Chapter 12
As the sun filtered through the grand set, casting a warm glow over the opulent throne room designed for their film, Aaron adjusted his costume as King Xerxes, feeling the weight of the crown resting on his brow.
Across from him, Camille, embodying Queen Esther, shimmered in her exquisite gown, her presence commanding yet soft.
They had discussed it before. She was clear on how he wanted her to play the scene.
He was trusting that she was going to follow his lead.
This entire week she had been good. The air was thick with anticipation; today’s scene was pivotal.
“Action!” called Aaron, and the world around them faded as they slipped into their characters.
The throne room was quiet in the way only power could command—no sound but the soft rustle of silk and the measured breath of courtiers who dared not shift their weight.
Esther stood at the threshold, the light catching the gold thread woven through her gown. Camille held herself still, every instinct urging her forward and holding her back all at once. Courage and caution braided tightly together.
Xerxes looked up.
Aaron let the pause linger—just long enough.
His eyes traced her, not crudely, not greedily, but with a kind of wonder that surprised even him. This was not merely a queen before him. This was a woman who had learned the weight of silence—and chosen, at last, to speak.
He leaned forward slightly. “What is it, Queen Esther?” His voice softened, dropping from command to invitation. “What is your request? Even up to half the kingdom, it will be given you.”
Esther met his gaze. Camille let her breath hitch—just enough for the camera to catch it.
“If it pleases the king,” she said, her voice steady but warm, “let the king—together with Haman—come today to the banquet I have prepared for him.”
A murmur rippled through the court, but Xerxes heard nothing beyond her.
Aaron allowed a slow smile to touch his mouth—private, almost intimate, as if they alone understood the game being played.
“You honor me,” he said, rising from the throne. As he descended the steps, his tone lowered further. “It seems my queen has a talent for timing.”
Their eyes held.
For a moment, the court disappeared. King and queen stood suspended between public duty and something unspoken—curiosity, admiration, a pull neither named.
Esther inclined her head, but not her eyes. “I only hope the king will find the evening… pleasing.”
Xerxes extended his hand—not to touch her, but close enough that the air between them felt charged.
“I always do,” he replied. “When you are involved.”
Aaron knew that the scene had come to a close and it was his job to yell “Cut!” but neither of them moved, lost in the moment. The chemistry was undeniable, a magnetic pull that ignited the air around them.
Eventually, he blinked and stepped away. He cleared his throat and yelled, “Cut!”
“Let’s reset for the next take,” Aaron said, but his eyes never left Camille’s.
As the crew shifted around them, Aaron and Camille remained connected, their expressions softening. “That was wonderful. Perfect really,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity, the king’s facade slipping away.
“It seems that you really do know what you’re talking about.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Why, thank you.”
She smiled and whispered. “I’m looking forward to bible study this evening.”
Aaron stared at her. There was something in her voice that kicked his heart rate up a notch. “I am too.”
Ray stepped in beside Aaron as the last light was adjusted. He didn’t look at him right away—kept his eyes on the monitors, on the quiet efficiency of a set that had finally found its rhythm again.
“I’ll say this,” Ray began, voice low, almost conversational. “We’re back on track. Footage is strong. Performances are landing. The room feels settled again.”
Aaron nodded. “Good.”
Ray allowed himself a small smile. “Better than good. It’s working.”
He paused, then tilted his head slightly. “Which brings me to the next thing.”
Aaron glanced at him. “Go on.”
Ray folded his arms. “What’s happening between you and Camille—it’s reading beautifully on camera. Subtle. Controlled. Exactly what the story needs.”
The way that Ray delivered that statement caused Aaron to stiffen.
“But off camera,” Ray continued, “people are starting to notice it too. The looks. The timing. The way the air shifts when you’re in the same space.”
“That’s just two actors doing their jobs,” Aaron said evenly.
“Romantic dinners in Malibu are not included in your job description last I checked.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Nothing is secret in this town. You should know that better than most. Growing up in a show biz family and all. You, of all people, shouldn’t expect privacy in a public space.”
“It was not a romantic dinner. We were just having bible study. It was completely innocent.”
“You know that. I know that. The photos don’t convey that.
Candle light. Holding hands. Faces close together.
