“Ha. Yes, indeed it is. I was just testing you. So then, tell me, which Brontë sister wrote it?”
“Ah. Let me see. I do tend to confuse them somewhat. If I remember correctly, that’s fromJane Eyre, which means it would be Charlotte.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know which one wrote it either.”
“I take it you’re an avid reader. Jane Austen isn’t your only favorite author.”
He leaned back and smiled as if remembering a particularly interesting book. “I do enjoy Dickens. I’ve always had a soft spot for Hemingway. And then there’s Steinbeck.”
“Really?”I said, not hiding my surprise and skepticism.
He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. You see a Hollywood pretty boy, an actor who plays superheroes, and you can’t imagine that he would ever pick up a book, never mind a brick of a book likeFor Whom the Bell Tolls.”
Smiling gently, I looked at him. He was right, in a sense. I had judged him...the pretty boy from Hollywood, empty-headed and shallow. I thought him flaky, a charmer with no depth, all looks and no substance.
“I readThe Sun Also Risesyears and years ago,” I said. “If it is one that you’ve read, I would love to sit and discuss it with you some time.”
Before he could answer, I stood up and with the flats of my hands straightened the skirt of the dress I still wore.
“Well, I must leave you. I’m sure wardrobe is eager to have this dress back and I’m in desperate need of a shower.”
He stood and came up close to face me. “If it pleases you, I would very much like to run through the lines of our other scenes. I know that Keely is pressed for time with this production, and the more we rehearse, the better prepared we’ll be once the cameras get rolling.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to gauge him. What game was he playing? Was this simply a devoted actor determined to do a great job on this movie? Or was he deliberately putting on the charm, trying to appeal to my strong work ethic?
“After dinner?”I said.
“I’ll meet you right here, if that’s all right with you.”
*****
AFTER MY SHOWER, Irested then quickly read through the scenes I had with Mr.Crawford. How long would I be able to avoid the kissing scene I shared with him.
And why are you so intent on avoiding it?I asked myself.
Hmm. What was I afraid of? Liking it? Not liking it?
I had no idea, but as I grabbed a quick bite for dinner, then headed out to meet up with Ricky, I had to hope that he wouldn’t bring up that scene just yet.
Walking around the water fountain, I saw him in the distance, his silhouette blending in with those of children from the delicate statue. He paced before the bench we’d sat on earlier. Although his head was down, I could see his lips moving as he said his lines.
He, too, had showered and changed. The t-shirt he now wore was tight, molding to his muscular chest and stretched to the limit around his biceps. The fashion of the Jane Austen era did a good job of camouflaging his muscular build, but his everyday clothes highlighted every single curve and line.
“Have you begun rehearsing without me,” I said as I came up to him.
A bright smile immediately lit up his face when he saw me. “Darling.” He looked me up and down. “You look very pretty in that shade of blue.”
I looked down at the simple blue summer dress I’d slipped on. “Thank you.”
“Mind if we walk as we go through our lines?”
“What scene did you have in mind?”I said as we began to walk aimlessly through the courtyard.
“There’s a conversation between Mr.Crawford and Fanny that I found particularly emotional. I know that you worked on the script. I sensed that you brought your own sensitivity to each word. I’ve no doubt Jane Austen would approve.”
“I didn’t have to do much.After all, her words are so delectable as written. They rarely require altering.”
He took that as his cue and put on the heavy charm of Mr.Crawford.
