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)
The sight of him made something vomitous billow up Brendan’s throat, and he instinctively positioned himself between Newcomb and Cillian.
“…I wasn’t expecting so many people,” Cillian whispered behind him.
Before Brendan could say anything, though, a young woman separated herself out from a group of several other actresses and came breezing over, this bright bubble of energy with her long banner of black hair trailing behind her in a sleek tail, her pale plaid tank top tied at her waist and paired stylishly with slim cuffed capri jeans and pretty red sandals. Sophie Ling, their leading lady, and Sophie stopped in front of them with her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, sucking in a breath.
“Oh my god, you’re both here,” she whispered. “I’ve been wanting to meet both of you for so long, I can’t believe I get to be in a movie with you, I—” She stuck both hands out, offering one for Brendan, one for Cillian. “I’m Sophie. Sophie Ling.”
Cillian took her hand, shaking it with a sort of faint bewilderment. “I…yes. I saw you in Parade of Tattered Paper, you were…I…I still don’t have words for how you took my breath away.”
Sophie dimpled with a pretty blush, then turned an impish smile on Brendan as Brendan took her other hand. “Your turn. Compliment me, Mr. Lau.”
“I don’t need to.” Brendan bent over her hand. “Anyone who looks at you doesn’t need to be told how you shine, Miss Ling.”
Cillian groaned. “This is not how he talks in private.”
“Shush, you.” Sophie swatted at Cillian’s arm playfully, her angled black eyes sparking in her delicately peaked, pale amber face; she had that kind of open, accepting warmth that treated everyone as if they were already old friends. “I grew up wanting to be a princess. Playing one in a movie where gorgeous movie stars flatter me is the next best thing. Let him flatter me.”
Brendan only shook his head, letting her hand go. “You two should get acquainted,” he said, and pulled away from Cillian. He didn’t need to hover like a guard dog with every moment.
His presence should be enough to keep Newcomb on his toes.
Cillian seemed to be getting on while Sophie swept him into her orbit, anyway; Brendan poured himself a foam cup full of black coffee and watched for a few moments as Sophie swirled Cillian—with one last helpless look from Cillian toward Brendan—into a cluster of young actors and actresses, making introductions all around. She had charisma, that girl. She’d easily dominate in her role, and it wouldn’t be hard to see her playing his daughter. He’d have to match and modulate his presence a little to follow her mannerisms, little hints of body language and unspoken social cues those in the same family often tended to pick up without realizing it.
This was going to be an interesting production, after all.
It was another half-hour or so before Newcomb called things to order; Brendan spent the time exchanging a quick word with crew members he’d worked with in the past, discussing the production, saying hello—meeting a few new faces, learning the names of the rest of the main cast, being polite, doing his job. No one in this room needed to know he wanted to put Newcomb through a plate glass window. No one did know, except for Cillian and Brendan himself—and Drake, who slipped into the room and tucked himself against the wall just as Newcomb summoned everyone’s attention with an imperious clap.
“If you could all take your seats,” he said, sniffing. “Since our two leading men decided to grace us with their presence today, perhaps we can actually get through the entire script.”
Across the room, Cillian caught Brendan’s eye and cringed.
Brendan chose not to acknowledge the comment.
But he waited until Cillian took his seat next to Sophie before Brendan settled himself on Cillian’s other side, intentionally blocking Newcomb’s line of sight.
Masked under the noise of everyone else settling, Brendan leaned in close and murmured to Cillian. “You holding up?”
“Yeah.” Cillian gave a nervous little up and down bobble of his head. “I’ll be fine.”
Cillian was not fine.
He started off well enough; his were some of the first lines in the film, when the script introduced the hero first—a young Duke prematurely returned home from studying abroad when his father’s unexpected illness might well lay the responsibility of his station on him long before intended, with the attendant problems of a duchy completely bankrupted by his ill father’s exploitative “friends.” Cillian made it through banter with several other actors also playing young lordlings, meant to establish his earnest but determined character while leading to the setup where he would see Sophie’s character, the snow princess, and fall in love.
That…was where it started to fall apart.
In every scene where Cillian read lines with Brendan or Sophie, he shrank into himself. He spoke small. He was hesitant, withdrawn, uncertain of himself, more reciting words than even trying out character voice. When the scenes stumbled ahead to other secondary characters speaking amongst themselves, Cillian just stared miserably down at his script, not looking up at anyone. And when the entire cast broke off into a discussion of a few finer points that might need to be adjusted, Cillian didn’t say a word.