The Promise of Change (25 page)

“I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.” He wore a provocative grin as he wrapped his arms around her waist drawing her closer.

She sighed with pleasure at the unyielding contact.

“I can return to . . . rigorous activity.” She pulled his lips down to hers, taking his bottom lip between her teeth.

“And what type of rigorous activity did you have in mind?” he asked against her mouth.

“Hmm. I thought maybe a brisk run through the park . . .” Her fingers threaded in his hair, holding his mouth to hers.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping you had something a little more . . . amorous in mind.” The scent and taste of her assaulted his senses. Two weeks of restraint with her in close proximity had been sheer torture. Tasting her now was akin to a parched man getting his first sip of cool water. It only made him want more.

Sliding the thin strap of her nightgown off her shoulder, he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone.

Her breath shortened to shallow gasps, her pulse thickened, as the familiar warmth curled in her belly.

Lifting her off her knees, he gently pressed her back onto the bed, his free arm swiping the discarded newspapers from the bed, sending them fluttering to the floor.

“Well, I suppose this qualifies as an aerobic activity,” she murmured.

“Very aerobic.”

“Robert was very pleasant, even charming, this evening.”

“Yes, maybe those anger management classes are paying off,” Alex said, tongue firmly in cheek.

“Well, maybe he should focus more on anger management and less on your love life,” she said with disapproval.

Alex chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe he should consider hiring you as his political advisor.”

Lying in bed, luxuriating in the feel of their entangled bodies, they recounted the evening’s odd turn of events.

Alex’s fingers ran down her spine as if he were stroking a cat. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d started purring.

By the end of the evening, he and Robert were sitting at the kitchen table laughing and joking over a beer, regaling Sarah with stories of their tumultuous childhood relationship. Emma looked on the whole scene with an affectionate smile.

Robert was a gifted storyteller, a gift of gab being an important characteristic in a successful lawmaker. Sarah had finally learned the story behind the rugby grudge.

When Robert and Alex were teenagers, the two had been playing rugby on opposing teams, with Alex’s team ahead. Alex was running with the ball when Robert hit him with an illegal elbow to the chin, busting open a gash. The wound required stitches.

Robert admitted to Sarah that he was a sore loser, especially when it came to losing to his big brother.

Sarah and Alex were content to lie in each other’s arms for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

Sarah’s giggle broke the silence. “Been skinny-dipping lately?”

“She didn’t!”

“Oh, yes she did!”

Alex groaned, as he put a hand up to cover his face. “Did she tell you . . . everything?”

“Poor Alex. What a terrible place to have poison ivy. Let me see,” she said, as she lifted the sheet, “did it leave any scars?”

“Come here, you saucy minx.” He rolled over, pulling her underneath him, promptly ending any further conversation.

As Sarah waited for Michael to instruct the actors and crew, she asked herself why she’d written such a romantic final scene. She couldn’t have ended with a handshake? Thank God she hadn’t written a sex scene! Note to self: Any future books where Alex may cast himself as the hero will have no sex scenes. Strictly PG.

The location manager had found a cozy little 1920s bungalow in Berkeley Park, a lovely neighborhood just west of mid-town Atlanta, to serve as Aunt Millie’s house.

Christen comes to Atlanta in search of Amelia and finds her living in her aunt’s modest house, despite having inherited over two million dollars. The exterior scene where Christen unexpectedly appears at Amelia’s door had already been shot, and the crew had moved into the tiny living room.

Brooke, Alex and Sarah had managed to reduce the tension to a low hum, but Sarah wasn’t sure which of them, Alex or herself, had it worse: while he had to act like he loved her, Sarah had to watch while he kissed her.

“Okay, let’s block the scene.” Michael took his seat next to Sarah’s. “Brooke, you walk into the room stopping in front of the sofa and turn to face Alex. Alex you follow Brooke, hesitating in the doorway, then you make up your mind to tell her that you love her, and persuade her she loves you, whether she wants to admit it or not.”

Brooke and Alex followed Michael’s direction, but in place of their lines, Brooke asked, “Alex, do you think you can play this scene convincingly?”

“Brooke, I’ll play my role with consummate professionalism, and everyone who watches will believe I’m totally captivated by you, but make no mistake, I’ll detest every minute of it,” he growled.

Their expressions and body language were at odds with their words. If this were a silent film, the audience would think they were confessing their undying love for one another.

“Okay. Let’s roll,” Michael instructed.

This was followed by the assistant director’s instructions. “Quiet everyone. Roll sound. Roll camera.”

Amelia, pain and confusion on her face: “Christen, I don’t understand why you’re here. We can’t possibly have anything more to say to one another—”

Christen, approaching Amelia with determination: “I beg to differ. I think we have a great deal to say to one another—”

Amelia: “Did you fly all the way to Atlanta to berate me for my despicable behavior towards Lady Victoria? If so, save your breath. I know I was horribly rude and conveyed my apologies in a letter to be given to her by Margaret, although I’d understand if Lady Victoria refused it.” Amelia turns her back on Christen.

