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Chapter Text

The silence had gone on for so long that he couldn't say for sure how many minutes he had been immersed in reading. The script was long, even though there were a few footnotes ensuring that some moments of the plot would still be adapted or were under discussion. It certainly wasn't a version worthy of being the final of anything, but I could still see very promising points in the story.

“So what? ” Ben was already squirming on the sofa. 

Farah sighed, put her feet up on the armchair and flipped through another page of the script. 

“It's promising, " she said at last. “But this is going to be a tragedy. ”

“You didn't even give him time to celebrate the first part ” Rose approached her husband to sit next to him.

 “Listen, Farah, I know we got good movies after Cruel Summer and the Oscars, both here and in America ” the man began. “But we also have to fulfill contracts. And believe me, of all the scripts that Rose and I read before presenting it to you, this is the one we could see the most possibility in. ”

“And it's a good script Ben, I'll give you that ” she threw the script on the coffee table. “But I'm used to working with good teams too, you've been in the industry as long as I have so you know there's a lot more to it than a good script. And seriously, do you really think that Hollywood boy has what it takes to get this movie made? ”

Rose tried to hold back the laugh caused by the tabloids' nickname, but not enough to go unnoticed. Farah pointed at her friend, using her as a point in favor of her argument.

“Silva has directed some good movies. ” Ben tried to argue.

“None of them in the last decade, " she countered. She knew from the look on his face that he was one step away from giving up. 

Farah thought calmly. She wasn't betting half a penny that the movie would actually go anywhere, but above all she was extremely professional and knew the importance of fulfilling her obligations.

“When are we leaving? ” she said at last.

°°°

Saul pressed his glasses against his nose with his eyes closed. His head felt like it was about to explode, and it certainly could if the meeting ended up going on for just a few more minutes. 

He had the rope around his neck anyway.

“I thought the idea was that we'd bring a new, unknown cast into the production, " he said at last, staring at the woman sitting in front of him.

“And then you'd film another one of your big productions under a bridge ,” Rosalind smiled at him. “You need money to shoot, the studio will give you what you need. But on our terms.”

“But is that what we need? To import crown jewels? ” He threw his glasses on the table.

“Would the great film director of 10 years ago complain about having an Oscar-winning actress in one of his films? ”

He took a breath to answer. That wasn't the question, at least not in the way it was being asked. His last few projects had been almost complete failures, but much of the blame could easily be taken off his shoulders. 

If he could make his movies the way he really believed they would work, he certainly wouldn't be having to humiliate himself to get a good production again. At no point had he agreed with the idea of sending the script to the nice British agent who had visited them weeks before, after all, he knew that his name would probably also be a laughing stock at five o'clock tea parties. 

But he knew he had to show that he could do it if he really wanted to save what was left of his career.

He took another deep breath.

“It will be a pleasure to direct the great Farah Dowling, " he said at last.

Breaking News!

HollywoodNews on Instagram:

"@fahdowling and @silva posted this two new photos almost at the same time! What in the Studio 16 brought this two together?"

Chapter Text

30th April  

Saul Silva entered the living room just as the sun was finishing falling over the Los Angeles skyline. He didn't even bother to turn on the lights, just threw his keys on the worktop and slumped back on the sofa.

He was mentally exhausted and even though his body showed a little of what was left of its energy, his head had no strength left.

On other days, he would come home from the studio, have a bite to eat and then run for a few miles to distract his thoughts from the tiring work environment. But after the meeting he'd had with Rosalind, the CEO of FW Studios with whom he was dealing, it had become clear that he still had a lot to worry about.

When he had started out in Hollywood about twenty years earlier, as an assistant director on a very well-produced drama series at the time, he was sure that behind the camera he had really found what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Until one day, in a stroke of luck, in the last season of the series, he was offered the chance to direct one of the final episodes - which would turn out to be the most watched and highly rated of the entire production.

He thanked The Last Great American Dynasty for being the gateway to his entry into the world of films and cinema, where he became - a few years later - the youngest and most respected director of his generation.

