Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“…can I do that?” he asked, skimming his fingers under a line on the page where his character was supposed to meet Violette Cheng, this woman he had pined for from afar, face to face for the first time. In this scene he was supposed to immediately confess his love when she saw him as a stranger, and pledge to melt her heart, but the scriptwriter hadn’t given much direction on how. “Would…Newcomb really let me just…take off on my own direction like that?”
“If he’s smart, he’ll sit back and let the magic happen. Amazing things can happen when a director trusts his cast to blend themselves into the roles. And when you’re too much of a disgusting dog for magic, profit motives will do.” Brendan slid off his stool, still holding the script in one hand while he absently started to gather their empty plates and wine glasses with the other. “So how do you intend to confess your love to Miss Cheng?”
With the wine warm in his veins, it was easier for Cillian to just relax and enjoy watching Brendan move. He had a certain efficient economy of movement, so much strength and yet not an ounce wasted, his gestures and body language as tight and close as his strides were long and powerful. Cillian wasn’t really drunk, though; just a little easier, letting himself come down from his tizzy and focus on the script. The question. Getting over the jitters and nerves that took him over every time he walked onto that lot, so he could fall into this and truly enjoy it.
“I think…” He propped his chin in both hands, blowing his lips out as he squinted down at his script. “Quietly. He’s been aware of her for so long, but she has no idea who he is. He wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or make her feel as if she was being mocked. So he’d be quiet. He’d want to earn her trust, and make her believe his sincerity, instead of grand proclamations.”
“Hm.” Brendan leaned against the cabinets next to the fridge, tapping the folded script against his chin. “And how would that make her feel loved? How would you make that passionate enough to reach her?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Another hm. Brendan studied him keenly. “I think…part of loving someone and wanting them to love you back is knowing what you want. What you want out of being loved. How you want it to make you feel. So. Cillian Tell, how would you want to feel if you were in love?”
Maybe it was the buzz making his lips loose, but Cillian didn’t even hesitate to answer. “…safe,” he said immediately, lowering his eyes from Brendan to the lines on the page. “I’ve…felt sheltered for so long, and then…coming out into the wide world, feeling like I know nothing, I just…I feel unsafe all the time. And I’d love to just…feel safe around someone. Safe with him. Safe enough that I could trust him with anything, to do anything…and it would never be something I don’t want, because he…because he…”
He swallowed. The lines weren’t really lines anymore; just fuzzy black dots that didn’t make sense.
“…because he’d want to protect me,” he finished. “That’s what I want. To feel safe even when I’m the most afraid.”
“So that’s why you do what you do,” Brendan murmured. Husky, thoughtful…but there was only understanding in that drawling voice. A touch of unspoken curiosity. No condemnation. “Why you want the things you want. It’s not just about pleasure. You’re looking for that feeling of someone who makes you feel safe enough to give yourself wholeheartedly, even in a potentially dangerous situation.”
“I…” Cillian’s breaths caught. His blood simmered, far too warm. “…yes.”
“Then put that into your acting. If that’s the feeling you want…give that to her. Show her your passion by showing her how you’d make her feel safe enough to know your love is real.”
“…yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Cillian nodded. He…shouldn’t be feeling so raw right now, like Brendan was slipping his fingers inside to caress the inner chambers of Cillian’s heart. This was just work talk, looking for inspiration, pulling it from himself, and if Brendan could be matter-of-fact then Cillian could too. “I think I can draw on that. I…yeah. I can do that.”
“Try it on me,” Brendan said.
Cillian blinked, staring at him. “I’m sorry, come again?”
“I said try me. I’ll be Violette. I’ll read for her. Convince me that you love me when I don’t even know who you are.” Brendan pushed away from the counter, walking backward, toward a cluster of long cream-colored couches and an ottoman the size of a coffee table, positioned before a massive flatscreen TV. “Over here. The lighting’s better. More atmospheric.”
And he made it more atmospheric by tugging the strings on several tall silver pole lamps with cylindrical paper shades—paper shades with subtle spatters on them that, when the light came up, became soft spangles falling over the living area in patterns like flung droplets of starlight. Cillian slid off the stool and followed, testing his legs carefully at first. Drunk usually led to rubbery legs and tingling in his thighs, but no, he was steady, fine, the wine already bleeding from his system. He almost wanted more.