Christen walks up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders: “Amelia.” He whispers her name. “I didn’t come to berate you. Quite the contrary.” He turns her to face him, placing his hands on either side of her face. “I came to make you believe that I’m in love with you, notwithstanding what Charles led you to believe. I’ve been in love with you from the moment you called me a pompous, condescending blue-blood and I pointed out that pompous and condescending were redundant.” Christen smiles.

Amelia is speechless.

Christen, still smiling: “Apparently I’ve discovered how to leave you speechless. All I have to do is say ‘I love you.’ I’ll have to remember that when we next argue.”

Amelia recovers her capacity for speech: “You’re taking a great deal for granted, aren’t you? I haven’t declared my feelings for you—”

Christen, complacently: “Oh, there’s no need. You love me, too.”

Amelia, shaking her head: “Arrogant to the last—”

Christen cuts off her words with a kiss. She puts her arms around his neck. He pulls back. “I love you, Amelia Hampton.”

Amelia jumps up, wrapping her legs around his waist, exactly the type of behavior Christen would have abhorred before. Instead of chiding her, he places his hands under her bottom, laughing and spinning her around. She pulls his face to hers and they kiss.

“Cut. Print. Great job.”

Breathe. At least that take was done. Knowing Michael, only twenty more to go. Sarah’s relief was short-lived, however. As she looked on, Brooke’s legs were still wrapped around Alex’s waist, her lips still pressed to his. She knew Brooke was only doing it to aggravate her, but it rankled nonetheless.

“Brooke,” Alex spoke against her mouth, “if I wasn’t a gentleman, I’d drop you on your despicable little ass. Now let go before I forget my manners.”

“Oh, did Michael say ‘cut?’ I guess I didn’t hear him.” She dropped her legs from his waist, and stepped back, wearing a smug expression on her pretty face.

Sarah groaned. This was going to be a long day.

“How do you do it?” At his confused expression, Sarah continued. “Make people believe you’re madly in love with someone you actually despise?”

They were finishing a light dinner in their hotel suite. After the tabloid articles, there was no point in pretending their relationship was a secret, plus Sarah was sure Brooke had already enlightened everyone.

It was after midnight, late to be eating, but they didn’t wrap up until after ten, the goal being to finish the principal photography today, four months to the day they started filming.

“It’s what I do. How do you conjure beautiful, complex characters out of thin air, or create breathtaking settings with words? We have both found our calling, and when that happens, we often exceed our own expectations. You’re willing to do the hard things in order to perfect your craft.”

“But what I do seems easy by comparison. My work is solitary. I don’t have to deal with troublesome people on a daily basis.”

“Mind over matter I guess.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his Southern iced tea, something he’d recently discovered in Atlanta. “You remember the actress who played Fanny Price? She reeked of garlic every day.” He made a face wrinkling his nose.

“Ooh.” Sarah made a similar face. “Yet you made me, and millions of others believe that you, or rather Edmund, were in love with her.”

“Well, I’m not sure about millions, but there you have it, mind over matter, or in that case mind over odor.”

They both chuckled.

“Should I be concerned that it’s mind over matter with me?” Sarah said it teasingly, but a part of her was serious.

“Sarah, I could never be anything but myself around you.” He reached across the table and took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “It’s inescapable. When I tried to act angry around you, I failed. I couldn’t sustain an emotion that was contrary to my actual feelings. After all day pretending emotions I don’t really feel, being myself with you is . . . liberating.” His eyes held hers. “No. I cannot act with you. It is always undeniably real.”

The movie, as they say, was ‘in the can.’ Of course, that phrase was no longer technically correct, since production companies no longer use celluloid, but Sarah thought it was fun to say nonetheless. Post-production, including film and sound editing, sound and visual effects, and musical score, would begin next week.

Alex was flying out to California for a couple of weeks to work with Michael, the editors, and other members of the post-production team. Although she’d like to go as well, after four months away, she needed to go home and relieve Ann and Becca from their caretaker duties.

Alex would be back in time for Thanksgiving, his first taste of the American tradition, and Sarah wanted to make it extra special. With her family, as well as Ann’s joining them for the celebration, she had her work cut out for her.

Sitting at the vanity, putting the finishing touches on her appearance, Alex walked up behind her and moving her hair aside, placed a kiss on her neck below her ear.

“I don’t believe I tell you enough just how beautiful you are.” His warm eyes met hers in the mirror. “I also believe I’ve been remiss in my gift-giving. The only gift you’ve ever received from me is that dodgy Jane Austen cross. It’s time to rectify that.”

From his fingers dropped a gorgeous dime-sized topaz pendant set in gold filigree.

The exquisite gem swung from his hand, catching the light, flashing bronze, then gold, then amber. Sarah was dumbfounded as he unfastened the clasp and wrapped the delicate chain around her neck.

It felt warm against her skin as it nestled in the hollow at her throat. She raised her fingers to touch the golden stone, tears welling in her eyes.