By then, his professional life had taken off at an almost unbelievable speed, creating a strong counterpart to his personal life, which was sinking deeper and deeper into trouble. His marriage to Nathalie, to whom he had become engaged even before moving to the city of dreams and who had made a point of embarking with him on his attempt at Hollywood life, was going from bad to worse. She, a model with a promising acting career in the making, although in minor roles, he, quickly climbing the ranks as a director, and Sky, the boy with blond hair like his grandmother's and blue eyes like his father's, formed the middle of the storm that their lives had become.

The situation became so untenable that even today, more than fifteen years later, he still finds himself avoiding thinking about it. Everything, in the worst way, had culminated in the inevitable and expansive divorce proceedings that had dragged on for almost two long years and had consumed him in every possible way.

The studio he worked for at the time had a strong policy against scandals involving the names that represented them, making it even more mentally exhausting to hold on to Nathalie's essence of seeking out magazines to help her climb the steps of the sad story she had created about it all. In the end, he had lost the direction of a major production right at the start, lost the process, lost a large part of what he had built up over years of work and, worst of all, had lost almost all contact with his son - who was just over three years old at the time. He had gained a personal and professional debt that he was still paying off every day. And he wished it were only financial.

In ten years he had managed to rise to the top like he had never imagined, but the fall had been cruel. That's when his face began to make the covers of magazines, sensationalist websites and gossip programs. Frankly, after a while he preferred people talking about his chaotic divorce while the headlines were concerned with questioning when the promising Hollywood boy had become no better than a backyard director.

The truth was that he was still the same professional, if not better, than years before. He was sure of his talent and capacity, and a little sure of how much of a prick he could be. With these three things, and the possible no he already carried in his pocket, he decided to take a friend's unfinished - yet very promising - play script based on a novel and walk through the gates of FW Studios more than a decade later. He sat down opposite Rosalind for the first time, only too sure of the idea he had brought with him.

And he tried.

Saul wasn't sure who he should thank or if he should really do it - he was still weighing in the balance, after actually starting to work, how much of a gift the studio's acceptance had been. But he had been able to invest in pre-production to show that the movie really was a good idea to invest in and that it would all work out.

He worked exhaustively over the following months to meet all the demands that had been made for the actual start of the film to be authorized. His only requirement had been the choice of cast, but he still wasn't surprised when he was only told that the script had been handed over to the manager of an important actress with whom the studio still had a contract pending. When he asked for a completely new cast, even though he knew he would run into the obstacle of inexperience with a complicated script, he would be working with people still in the throes of addiction and - perhaps unconsciously - without ideas and opinions formed about his work as a director.

But Farah Dowling was a reality and, as Rosalind had made clear, he couldn't and shouldn't try to fight her. His movie was going to happen, and he would finally be able to put at least some of his life back on track.

He got up from the sofa a few minutes later, leaving his pair of glasses on the coffee table and heading to the kitchen to get something to eat. The house was illuminated by the streetlight and he leaned on the counter while he ate half a sandwich that was in the fridge. His mind was constantly thinking about the next day, when he would finally have all the cast officially assembled for the first read-through of the script, so that they could finally get started.

He still had a lot to do, even in terms of organization. After eating and taking a quick shower, he packed the small travel bag with some personal items that he would leave in the trailer, knowing that it would become commonplace not to go home on more intense recording days. When he checked the time on his cell phone, he realized it was already getting considerably late.

He picked up the TV remote and threw himself on the bed, quickly checking the messaging app to see if there was anything he needed to reply to, and threw the cell phone on the bed when he saw that most of them could wait until the next day. He flipped through the channels uninterested, finally stopping when he saw a face that had been a constant feature of his last few days come into view in one of the scenes.

Dowling appeared walking quickly down one of the streets, talking on the phone, in a scene that he could quickly identify as being from Cruel Summer . He leaned back on the pillows, turning up the volume and paying attention to the movie.

