Chapter 10
The restaurant Camille had chosen was called Geoffrey’s Malibu which was about ten minutes from Aaron’s home and, he estimated, twenty to twenty-five from hers.
It didn’t strike Aaron as an equitable trade.
When he’d suggested somewhere closer to her so that he could shoulder most of the driving, she’d objected immediately.
Geoffrey’s, she insisted, was worth the distance. She didn’t mind at all.
He couldn’t argue. He’d been coming to Geoffrey’s for as long as he could remember. It was a Cortelli favorite, woven into the fabric of his childhood. The fact that Camille liked it too impressed him. It suggested discernment. Good taste.
The recent rain had worried him but his concern proved unfounded.
The day had broken open into something glorious: bright sun, clear skies, the sea glittering as though polished.
Judging by the sparse crowd, others had been less optimistic about the weather.
He was grateful. The relative quiet promised privacy—enough seclusion to discuss Scripture without intrusion, yet public enough to feel appropriate.
Their homes hadn’t been an option. This was, in every sense, the best of both worlds.
On arrival, he was led to an intimate table on the balcony overlooking the ocean. He ordered a drink and waited.
Camille arrived barely three minutes later. He stood instinctively and pulled out her seat.
She looked striking—black long-sleeved blouse, crisp white pants. Effortless. Elegant. But beneath it, something else registered almost immediately.
She seemed… withdrawn.
“Are you alright?” he asked once the server had taken her drink order.
She met his eyes at last. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged lightly. “You seem upset.”
“No. I’m fine,” she said shortly.
He let it go. This wasn’t a therapy session after all. Whatever weighed on her, she clearly didn’t want to share it.
They turned to the menu, ordering efficiently: to start an olive salad for her, jumbo coconut shrimp for him. The entrée, filet mignon for Camille, prime ribeye for Aaron.
He prayed aloud before they ate, thanking God and asking His blessing over the meal.
The service was impeccable—attentive without hovering. With the ocean shimmering beyond the balcony, the weather flawless, and the restaurant half-empty, everything seemed aligned for a beautiful evening.
They took turns reading Esther chapter two while waiting for their food. By the time their plates arrived, they were ready to eat. Aaron glanced at his phone, then set it aside. He’d rehearsed most of what he wanted to say, though he’d jotted down a few notes just in case.
After a few bites of steak—perfectly grilled—he dabbed his mouth and began.
“Okay. First, some context. There’s a four-year gap between chapter one and chapter two.”
Camille tilted her head. For the first time that evening, interest flickered across her face. “Really? I always assumed it happened immediately.”
“I did too,” he admitted. “Until my brother pointed it out. Apparently, during that time Xerxes went to Greece to expand his empire. He lost. Badly. Came home defeated.”
She took a sip of red wine. “That explains a lot. Seeking a queen afterward—he probably needed comfort. Reassurance. Proof he was still… a man.”
She said the last cheekily and Aaron laughed.
“Very possible. His attendants certainly seemed to think so. They suggested gathering the most beautiful young women in the kingdom and choosing a new queen from among them. One of them was Esther. And this is where we meet Mordecai—her cousin, who raised her after her parents died.”
He paused, scanning the restaurant. Still quiet. Still private. His gaze returned to Camille. Candlelight softened her features, caught in her hair, warmed her olive skin. The thought shaped his next words.
“Esther was very beautiful.”
She met his gaze. For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
He cleared his throat and retreated to safer ground. “But the text suggests her beauty went deeper than appearance. Do you know how the text suggests that?”
Camille glanced down at her phone. “She pleased Hegai and won his favor. Since he was a eunuch, I’m guessing it had more to do with her character than her looks.”
He laughed softly. “You’re sharp, Camille.”
She smiled. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It does. And with Hegai’s guidance, after a year of preparation, Esther goes before the king.”
“And he loved her more than all the other women,” she said with a mocking tone as she resumed eating.
“Why do you say it like that?” he asked curious about her response.
“Because how could he really love her after just one night.”
He shrugged. “Fair. It may be better to say that he loved what he had seen thus far. Perhaps the little he had seen convinced him that she was beautiful inside and out in the same way it had convinced Hegai. Don’t you agree that there are times that even though we haven’t known someone long we have a good sense of their character and we feel a pull. ”
She met his gaze. “Yes, I absolutely agree. However, there are times that we are wrong.”
