Chapter 23 #2
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m also willing to make any career sacrifices necessary to protect my family.
I’ve made enough investments over the years—in real estate and mutual funds—that I don’t need to work myself into the ground to provide for us.
” His voice softened. “It’s also my intention to stay close to home, especially in the early years when we have young children.
” He hesitated for a moment. ‘there is actually a project I’ve been thinking about embarking on.
Producing and directing with you as one of the main characters. ”
“That one with the skier?”
He shook his head. “I changed my mind about that. They’re considering a lead actress who isn’t Camille Carlucci so I’m no longer interested.”
She made a sympathetic face but, secretly, she was delighted.
“This is a Bible project based on the life of David.”
“So, are you also playing David?”
“I’m a young David. Then my father is an older David.”
“I love it. So if you’re David, am I Saul’s daughter, or Abigail or Bathsheba.”
He laughed. “You are definitely not Bathsheba. Bathsheba is going to appear with the older David, my dad. No, you’ll be Abigail. What are your thoughts?”
“I’m thinking about how we can stretch that out for a few episodes,” she said playfully.
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“Episodes?” he repeated. “No… not episodes.”
He leaned forward then, his tone shifting—less playful now, more focused, more intent.
“Seasons.”
Camille stilled, studying him.
Aaron’s gaze held hers, steady, thoughtful, as though he could already see it unfolding.
“I don’t want Abigail to feel like a moment in David’s life,” he continued. “I want her to feel like a presence. Like someone the audience already knows before she ever meets him.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“We introduce her early—long before the wilderness. She has her own storyline. Her own world. You’re running a household, managing people, navigating a difficult marriage. People see your wisdom before David ever does.”
Camille’s brows lifted slightly, interest sharpening.
“And while David is rising—Saul’s court, the victories, the tension—you’re hearing about him. Bits and pieces. Stories. Rumors.” He gave a faint smile. “Maybe even defending him before you’ve ever laid eyes on him.”
She tilted her head. “So by the time they meet…”
“It’s not random,” he finished. “It’s inevitable.”
A quiet beat settled between them.
He continued, his voice low, thoughtful.
“The wilderness arc becomes your collision point. But that’s not where you begin—and it’s definitely not where you end.”
Her fingers shifted slightly in his, unconsciously tightening.
“I want to stretch what happens after,” he said. “Your marriage to David isn’t a footnote. It’s layered. Complicated. You’re stepping into a life that’s already… crowded. Already forming.”
Camille’s gaze didn’t leave his face.
“And as he becomes king,” Aaron went on, “you don’t disappear. Even if the text goes quiet, the story doesn’t have to. You’re still there. Watching. Influencing. Seeing things before he does.”
A flicker of something deeper crossed his expression.
“You become a kind of moral anchor. The audience knows what you represent—even when David starts to drift.”
Camille let out a soft breath, leaning back slightly as she processed it.
“That’s…” she murmured, almost to herself. “That’s not a supporting role.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Exactly.”
She studied him for another moment, then a slow, knowing smile began to form.
“Well,” she said lightly, though her eyes were sharp with amusement, “people are definitely going to have opinions about this.”
Aaron’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”
She lifted one shoulder, as if it were obvious.
“A long-running biblical series,” she said, ticking it off lightly, “with David and Abigail sharing multiple seasons of emotional buildup, tension, connection…” Her smile curved, slow and knowing. “Played by you and me.”
Aaron exhaled, a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh. He glanced down briefly, then back at her.
“Okay,” he said. “Yes.”
Camille blinked. “Yes?”
“Yes,” he repeated, without apology. “That is exactly why I’m doing it. I want you there,” he continued, his voice lower now, steadier. “Across the whole story. Not for a few scenes. Not for a moment.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “With me. Building something that lasts.”
Camille held his gaze.
“And the audience?” she asked softly.
Aaron shrugged, entirely unconcerned.
“They’re going to say what they’re going to say.” A beat. Then, more quietly, almost as an aside, “I just won’t confirm it for them.”
Her lips parted—and then she laughed.
He did too.
“They’re going to be convinced we planned this,” she murmured.
“And they’d be right,” he replied. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Their laughter faded, but the closeness didn’t.
If anything, it deepened—settling into something quieter, more intimate, more certain.