He was awakened hours later by the loud ringing of his cell phone and the bright screen bringing an uncomfortable clarity to his eyes in the dark of his room. He had fallen asleep shortly after the movie ended, and it took him a while to understand what was happening and finally answer the call.

“Ahm…” he tried to concentrate on what to say. “Hello?”

The female voice on the other end of the line said something very quickly, almost in french. Or he wasn't feeling awake enough to understand what she was saying. He held the phone away from his ear, squinting to identify the name and photo that flashed on the screen.

“Nathalie?” he said at last.

“Sky… Is Sky with you?” she seemed to be repeating the question.? 

“With me? Why would he be here?” Her son's name was enough to wake him up. 

“He's not at home," she replied. “In fact... he hasn't been home since last night. He went to a college party, I thought…”

“He hasn't been home for two days and you're telling me now?” Saul pushed back the covers, turning on the lamp. 

“No moral lessons from a good father, Silva,” she snapped. “He's young and out enjoying himself, I just wondered if he could have ended up at your house.”

“Two days, Nathalie. Two days” he used the same tone. “It's four o'clock in the morning, if he had to show up here he would have done it by now.”

“You know what, Saul? Leave it, I can find my son on my own, go to sleep because tomorrow you have to direct one of your stupid movies. ”

“No,” he laughed darkly. "You're not going to call me here, tell me the boy's been missing for two days and then play this kind of game with me.”

“I'm not playing any games, I'm just reporting on our last 15 years," she said simply.

The line went silent after that. The man clenched his cell phone tightly between his fingers. He had always let go of everything, regardless of how much of a priority it should be for him, when at the other end of the rope was anything to do with Sky. But he knew that his ex-wife's speech would always be that, no matter what he did, and he knew that for all those years that was the kind of thing his son heard about him. Sometimes it didn't matter how much his attitudes showed the opposite of what she said.

He took a deep breath, threw his cell phone on the bed and ran his hands firmly through his short, dark hair. Once again, as many times before, he got up in the middle of the night, got dressed and went after Sky.

°°°

"I know you prefer lower floors," Ben said as he walked alongside the two women in the hotel's refined hall.

Farah carried only a shoulder bag with her cell phone and some of her most urgent things. They had arrived from England a few hours earlier, sending both her suitcases and the couple of friends straight to the hotel and straight to the studios' headquarters. There were still one or two pending issues in her contract that needed to be organized before she could actually sign the contract with the production.

The visit to the main office of FW Studios had given her a good walk through the studios where other productions were shooting and a preview of where she would start work the next day. Los Angeles was an extremely noisy city, the perfect counterpoint to the quiet location of her home in the UK, and as common as her trips to the city of angels were, it always took her a little longer to get used to the new dynamic.

It was just over two months since she had finished filming a five-chapter mini-series in partnership with the BBC that would begin airing later that year, and even with the short time away from the cameras, the quick visit to the production studios gave her the secure feeling of being at home.

She'd had an early start in the movie business, landing leading roles even before she was twenty. And, as much as she now tried with all her might to keep her personal life to herself and her friends, for a long time her face was on every possible newspaper. She could say with certainty that for years she lived what anyone could call the Hollywood dream, at least before things got out of hand. But she held her career, built with a lot of sweat and sleepless nights, as a sacred part of her personality.

She was about twenty-four years old when she won her first Oscar for the big production Cruel Summer, in which she shared the screen with Andreas Eraklyon - her current husband at the time. She could still see, now 15 years later, how early things had happened without her even realizing how young she was. And she knew that the year 2006 had been the big climb in her life, in every possible direction.

The Oscars. The break-up during filming. The tabloids. The sabbatical she had to take after doing so much in such a short space of time. But when she returned to the big screen and the big productions, being called The Iron Lady for the first time, she knew she was going to stay for good. And since then she had never spent more than a short time away from her characters and the stories she was so involved in telling.

When she read the script for The Lucky One a little over a week earlier, many questions had arisen in her mind about how a production of that size could work in the hands of the man it came from. She hadn't had the opportunity to meet Saul Silva in person, and obviously not to work with him at any time, but she knew how gossip spread like a plague in the world of cinema.

