympathetically.
She shrugged. “it wasn’t meant to be mine, I guess.”
~*~*~*~
Back in the car, Aaron glanced at Camille as they buckled in. “You seemed to enjoy yourself,” he said.
“It was great. The paintings were incredible. Your sister is really talented.”
He beamed. “She’d appreciate that. She doubts herself sometimes.”
“Hard to believe. She seems full of confidence.”
He laughed. “She gets over her doubt once there’s a crowd.”
“And your family is so nice. So supportive.”
“Yeah. We’re close. What about your family? I’m told that your mom is your manager.”
“Yes, she is. Has been since I was a kid. So… it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“Who do you complain to when your boss is your mother? The lines blur, you know?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Okay. Let me explain. The problem is the conflicting roles. Mothers are supposed to nurture while managers critique and push. Sometimes it becomes controlling—even if it’s meant well. Work-life balance didn’t exist for me growing up. Negotiations and acting prep happened at the dinner table.”
“What was it like, overall,” he asked quietly, “growing up as a child star? I can’t imagine it was easy… living your life in front of the world like that.”
Camille let out a soft breath, her gaze drifting past him for a moment as if she was taken back to the version of herself she hadn’t visited in a while.
“It wasn’t normal,” she said quietly. “Not even a little.”
A faint, almost rueful smile touched her lips.
“People see the lights, the attention, the applause… and they think it must be wonderful. And parts of it were. I got to do things most kids only dream about. But…” She paused, searching for the right words.
“You don’t really get to be a child in the way other children do.
You’re always aware that you’re being watched.
Judged. Praised one minute, picked apart the next.
You learn very early how to perform—how to give people what they expect.
And after a while, it gets hard to tell where that ends… and where you begin.”
She glanced back at him.
“There’s pressure too. To stay relevant.
To grow up without disappointing anyone.
And if you stumble—even a little—it’s not private.
It belongs to everyone. And the people around you…
” She hesitated, then continued more carefully.
“Not all of them are there for you. Some are there for what you represent. What you can give them. It takes a long time to learn the difference. I think that’s the hardest part.
Not the work. Not even the scrutiny. It’s figuring out who you can trust…
and whether you ever really got the chance to become who you were meant to be without an audience watching the whole time. So no, it wasn’t easy.”
Silence filled the car as they pulled into the diner parking lot.
Aaron parked a few cars down and turned off the engine. He looked at her, his expression sympathetic. “You’re quite strong. You never ended up on drugs like some child stars do.”
“No…but I made other mistakes.” She took a deep breath and gave a small, self-aware smile. “Anyway… thank you for tonight.”
He looked at her, slightly confused.
“I came into this expecting the worst,” she said. “Thought you might fire me. Instead, you talked things through, compromised, invited me to study the Word, brought me into your family… and played therapist.” Another small smile. “I appreciate that.”
He laughed softly. “It was my pleasure, Camille.”