“Is it that we are wrong or is it that the pull we feel is so strong that we if ignore clear red flags?”
Perhaps he touched a nerve because she dropped her gaze and didn’t respond.
After a few minutes of continuing their meal in silence. He picked up his phone and continued.
“Esther becomes queen. Then Mordecai uncovers a plot to assassinate the king. He tells Esther. She reports it to the king. The conspirators are executed. The king is saved. That’s the chapter.”
“So, now we consider how to apply this to our lives?”
“Actually, my approach is different. When I was younger—when I was a new Christian,” Aaron said, “I believed Scripture was primarily meant to teach me how to live in a God-honoring way.”
Camille nodded. “Yes, isn’t that what it’s supposed to do? That’s what I look for.”
“To some extent, yes. But mainly Scripture is meant to tell us about God—who He is. Whenever we read, we should ask: what does this text teach me about God the Father, God the Son, or God the Holy Spirit?”
She nodded slowly. “That’s what you did with the first study.”
“Yes. Of course we look at the biblical characters—but equally, what does the story teach us about God, even when He isn’t explicitly named?”
“I like that approach,” she said. “Did your brother teach you that?”
“Partly. I was already moving in that direction, but he helped me synthesize it. He told me to ask two questions: what stands out in the text—what’s notable or remarkable—and what does it tell me about God.”
“Simple,” she said. “Uncomplicated. Yet very deep.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
“Aaron.” Her tone shifted.
“Yes, Camille?”
“Why didn’t you want me for this role?”
He was momentarily taken aback by her abrupt change of subject. He hedged. “Didn’t I answer this question the other night?”
“No. I asked if you regretted the decision to cast me. You said it wasn’t your choice. I got the impression that I wasn’t your choice period. I’m now asking why not.”
He thought of deflecting again—answering her question with another question—but one look into her eyes stopped him. She wasn’t accustomed to honesty. Not the unvarnished kind. He sensed it. He needed to give her that.
“There was nothing in your career choices that suggested you’d be a good fit,” he said carefully. “I was convinced you could act—play the character well. But because we were dealing with sacred Scripture, I didn’t want to work with an actress who didn’t take it seriously.”
She looked down at her hands, nodding slowly. “Even though I said I was saved.”
“That’s what you said. I didn’t know if it were true.”
“So you were like the others in the Christian community who thought I was a charlatan. A fraud.”
“Can you blame us?” he asked gently. “We’ve seen people claim the gospel while their lives suggest something else entirely. You weren’t a known quantity to me. You’d declared Christianity only weeks earlier. There wasn’t enough fruit yet.”
“So what convinced you?”
“The studio decided for me. They argued you’d draw audiences. I didn’t fight too hard—partly because compromises had already been made on my behalf.”
Her head tilted. “Compromises on what?”
He hesitated. How much of his soul did he want to bare? Yet the openness in her gaze invited trust.
“I pioneered the project. Partnered with Ray to pitch it to the studio. They loved the script. Accepted me as lead actor. But when I asked to direct, they pushed back.”
“Why? You’ve directed before.”
“Yes—but only indie films. This was my first major studio project. They thought it was a risk.”
“What changed their minds?”
“I presented my plan. Promised to deliver under twelve weeks and within budget.” He paused. “And I agreed to a pay cut.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”
“You do what you have to do.”
“Oh, Aaron. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I just realized how my rebellion on set must have looked to you. After everything you’d agreed to, I complicated things.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Honestly? The fact that you were their choice and not mine helped me deflect their anger. I reminded Ray of that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I see. You tried to throw me under the bus.”
He raised his hands. “I wasn’t the one who was being rebellious. And I didn’t throw you under the bus. When they suggested recasting you, I told them I’d speak with you first.”
“Hmm.”
He laughed and reached out, squeezing her shoulder. “Lighten up. Despite the issues, the screen lit up every time you appeared. You just needed some… disciplining.”
She laughed outright. “Disciplining? Aaron Cortelli, you wish. And remember you admitted you played a part in my rebellion.”
“I did. I was high-handed.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid you’d turn Esther into a caricature. Or Queen Aradia.” He winced. “I repented.”
“Yes. Not in sackcloth and ashes.”
“There are limits—especially when the crime is shared.”