It’s not something I usually say out loud. Jane studies me carefully.
— Is that why you’re always so controlled? So methodical?
I nod, surprised by her insight.
— If I make a mistake, it’s not just my problem. It affects everyone—the family, the staff, the future of the estate.
— That sounds like a lot to carry alone, she says softly.
— I don’t really have a choice.
— Everyone has a choice, Cal. Even you.
Her hand rests lightly on mine.
The simple contact sends warmth through me. I stare at our hands, strangely captivated by the way her fingers rest against mine.
— No one calls me Cal.
I meet her gaze, and something shifts between us.
— Well… now someone does, she whispers.
And I find myself wishing she always would.
— And you? I ask, needing to break the intensity. What made you want to become an actress?
She smiles, her gaze drifting as she slips into memory.
— I always loved being someone else. As a kid, I was painfully shy. Becoming a character let me express things I never would’ve dared to say as Jane Carter.
— You? Shy? I say, amused. The woman who argued with my grandmother at breakfast about sheep self-determination?
— Hard to believe, right? she laughs. But it’s true. Acting set me free. On stage or on camera, I could be brave, eloquent, passionate—everything I wasn’t in real life.
— And now? Those qualities seem very much part of you.
She thinks for a moment.
— I guess the roles eventually rubbed off on me. Pretending to be brave long enough made me a little brave for real. Funny how sometimes playing a role helps you discover who you really are.
Her words resonate more than they should. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening to me? Playing the devoted husband… discovering something real underneath?
Our eyes lock.
For a moment charged with quiet electricity, the world fades away. Her hand is still on mine—our fingers now lightly intertwined. I’m not sure if she’s leaning closer… or if I am.
— Jane.
I say her name like a question I don’t dare ask.
— Cal, she answers, just as softly.
The moment shatters as Lachlan’s booming voice crashes onto the terrace.
— Ah! There’s the star couple! Grandmother’s looking for you everywhere. She wants to make a toast—or cut the cake—or possibly both at once. I lost track after my sixth whisky.
Jane and I spring apart. She gives me a look filled with unspoken promise—this conversation isn’t over, just postponed.
