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I squeeze his hands. “Then we’ll have to be damn careful to keep that bubble afloat.” As I fall into those Atlantic blue eyes, it hits me what a significant detour I’ve taken from any rational and logical plan I’d laid out. Somewhere between correcting the glitch in his swing and eating cheese and onion pie, I’m falling damn hard for Jack O’Leary.
ChapterFifteen
Even though I’ve only woken up in bed with Jack once, it already feels wrong to open my eyes and not see him beside me. We’re so easy together, it’s as if we started in the middle of a relationship.
“What do you think, Gillian?” Bobby taps his script. “Cut or keep?”
We’re on set during rehearsal. Bobby’s stressing about the scene being too long. I’d like to cut the whole damn scene since it’s Donal Cam and Nieve’s profession of love and their first stolen kiss in a secluded corridor of the castle.
I force myself not to make eye contact with Jack. He keeps shooting me apologetic looks. I’m scared shitless someone is going to pick up on them.
“I don’t mean to criticize your choices here,” I say to Bobby. “But I think you can lose one of the love metaphors.”
He aims his pen at my nose. “I didn’t hire you to hold back when I ask your opinion, so please don’t.” Bobby slashes a few lines of his script. “And you’re right. Love comes across fine with one metaphor. We need to get to lust faster.”
There’s an “L” word I’m not enthused to hear when it concerns Jack and Niks. I need to program my brain to think of them as Donal Cam and Nieve on set. The man Alan Rafier pushes to salivate more over the fair lady is not my lover. Not here. Not in this reality.God, I hope this gets easier.
I tap on the cut line in Bobby’s script. “That’ll get them to Deidre’s uncontrollable passion much faster.”
Bobby laughs. “My pragmatist has become a romantic.”
If you only knew, Mr. Provost.When he moves in for a confab with Jack, Niks, Alan, and the intimacy coordinator, I hang back. They chat about the changes and mark the new blocking.
Bobby is all smiles when he returns. He slings a lazy arm around my shoulders like we’re sporty teammates. “Good call. I’d rather spend airtime on the carnal rather than the verbal in this scene.”
“Give the people what they want.” I applaud myself for keeping the sour taste in my mouth out of my tone.
His arm is still around me. From the corner of my eye, I see Jack frown. “We’ve got about half an hour before we go to camera,” Bobby says as he guides me over toward the craft service table. “Read through the scene with me. I need to hear the flow with the cut and maybe find a few more darlings to kill.”
With fresh coffee, we put our heads together.
Bobby reads the line as clinically as a scientist in a safe room. “My dearest heart, I’m a man of blood and death, but in you, I’ve the grace to love.”
“This maid does not deserve such faith from one who commands clouds to fly across morning skies.”
“With one touch of your lips to mine, clouds will fall to earth and require a master no longer.” Bobby jots a note in his script. “I’m feeling a heavenly light moment here. Shaft through the window, Donal Cam on his knees.” He snags Alan. They gesture the director of photography and the intimacy coordinator to join the convo.
I scan the pages, my dagger at the ready to kill any superfluous love lines. “Objectivity,” I whisper to myself. Just because I don’t want Niks and Jack gushing at each other doesn’t mean Donal Cam and Nieve should be shortchanged in the love department.
A shadow falls over my script. “How late is Bobby keeping you tonight?” Jack’s voice is one click above silent, but it thunders so loudly in my ear I’m sure everyone on stage heard it.
I grab his script. “Yes, these three lines are cut.” He leans down, playing along so our heads nearly touch over the script. “Stop looking at me.”
“Jack,” calls Alan. “Once more before I lose you to wardrobe.”
“On my way.” He lifts a water bottle from the craft service table with one hand and scribbles something in his script with the other, holding it open so I can see it.
Stables three o’clock?
“Let me run that change by Bobby,” I say. Jack, ever the actor, nods as if we’ve just uncovered a nugget of paramount importance in the script.
It’s not even eight-thirty, or as everyone here says, half-eight, yet. They still need to run the scene at least once with the changes. After that, Niks and Jack will slip out to finish their transformation into Donal Cam and Nieve while electricians adjust lighting for the scene to capture the addition of Bobby’s heavenly moment. The actors started their day in hair and makeup. Costumes won’t take long. If Bobby is pleased with the way the scene’s going, he’ll want to bop off to editing, leaving me free for a session with the ponies.
“Stop distracting my assistant, J. If you need help with your golf swing, get in line.”
I didn’t see Bobby closing in on us. Did he see Jack’s note?
“About time you admit that swing of yours is ragged,” says Jack over his shoulder as he heads back to set.
