On the first day of October, Julian gathered the full cast at Sand Castle for the first read-through. With Grace’s blessing, they’d taken over the hotel. She gave them permission to film a total of five scenes on-site and to use the cigar room for rehearsals and meetings through preproduction. The offer, however, wasn’t without conditions. Frank had promised to throw a blowout wrap party on-site.
The cigar room, or Knight’s Landing, as Nina called it, was fitted with a long buffet table to accommodate the cast and production staff. Julian stood at the head of the table to welcome them all. Before he uttered a word, he glanced down at Nina, seated to his right, and she nodded her encouragement. They’d been on this journey together since the start. She might be the only person in the room who saw through his mask of self-confidence, and that was saying something considering an ex-girlfriend was present.
Julian cleared his throat. “Everyone, welcome to our first table read.”
The cinematographer, who had flown in from New Hampshire a few days early to “get some fishing in,” raised his hand. Eyeing the custom humidors built into the walls, he said, “Will you be handing out cigars at the end of the day?”
Everyone laughed, and the ice wall of tension rising in him shattered. Every person at the table was a seasoned professional. If he could trust them and the process—if he could trust himself—things might work out.
“My writing partner, Nina, and I have a clear vision for this film, and we hope it’s one you share. We’ve labored over every word and, for that reason, I ask that you keep to the script as much as possible. Outside that, as a director, I’m interested in the choices you’ll make to bring these characters to life. Pierce, thank you for playing our charismatic con man. You’re the man for the job.” More laughter erupted. “And, Bettina…” Julian turned to face the woman who had shaped his past and who had a role in his future. But no sooner than he’d said her name, the general mood flattened. It was all the proof he needed to confirm his suspicions. Everyone, excluding Nina, doubted they could work together. He had to address those doubts head-on. “There’s no one else I would have wanted to play Amanda. You were my first and only choice. I thank you for trusting me.”
All eyes were on Bettina now. She never wasted an opportunity to shine. Addressing the room, she said, “Guys, you may not know this, but Julian and I have a bit of history.” Her words were met with the low rumble of laughter. “I can vouch for him. We’re in capable hands. Plus we’ve got a great script. And let’s be honest, shooting in Miami isn’t exactly a hardship. So, let’s do this. Okay?”
Julian met and kept her gaze for a brief moment, hoping to communicate his gratitude. She lowered her eyes and studied her impeccably manicured nails, code that she was ready to move on. Julian clasped his hands together. “We’ve got twenty-eight days to wrap this up. Let’s do this.”
He lowered himself in his seat and straightaway reached for Nina’s hand under the table. She mingled her fingers with his. As things stood, Julian was hopeful that he and Bettina would crack on and get the job done. But he was certain that he and Nina had a future.
Julian flipped open his copy of the script. “‘Day. Pool. Amanda floats on her back. The man who spent the night approaches, fully dressed, and tells her that he’s leaving. Amanda swims to the pool’s edge.’”
The actor read his lines. “‘Gotta go, babe. Let’s do this again soon.’”
Bettina read hers with the perfect mix of flirtatiousness and arrogance. “‘But not too soon. Okay?’”
* * *
At the first break, Nina had excused herself and left the room. When she didn’t return, Julian delayed starting up again and went after her. Something about her rod-stiff posture when she’d walked out made him worry. He found her sitting alone in the garden, silently sobbing. He rushed to her.
“What’s the matter, love?” he said, kneeling before her. “Why are you crying?”
She spoke through her hands. “I’m not crying.”
“Then what’s all this?”
“I don’t know.”
He pried her hands away from her face and lifted her chin to inspect her face. Her brown eyes were dry, but he wasn’t reassured. She might not be crying, but she certainly was trembling. He cupped her face and kissed her eyelids. Her eyelashes fluttered against his lips.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered.
“That was a lot,” she said.
“The table read? You don’t think it’s going well?”
“No!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s going great, better than I could have imagined.”
He stroked her hair. “Then what is it?”
“I’ve never experienced anything like this,” she said. “A lot of the time it’s just me alone with my computer and the voices in my head. Today it felt like I belonged to something, and I…don’t know.”
“Oh, love. Come here.” He gathered her trembling body in his arms. He’d never seen her this way, and it tore him up. “You belong.”
She belonged to him, but he couldn’t say that without freaking her out.
“Sorry.” She extracted herself from his embrace. “I didn’t expect to get so emotional.”
“Don’t worry. I understand.”
He pulled her up to her feet. She looked up at him, a glint of pride in her yes. “You were good in there,” she said. “Really good.”
“I may just be the next Scorsese.”
“Oh, God! Help me!”
She was her playful self again, and Julian exhaled with relief. His world had spun off its axis just now. He didn’t care if he had a room full of people waiting—he would have taken all the time in the world to get her to smile again.
She raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“No, love, no.” Julian buried his face in her hair. She smelled sweeter than any flower in the garden. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”