Unbothered by what anyone else might think.
Anchored in what they both knew was true.
And then, almost naturally, as though the moment had simply cleared the way—
they turned to discuss wedding plans.
~*~*~*~
Camille decided that she needed to have a conversation with both her parents.
Her discussion with Aaron about their wedding plans had gone wonderfully. They were going to get married at his church and then host the reception on the lawns of his home. Camille thought it was a beautiful idea—simple, joyful, surrounded by people who loved them.
But when Aaron asked who would give her away, she realized the answer was obvious.
Her father.
Which meant she would have to speak to him.
She had been turning the thought over in her mind for two days when the unexpected happened.
Her father called.
“Camille,” he said in his familiar warm baritone, “your mother and I would like to come see you. There’s something important we want to discuss.”
She blinked in surprise.
That was unusual.
Her mother rarely announced her visits. Rita simply appeared—sweeping into whatever room Camille was in—and immediately began talking about some project that would be perfect for her.
The next surprise came when they arrived in the same car.
Through the front window, Camille watched her father’s flashy metallic black Ferrari Roma glide into the driveway like a sleek animal settling into place.
Her father stepped out first.
He walked around the car and opened the passenger door with theatrical gallantry.
Her mother emerged wearing a close-fitting leopard print dress, oversized sunglasses, and heels that clicked confidently against the stone walkway.
Camille folded her arms.
Well, she thought. This should be interesting.
Her father walked into the house smelling of expensive cologne and confidence.
When they were seated in the living room, he cleared his throat.
“Camille,” he said, “your mom and I are getting back together.”
Camille blinked.
They had never divorced, so it wasn’t as though he was announcing an engagement.
And yet, somehow, the declaration still felt monumental.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t completely surprising either. Her father had never stopped asking about her mother. And Rita—no matter how annoyed she sounded—always spoke of him with a strange kind of wistfulness.
I’m not divorcing him, she had said once. I don’t believe in divorce. He can divorce me if he wants, but I won’t do it.
“This is unexpected,” Camille said, studying them both. “What prompted this?”
“We’ve been seeing each other,” Rita replied. “Since that day I told you we were having lunch. We’ve been… dating again.”
Camille lifted a brow. “Dating. Okay. How long?”
They glanced at each other like co-conspirators.
“Months, really.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Camille asked Rita. Now that she thought about it, her mother had seemed unusually happy. She had assumed it was someone new. It had never crossed her mind that it was her father.
“I asked her not to say anything yet,” Carlo said.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t think you would be very supportive. I wanted us to be sure about where we were going before we complicated it.”
Camille looked at them both, her expression sharpening slightly. “Why would you think I wouldn’t support my parents getting back together?”
“Because you’ve never forgiven me for what happened.”
Camille lifted a brow. “You never asked for forgiveness. In fact, you never even said you were sorry.”
Carlo frowned. “Oh come now, Camille. That’s not true. I told you I was sorry.”
She shook her head, certain. “No, you didn’t. I would remember that.”
Her voice didn’t rise, but it grew firmer.
“What I do remember is you saying you paid the taxes—suggesting the government was lying or had misplaced the funds. And when I showed you the evidence, you said you did it all for me. That you invested the money instead of giving it to the government. And that I was ungrateful.”
Carlo went silent.
The room grew very still.
Finally, he spoke.
“I was wrong to do that.”
Then he met her gaze—fully this time.
“I am really sorry, Camille. I was wrong to mishandle your money that way. Nothing justified it.”
Camille stared at him, caught off guard.
“You admit it?”
“I do.”
Then Rita spoke, her tone quieter—almost hesitant. “I’m sorry too. I knew he wasn’t paying the taxes.” She said. “I didn’t know everything he was doing with the money but I knew that,” she added quickly. She looked at her daughter with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “Do you forgive us?”
Camille leaned back slowly, taking them in.
“I do,” she said. “But it’s not really me you’ve sinned against.”
They watched her, puzzled.
“Ultimately, it’s God,” she continued. “You both need to repent and throw yourselves on His mercy.”
Her parents exchanged a glance.
Camille leaned forward.
And for the first time in her life, she shared the gospel with them.
She spoke about sin—not just theirs, but everyone’s.