The public…the press…they don’t need much fodder, Aaron, and you two are giving them plenty.
” He sighed. “Listen, I’m not saying there’s a problem,” Ray said.
“I’m saying there could be one if it isn’t managed. ”
Aaron exhaled slowly. “Managed how?”
“By making sure nothing on this set, or off, gives anyone reason to misinterpret what they’re seeing,” Ray replied.
“Especially where Camille’s concerned. She doesn’t need speculation.
She doesn’t need to have it said that she has exchanged an affair with her last producer with one with her new director. ”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “You think I’d put her in that position?”
“No,” Ray said quickly. “I think you’d do the opposite. I just want you to remember—perception outruns intention every time.”
A beat.
“The chemistry is an asset,” Ray added. “Let’s keep it where it belongs. On screen.”
Aaron’s gaze drifted back to the set—to Camille scrolling on her phone, waiting patiently under the lights for him to finish up so that they could begin Bible study.
“Understood,” he said.
Ray clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Good. Because everything right now? It’s great. I’d hate to see it get complicated.”
~*~*~*~
She noticed a change in him.
Not at first—not clearly. Just something faintly off.
Aaron finished up, spoke briefly to the cameramen, then headed toward her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep.” She rose and stretched, smiling. “As ready as one can be at 7 p.m. after beginning one’s day at 4:30 a.m.”
She meant it as a joke but the way he responded gave her pause.
“We can cancel if you want,” he said—too quickly.
She shouldered her bag slowly, watching him. Only then did she realize he wasn’t meeting her gaze.
“Umm. I was just kidding, Aaron. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Looking forward to what?”
She blinked, brows knitting. “Studying Esther with you. What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure your focus is on the Word.”
“Of course it is.”
“Good. Now that we’ve settled that, let’s go. It’s late.”
The words were alright. The tone was not.
She followed him to their usual room on autopilot, her chest tightening with each step. This was not the Aaron she had come to know. Not the man she—if she was honest—had begun to care for deeply. This Aaron was distant, clipped, almost disdainful.
Had something happened?
Inside the room, she lingered by the door while he placed his things on the table and moved toward the refreshment area. When he realized she hadn’t followed, he glanced back.
“What’s the matter?”
She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I should ask you.”
He turned away, busying himself with the coffee. She watched him—how rigid his shoulders were, how deliberately he avoided looking at her.
After a few gulps of coffee, he said, “There’s nothing wrong.”
“It’s not good to lie.”
That stopped him. He looked away, guilt flickering across his face, then headed over to the table and pulled out a chair. “Are you coming?”
“Not until you answer my question honestly.”
He sank into the chair with a heavy sigh. “There’s nothing wrong, Camille. I’m just tired. As you said—it’s been a long day.”
She stepped further into the room, stopping opposite him, sliding her bag onto a chair without breaking eye contact.
“You were fine until Ray showed up. What did he say to you that made you react this way to me?”
He looked at her impatiently. “What way is that, Camille?”
“This cold, angry way. As though I did something to you. As though you discovered some terrible truth about me and can’t bear the sight of me.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “You really are quite dramatic, aren’t you?”
That stung. She felt it sharp and immediate.
“So I’m dramatic all of a sudden.” Her voice shook despite her effort to steady it. “What is it, Aaron? We were having such a good time the last few days. Are you feeling guilty for being happy? Are you angry because you’re feeling too much for me—is that it?”
The way he looked up at her told her everything.
“Oh my gosh. That’s it, isn’t it?” She stepped closer. “You’d rather hold a séance for your late wife. Bury your heart. And the moment you begin to feel again, you run for the hills.”
He shot to his feet. “That is enough!” he said, chest heaving.
She took two bold steps forward until their faces were inches apart, heat and tension crackling between them. “I’m only getting started. Be honest with me!”
“You want honesty, I’ll give you honesty,” he said—and pulled her roughly to him.
His mouth crashed down on hers, hard and desperate, and she barely had time to gasp before she was kissing him back.
The kiss was rough, consuming. His hands gripped her shoulders as if anchoring himself, as if she were the only solid thing left in the room.
She moaned softly, helpless against the press of his body, the urgency of his mouth.