She had been at it for a long time, and apparently so had he.

She wondered if perhaps the director lacked a little humility towards his own work. After all - as she had taken the trouble to research and see before answering Ben - none of the man's recent work had been significant in the last decade. There had to be a reason, and he probably didn't see that insisting on it would be putting the ropes around his neck.

Despite all the cons, she had accepted the role, which she had made a point of telling her friend and manager when they discussed it, because the story of her character, Emilly, had told her that it was something she would like to tell. The script was promising, as he had admitted.

Now she arrived at the hotel that Ben had booked for at least the first week until things settled down. Ben had been apologizing about the rooms from the moment he picked up the keys at the front desk.

“I asked for something on the first two floors, but when they found out it was for you they made a point of separating the main suite,” he scratched his bald head.

“For God's sake, Ben” Farah gave his friend a gentle smile. “It's all right.”  

Rose squeezed her husband's shoulder almost imperceptibly, nodding that perhaps it would be better if he just kept quiet while they made their way to the elevator corridor.

Farah stopped in front of one of the large metal doors and took a deep breath, tucking a lock of her wavy, light brown hair behind her ear. She pressed the button next to it on the wall.

She wanted Ben to see that everything was fine with her. After all, it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. It was just one more.

The door opened in a few seconds, revealing a space covered in mirrors, gold details and a maroon carpet for the three of them to enter. She went through first, looking with conviction for the other two to follow. Rose went through first, stopping beside her as her husband entered and went to the buttons to press the top floor.

An inevitable sigh escaped the actress's lips.

"It's okay," Rose whispered to her, taking one of her friend's hands in her own. “It won't take us more than five minutes.”

°°°

May 1st

He hadn't even had a chance to heal from the headache that had plagued him the night before and had already been given one that was a thousand times worse. 

It was already ten o'clock in the morning when Silva drove into the studios at a possibly higher speed than was allowed there. Unbelievably, he was late for his first day with his staff - if they were still going to be after the embarrassment of arriving more than two hours after the scheduled time.

He had left the house a few minutes after hanging up the phone to go after Sky. He knew the places his son used to go, perhaps because of the many times he had to pick him up from each of them. But that night, it seemed that none of the places he went to had any news of where the boy might be and he ran out of options. Until he finally found him in the last place he could have imagined.

One of his friends had said that, after leaving the party with a girl, considerably altered by drinking, the young man had only called to pick up the car at one of the police pick-up points. It was then that Silva's memory came crashing down like a bucket of cold water. The police station, his unfortunate last option.

“We'll talk properly about this when I get back," he said as the boy got out of the car and slammed the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Silva,” Sky shouted as he drove up to the house. “Thanks for the ride.”

When he got off in front of Studio 16, he picked up his script, which had been spread out on the back seat of the SVU, and tried to stretch out his black short-sleeved shirt, which was wrinkled from being in and out of the car all night. The rest of things didn't matter at that moment.

The cast and crew had been waiting for more than 40 minutes without any news. Dowling tapped her long fingers against the table top that everyone was sitting around.

She didn't know any of the faces there, apart from one from the production who gave her an impression of resemblance, but without much certainty. They had chosen a new cast, which made the presence of the renowned actress at one end of the table almost like a white elephant in the room.

Just as she couldn't recognize anyone there, everyone knew who she was and, even if subtly, the tense atmosphere was gradually broken as casual conversations tried to make the impatient atmosphere a little better.

“You know what,” she stood up, staring at the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Clearly our director must have had a problem, but as they say, the show can't stop. As far as I'm concerned, we can start reading.”

They wouldn't say no to her, and she was sure of it. She sat back in her seat, tucking the strands that had escaped from her high bun behind her ear. The scripts were opened on the table, although a little uncertainty, and then they began.

