Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Kenneth and Evan are identifying any scenes left that don’t involve Neevah,” he goes on, “and any shots we can get using her body double.”
Canon glances at me and tugs on his beard, longer than usual because he grows it out for each film until production wraps. “We have enough footage to get started on scoring some key scenes. I know you usually wait till the end, but—”
“I can make an exception,” I break in. “I’ll get started and do as much as I can. We’ll deliver the score on time. I got you.”
“Thanks.” Canon blows out an extended breath and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Lawson Stone tried to make a big deal that Neevah didn’t tell us she had lupus.”
I watch him closely, thinking about Verity’s condition.
“Technically, she didn’t hide it,” Canon rushes to say, obviously defensive on Neevah’s behalf. “She disclosed all the symptoms from the beginning, but just didn’t call it lupus. She passed all the insurance company’s medical exams. It was discoid lupus when she started, which is not life-threatening, not systemic, which is what it has become.”
He drops his head and closes his eyes. “They think this expanded diagnosis may have been triggered by stress and the pace of the film. God, if I hadn’t—”
“If you hadn’t what?” Verity interrupts from just behind him. “Given her the opportunity of a lifetime?”
He turns to consider her, but doesn’t speak.
“She deserved this shot,” Verity says, her eyes filled with compassion. “Just because she has an illness doesn’t mean she’s not capable of making her own decisions. People with chronic illness have dreams, too. Neevah didn’t want to spend her life on the sidelines just because she might get sick.”
Canon and Verity study each other for a few seconds, and it feels like some conversation is going on the rest of us aren’t privy to.
“Verity’s right,” Jill says. “Any number of things may have triggered this, but I know Neevah wouldn’t change a thing. She was born to do this.”
“I guess you’re right.” Canon sighs and shakes his head as if shedding the conversation and refocusing. “I better get back over to the hospital.”
“Tell Neevah we love her.” Jill pulls him in for another hug. “And we love you.”
“Love you guys, too,” Canon says, rare emotion stamped on his usually impassive face.
Verity hugs him, too, but he doesn’t pull back immediately. He whispers something in her ear, which makes her close her eyes and nod against his shoulder before stepping away.
Once Canon leaves and the crowd has dispersed, everyone starts scattering to do their part in keeping the production moving. I glance around to check that no one is watching, take Verity’s hand and pull her into the hall behind the ballroom. It’s some kind of service entrance, with tables and catering trays lined against the wall.
“Hey,” I say, resting one hand on the wall beside her and caressing her cheek with the other. “How are you?”
“You mean since you left my bed this morning?” she whispers, dispelling some of the gloom from the last few minutes.
“Yeah.” I answer with a small smile, but search her eyes. “What was Canon saying to you? Are you okay? Is it the script or—”
“Canon knows about my diagnosis,” she cuts off my questions, looking away and down to the hallway’s carpeted floor.
My brows draw together and I blink several times before going on. “You told Canon and you didn’t tell me?”
“We’ve discussed why I didn’t tell you. Why I never tell anybody I’m working with. Remember I mentioned someone told Canon I was flaky? I had to tell him the truth when he confronted me with it.”
“Well, just so you know, he’s never mentioned it to any of us. I would never have known if you hadn’t told me.”
She nods, a faint smile quirking her lips. “He said Neevah’s situation made him understand my reluctance to share because most of these studio executives are parasites with no soul, no heart.”
She tips her head back until it bumps lightly against the wall, her dark curls flaring out against the stark surface. “Telling him freed up something in me. And then telling you, I felt even freer. I wonder if telling the world, or at least not withholding the information, might be the freedom I’m looking for. Eventually.”
“No one is entitled to that,” I tell her, bending my knees to bring my eyes on level with hers. “But if you tell anyone, I’m right here, and I’ll kick anybody’s ass who makes it harder for you.”
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
“You think I’m playing?”
“I think you’re wonderful.”
She hooks our pinkies and pushes up on her toes to kiss my cheek. At the last minute, I turn my head and capture her lips. Even amid so much uncertainty and discouraging news, the desire we have for each other endures, sparking to life. Her mouth moves under mine, opens, invites me in. Our tongues spar and I caress the smooth curve of her neck, feel the wild pulse at her throat. Even fast and frantic, her heartbeat reassures me because she’s here with me when for years I couldn’t imagine that she ever would be again.