Page 2 of Love Unscripted
A reluctant smile tugged at Aaron’s mouth. Of course she did. He could picture it vividly—Madison in the middle of the studio, curls bouncing wildly, arms moving with dramatic enthusiasm. The image warmed something deep in his chest.
Dance had quickly become her favorite thing in the world. Not that she lacked other interests. The child loved arts and crafts too. Half the surfaces in Aaron’s house had at some point been covered with glitter, crayons, stickers, glue, or badly cut construction paper masterpieces his mother insisted deserved preservation. Madison could spend an hour painting crooked rainbows or making bracelets no human being could actually wear comfortably.
But dance—that was different. Dance lit her up. The second music started playing, something inside her came alive. She twirled through hallways, practiced spins in grocery store aisles, and turned ordinary walks through the house into elaborate performances no one had asked for.
And she certainly hadn’t inherited that from him. Aaron loved music. Always had. Music helped him think, helped him create, helped him pray sometimes. But dancing? That had never been him. Madison got it from her mother.
Scarlette had moved through life like rhythm lived inside her bones. She had been a gymnast and later a cheerleader. She could still do ridiculous things that made no sense to Aaron whatsoever—perfect back handsprings into swimming pools, effortless cartwheels on beaches, baton twirling routines she’d learned as a teenager and somehow never forgotten.
That same easy grace lived in their daughter now. Sometimes it hurt to see it. Sometimes it felt like a gift—
“I’m ready,” Camille said softly.
Aaron looked up.
She had stepped forward, feet planted, posture composed. Her hands lifted briefly, palms open, before folding at her waist. She inhaled, eyes lowering for a moment, then rising with quiet resolve.
“My king…” The words filled the room. “I know I should be silent,” she continued, voice steady but trembling withrestrained emotion. One hand lifted, reaching toward an unseen presence. “But how can I hold my peace when the lives of my people hang in the balance?” Her gaze lifted beyond the room, beyond them.
“If I have found favor in your eyes… let my plea be heard.” Her breathing slowed. Her fingers tightened, then released. “I did not choose this crown.” A subtle shake of her head. “But I will not shrink from the purpose God has placed before me… even if it costs me everything.”
The room changed. This was not acting. This was inhabiting.
She straightened, fear and courage coexisting in her posture. Her voice—gentle, unyielding—carried weight without being forceful and was reverent without sounding fragile.
Aaron felt his breath catch. Ray’s expression had gone utterly still. When Camille finished, she lowered her gaze, the spell breaking. There was silence.
Then Ray exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
Bruce grinned, vindicated.
Aaron forced himself to speak. “Your emotional range is… remarkable.”
Camille met his eyes, uncertainty flickering beneath composure. “Thank you.”
As Bruce launched into logistics, Ray said nothing—but his decision was already made. Aaron knew it. And that knowledge unsettled him deeply.
~*~*~*~
Camille stepped into the hallway and leaned briefly against the wall, closing her eyes. Her heart was still racing.
She slid the script into her bag and smoothed her dress, settling herself. It was modest, this style, and modesty was still new to her. But she had chosen it because it felt right. She waslearning what it meant to present her body pleasingly without offering it up for consumption.
The audition had gone well as far as she was concerned. She had felt Esther in her bones.
But Aaron Cortelli…
She hadn’t expected him here. The famous footballer turned actor. She was familiar with his hugely successful critically acclaimed film noirJohn Grayin which he played the lead character. Who knew that he was now directing Christian biopics? Had he also left mainstream Hollywood behind or was he involved in this project for another reason?
And afterward, his praise had been careful. Measured. “Your emotional range is… remarkable,” he’d said.
She wanted more from him and the realization unsettled her.
She pressed her head back against the wall, breathing deeply. She had prayed for this—an open door, a chance to start again, to work in a project that reflected her newfound convictions.
But she had not expected that it would be accompanied by a complication by the name of Aaron Cortelli. In another life, she would already know how to handle him. Charm him. Disarm him. Control the outcome.
But that woman was gone, she told herself as she straightened and walked toward the exit. This season was about discovering who she was as God’s new creation. She was not about to get distracted from that.
