Chapter 14 #2
“Wasn’t really my choice. Chris—our marketing guy—told me they were interested in showcasing Dad, Grand-dad and me.
A generational spread. I complied, though honestly I regretted it afterward.
” He exhaled lightly. “I picked up an issue the other day and realized that GQ is not just secular, its much worse than that. It emphasizes worldly, materialist, and hedonistic values. It places excessive importance on outward appearance, consumerism, and superficial definitions of masculinity. It can also be quite coarse. When I mentioned my misgivings to Dad, he confessed that he had erred in judgment as well.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“What can I do? I already went ahead and signed an agreement, did the shoot. If we’re called out on it by Christian media, all I can say is that we made a bad judgment call.”
“I’m really surprised to hear this. I pretty much thought you were perfect up to now.” She smiled faintly. “I guess I don’t feel so bad now. If even solid Christians like you and your dad can end up being ensnared, it gives me hope.”
“Well, it should remind you that there is an unguarded moment for all of us.”
Camille nodded, her expression thoughtful—but her mind had already drifted elsewhere.
To her own missteps. To choices she couldn’t undo.
Walking away from Shadow Peak midseason instead of seeking legal advice.
And now… the possibility that her actions might ripple outward—might even damage Aaron’s film.
“So, marketing is going to be heightened now, hmm?” she asked, her tone carefully casual.
“Yeah. There’s a meeting next week. They’re going to share the full plan with the cast. Interviews, promotions, maybe travel across the country.”
“Isn’t this early days yet, Aaron?”
“No. Apparently we’re actually a bit behind schedule.”
She pierced a potato with her fork, her gaze lowered. “So what would happen if it were delayed?”
“Delayed how?”
“I don’t know… like something occurred to delay the marketing.”
“Something like what?”
“Well…” She shrugged lightly. “Suppose the lead actors were unavailable for whatever reason.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“That would be disastrous,” he said finally. “There would be no point releasing the movie if the marketing hasn’t been done properly. If no one knows about it, then they won’t come to see it—and all of our work would have been for nothing.”
He studied her more closely now. “Why are you asking me this? Do you plan on disappearing when we’re marketing the film?”
“Oh no. Not at all,” she said quickly. “I was just curious. More potatoes?”
After the main course, she rose and returned with dessert.
“Tiramisu.”
Another groan from Aaron.
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re very expressive.”
“I appreciate excellence,” he said solemnly—then ruined the solemnity with a grin.
They lingered over dessert, forks clinking softly against porcelain, the conversation slipping into something easier, more intimate.
“What’s your favorite place to travel?” he asked.
“The Caribbean. South America. Africa. Asia.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Any place warm,” she continued. “I need warmth. I don’t do cold well.”
“Your father’s Italian. Haven’t you been to Italy? It can get quite cold.”
“As a child,” she said. “But mostly in summer.”
He hesitated, then said, almost casually, “Would you be shocked to know I have Caribbean heritage?”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Through my mother. Her grandfather was Barbadian.”
“No way!” Camille exclaimed, leaning forward. “That’s remarkable. I love Barbados. I’ve only been there twice, but it’s such a beautiful, amazing place. I’ve been planning to visit again.”
“My family has property there,” he said easily. “I could set you up anytime you’d like.”
She leaned in, bright with interest. “How about immediately after filming?”
He burst out laughing. “I see you’d like Ray to have my head. Right when promotion intensifies, I whisk off his lead actress to the Caribbean.”
“Ray is worse than a worrisome old woman,” she said with mock seriousness. “I’m sure that would pack theatres better than anything else.”
He laughed—but then his expression shifted, sobering, something more grounded settling over him.
“Yeah… but we don’t want the focus to be on our romance, Camille. We don’t want to distract from the movie. I put a lot of effort into this movie. I want Esther to be the focus, not us.”
She met his gaze, softer now. “I know.”
He smiled faintly. “Which reminds me—we’re here to study the final chapters of this great Book of Esther.”
She dabbed her lips with her napkin and returned his smile. “Then let’s retreat to the lounge area and study the Word.”
They left the dishes behind and moved into a well-lit sitting area. Two armchairs faced each other with a small wooden table between them. Their Bibles were already laid out, along with notebooks and pens.
He glanced around, impressed. “It seems you really did intend for us to do more than kiss, flirt, and eat.”
She laughed—bright, unguarded, alive. “I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging my sincerity.”
~*~*~*~
Later that night, Camille stood at her bathroom mirror, smoothing moisturizer over her face.
She had just shown Aaron out.
It had been very tempting having him there—so close, so warm, so strong. Their goodbye kiss had lasted several minutes and left her breathless, her heart racing long after the door closed behind him.
She was madly, crazily in love with him.
And because of that, she knew what she had to do. She couldn’t allow this movie to be threatened because of her. Not after all of Aaron’s effort. She couldn’t let it happen.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
He answered on the first ring. “Camille. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“What will it take to get you to end this lawsuit, Simon?”
Silence.
“Hello?” For a moment she feared he had hung up. The tremor in her voice betrayed her.
“I’m thinking,” he said calmly.
He kept her waiting.
Then—
“Return to Shadow Peak.”
“I can’t do that, Simon. And frankly, you can’t make me.”
A pause. “I can’t? Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure. You can attempt to ruin me. You can request an injunction on my film—but there’s no guarantee it will be granted. And even if it is, you still can’t make me return to that show.”
Silence again.
“So why are you calling?”
“Because I want to reach a compromise, Simon. I want you to meet me halfway.”
Another beat.
“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll drop the suit if you appear in a two-hour season finale.”
She closed her eyes, thinking.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Will you give me creative control?”
“I always have.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m talking about removing the profanity, the nudity, the gratuitous violence.”
A short pause.
“From your scenes only? That can be arranged.”
“When would I need to be there?”
“Next week.”
“I’m finishing up Esther next week. My part wraps Wednesday—unless there are retakes.”
“Then we shoot from Friday to the following Monday. That gives you Thursday to memorize the script. Four straight days of filming.”
“Okay.” The word felt heavy. “Okay.”
“Great. We’ll send the script by Tuesday.”
The line went dead shortly after.
Camille lowered the phone slowly. This would free her. Free her and Aaron from Simon’s threats. It was just a two-hour season finale. It couldn’t be that bad. And Aaron didn’t have to know—not yet. Afterwards, she would explain. She would tell him it had been necessary.
For the film.
For him.
For them.