“Careful Sarah, you’ll spoil your makeup.” His face, which wore one of his brilliant smiles, was next to hers in the mirror. “Do you like it?” he whispered.

Sarah turned to kiss him, wrapping her hands around his neck, threading her fingers in his hair. He pulled her up from the chair, and turned her in his arms, kissing her so passionately that if it weren’t for his arms around her, she thought she would lose her balance.

“I take it that’s a yes,” he murmured against her lips. He reluctantly withdrew. “You keep kissing me like that we’ll miss the wrap up party.”

In keeping with tradition, Alex, as the producer, was holding a party for the cast and crew to celebrate the completion of the production phase.

“We can be a little late,” she murmured as she pulled his lips back to hers. Much to her dismay, he retreated again, leaving his hands on either side of her neck.

“Sarah, it would be a shame to waste your
toilette
.” He stepped back, dropping his hands from her neck, giving her an appreciative look. “You look stunning. I’ll be the envy of everyone, but I have especially high hopes of galling Michael.” He grinned mischievously. “At least allow me a few hours to flaunt it.”

“If you insist we go,” she said with a mock sigh. “I suppose as the host, you should make an appearance. After all, we wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.”

She checked her appearance in the mirror again. The topaz winked in the light. It was stunning in itself, but with her bronze chiffon dress, it was magnificent. That’s when it dawned on her. “Is this why you insisted I buy this dress?” she asked as she turned from the mirror to face him, her eyebrow lifted.

“Guilty,” he said, lifting his hands as if in surrender. “But, in my defense, that isn’t the only reason.” He took her hand and twirled her around so that the knee-length chiffon skirt floated out like a chocolate cloud. “It fits like it was made for you, and the color on you is dazzling.”

“Alex, you really are too much. You keep offering such effusive praise I’ll begin to believe it.”

“I sincerely hope so madam.” He took her hand, and tucking it into the crook of his arm, escorted her out of the room.

The party, which was held in one of the hotel’s smaller ballrooms, was in full swing, and true to form, the cast and crew were animated. The wine and champagne were flowing freely, with the volume of laughter rising in proportion to the amount of alcohol consumed.

As a waitress walked by with another tray of champagne, Alex took two glasses, handing one to Sarah. “Drink up, Sarah. This is a cause for celebration . . . your first book, your first movie.” He raised his glass in a toast. “I’m so proud of you.”

She raised the glass to her lips. She didn’t need an excuse to drink champagne, this being her third glass, but who’s counting. “Why Lord Rutherford, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me,” she said, mimicking the Southern accent of her ancestors and flirting in her best imitation of Scarlett O’Hara.

“On the contrary, Ms. Edwards, I prefer you in possession of all your senses when I take you to bed.” He leveled a steamy gaze at her, reminiscent of Rhett Butler.

Oh. Her mouth formed the word, but nothing came out.

“The real celebration doesn’t begin until we leave the party,” he whispered seductively in her ear.

She shivered in response.

He flashed her his provocative smile. “Ponder that while I make a toast.”

He stepped to the front of the room and clinking his glass with his Christ Church ring, miraculously gained the attention of the boisterous group. He was so handsome, so poised, commanding attention with little fanfare.

“Ladies and gentleman . . . there are a few gentlemen here I believe—”

“Very few,” someone interjected to everyone’s amusement, including Alex’s.

“I want to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your hard work and tireless dedication to this film.

“In my mind,” he continued, “you are the best cast and crew with whom I’ve ever had the pleasure of working. This project was flawless, on schedule, and on budget. For that, I salute you.” He raised his glass to the room and everyone drank.

“I would also like to thank Michael for his gifted directing. He captured the essence of the story in a way few could. Michael.” Again he raised his glass in toast, nodding his head in Michael’s direction.

The room erupted in applause while Michael took a brief bow.

Alex turned to look at Brooke. “Brooke, what can I say, except that you’re a brilliant actress.”

She preened at his words.

Sarah was hopeful that she was the only one who recognized the double entendre in Alex’s words, having said them herself in her e-mails to Ann and Becca.

“I have no doubt you will go far in your career, and that we will see you on the silver screen for years to come.”

Again, everyone drank a toast.

Yep, Sarah thought wickedly, especially if she sleeps with her directors.

“Finally, to the woman without whom this project would not have existed.” He turned to Sarah, glass raised, eyes sparkling. “Thank you for writing this brilliant novel and for creating characters that will live on among those in other great works of literature. I love you, sweet Sarah.” His eyes held hers as everyone sipped their drink, before draining his own glass.

Sarah was embarrassed over the attention, but she raised her glass to his generous praise, mouthing the words ‘I love you’ in response.

He set the glass down on a table as he made his way through the crowded room towards her, moving gracefully among the throng. When he reached her, he removed the glass from her hand placing it on the table behind her. “Come Sarah, it’s time for our private celebration.” Taking her wrist, he pulled her willingly from the room.