last night.
He was a good listener. And he’d become even more excited about her wedding than the know-it-all wedding-planner she’d hired and fired. Certainly more excited than she felt.
There were days she wished they could just elope and get married on a tropical island somewhere. But Europe’s entire aristocracy expected to be present at the wedding of the last heiress of the noble House of Arelat, the family that had given its name to the island where Christian was born, and noses would be out of joint if she didn’t deliver.
“Well, if you change your mind, it won’t be hard. We men are such suckers for a pretty face, and you’re definitely a pretty face. And with Christian’s reputation… ”
As if he’d heard his name, Christian looked up and his gaze connected with hers, clear across the crowded ballroom, knocking the wind out of her.
He raised an eyebrow and grinned, a look so cocky and sure of his own appeal, that she had to turn away. Even if she were capable of seducing anyone, she wouldn’t give Christian the satisfaction. And she would not let him get any more under her skin than he already was.
A man like Christian Taylor could not be trusted. People like him, who courted fame and adoration, always after the quick thrill of the moment, destroyed everything they touched. She was not about to be destroyed a second time.
Now what had put that look in her eye? Christian only listened to the director with half an ear as he stared across the ballroom at Teresa. The dislike in her usually unruffled demeanour startled him. What had he done to upset her? God, he hated mornings.
It definitely wasn’t the pretty boy next to her causing her to frown, because she laughed as he made some comment.
Christian’s gut clenched.
“You got that?” the director asked. “You’re spurned and angry and about to take revenge on everyone in the room who ever slighted you.”
Which was about right. Christian’s hands fisted.
There were two reasons he’d signed on for this movie. The first lay beyond his control and he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had to leave Westerwald without achieving it.
But the second lay firmly within his grasp. The chance to visit both the land of the father who hadn’t wanted to own him, and the island that had been his childhood home. The chance to return not as the outcast child but as the victor.
He was here to show them all the man he’d become, starting with that prissy little PA who turned her back on him as if he was beneath her notice.
He took the starting position he was indicated and breathed deeply, focusing on the role at hand.
They walked through the rehearsal a couple of times, following the movements the director had already blocked out with his stand-in. He only gave half his energy to these run-throughs, saving his best for when the cameras actually rolled.
“Final checks,” the AD called. The make-up and wardrobe stylists fluttered around him like agitated butterflies before hurrying away out of shot. Then “Quiet! Roll sound,” the AD called.
Another voice called back, an indistinct affirmation.
“Roll camera.”
“Camera speed,” piped up the first camera assistant.
“Mark it.”
The second camera assistant banged the clapperboard and leapt out of the way.
“And… action!”
The dancers moved around him, their movements eerie without music to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.
The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.
It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t
He was a good listener. And he’d become even more excited about her wedding than the know-it-all wedding-planner she’d hired and fired. Certainly more excited than she felt.
There were days she wished they could just elope and get married on a tropical island somewhere. But Europe’s entire aristocracy expected to be present at the wedding of the last heiress of the noble House of Arelat, the family that had given its name to the island where Christian was born, and noses would be out of joint if she didn’t deliver.
“Well, if you change your mind, it won’t be hard. We men are such suckers for a pretty face, and you’re definitely a pretty face. And with Christian’s reputation… ”
As if he’d heard his name, Christian looked up and his gaze connected with hers, clear across the crowded ballroom, knocking the wind out of her.
He raised an eyebrow and grinned, a look so cocky and sure of his own appeal, that she had to turn away. Even if she were capable of seducing anyone, she wouldn’t give Christian the satisfaction. And she would not let him get any more under her skin than he already was.
A man like Christian Taylor could not be trusted. People like him, who courted fame and adoration, always after the quick thrill of the moment, destroyed everything they touched. She was not about to be destroyed a second time.
Now what had put that look in her eye? Christian only listened to the director with half an ear as he stared across the ballroom at Teresa. The dislike in her usually unruffled demeanour startled him. What had he done to upset her? God, he hated mornings.
It definitely wasn’t the pretty boy next to her causing her to frown, because she laughed as he made some comment.
Christian’s gut clenched.
“You got that?” the director asked. “You’re spurned and angry and about to take revenge on everyone in the room who ever slighted you.”
Which was about right. Christian’s hands fisted.
There were two reasons he’d signed on for this movie. The first lay beyond his control and he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had to leave Westerwald without achieving it.
But the second lay firmly within his grasp. The chance to visit both the land of the father who hadn’t wanted to own him, and the island that had been his childhood home. The chance to return not as the outcast child but as the victor.
He was here to show them all the man he’d become, starting with that prissy little PA who turned her back on him as if he was beneath her notice.
He took the starting position he was indicated and breathed deeply, focusing on the role at hand.
They walked through the rehearsal a couple of times, following the movements the director had already blocked out with his stand-in. He only gave half his energy to these run-throughs, saving his best for when the cameras actually rolled.
“Final checks,” the AD called. The make-up and wardrobe stylists fluttered around him like agitated butterflies before hurrying away out of shot. Then “Quiet! Roll sound,” the AD called.
Another voice called back, an indistinct affirmation.
“Roll camera.”
“Camera speed,” piped up the first camera assistant.
“Mark it.”
The second camera assistant banged the clapperboard and leapt out of the way.
“And… action!”
The dancers moved around him, their movements eerie without music to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.
The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.
It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t
Similar Books