When Silva entered the room, more than an hour after they had started, he felt the air rush out of his lungs from the speed he had been running and from the anxiety and certainty that he was once again doing everything wrong. The large group fell silent as they saw the figure of the man at the head of the table, not quite understanding what was going on.

“I…” he began, clearing his throat. He looked around at everyone in the room, stopping almost immediately at the woman at the other end of the table. “I'm sorry I'm late.”

Farah leaned back in her chair, noticing his gaze on hers. She looked at the man standing about two meters in front of her. His hair was short and very dark, messy as if he had really been running to get there. His blue eyes were slightly hidden behind black-framed prescription glasses, the same color as the short-sleeved shirt and jeans he was wearing. The shirt's somewhat crumpled fabric marked his shoulders and arms with slightly defined muscles. What should he be? A little over six feet?

Definitely over six feet tall, with a purely unprofessional attitude. She was right, after all, it would be a complete disaster.

“Well, we're already finishing anyway,” she gave a smile that shouldn't be read as sympathy on her part. “Since you didn't mind arriving on time, we figured you wouldn't mind us starting without you.”

Do we mind? Some of the younger cast members looked at each other. After all, she was the great Farah Dowling, not in danger of being replaced, cut from the movie or having her life ruined by a director on a bad day. But they hadn't even dreamt of having that kind of dangerous position.

“Finishing?” His expression was neutral, but she saw him straighten his shoulders and pull out a chair to sit down. He needed to get around the situation, or he'd just do one more turn with the rope around his neck. “So let's finish. Then we can go back to the scenes that you felt were most significant to the characters. I want to hear a bit from all of you about them.”

“Very... professional of you” Farah raised an eyebrow at him.

“Kind of you to say," he took a deep breath. It was too soon to fall for provocations, especially knowing that she was right about them. His morning had been anything but professional. “ your majesty. ”

Maybe he'd have fun ruining everything again.

Chapter Text

They flipped to the last page of the script in an almost synchronized movement, while Saul read the ending aloud. Some of the younger ones let murmurs of hesitation escape as they heard the text concluded in the director's low, deep voice.

Farah leaned back in her chair, scribbled a few things next to her character's name and then analyzed the other members of the table. Most of the cast were young people still new to the industry, and those actors who were older were known more for their presence in the theater than on the big screen. She felt as if her presence there completely detracted from the choice, but at the same time she could see her casting as a great move by the studio.

The end of the script only reinforced the idea that they really did have a great story to tell, but that, with a completely new cast and a director without many recent successes, there was a great risk that it wouldn't live up to the investment it demanded.

Dowling thought, however, that the director didn't see her presence as a friendly favor from the studio towards the work he was about to do. She had already imagined this when she heard Ben say that the script had been sent directly by the studio's executive producer, without any prior conversation with the film's director, and now, seeing the way Saul Silva glared at her every time she did her part of the reading, only made her more certain.

The director's pride was apparently wounded. And not only did his frown and tense shoulders say it, but Farah at that moment hardly cared to know what his motives were, although she certainly knew that her initiative in starting the reading was one of them.

Saul finished the last line among the buzz that was intensifying around the table. He quickly picked up his cell phone from the table to check the time, since he had left the house so quickly in the early hours of the morning that he hadn't even remembered to pick up his watch wherever it was kept. On the screen, below the time, there were already three missed calls from his ex-wife.

He had to take a deep breath, fighting the urge that had consumed him since early morning to scream at the top of his lungs. Concentrating, he simply threw his cell phone back on the table.

At that moment, he couldn't allow himself to lose focus again.

He gave himself time to let his spirits run wild; good ideas usually came from moments like this. On cue, he watched his cast carefully, pleased with how well they had bonded in those few hours of more direct interaction. Even though some of them had done the tests together, to see them working well with the large group - even if not all of them were actually going to meet on screen - was to see that something was actually working.

He finally stopped to look at the woman sitting parallel to him at the other end of the table. Now, calmly, he could analyze her more carefully. Farah Dowling there, in person, looked completely different and at the same time exactly the same as what he had seen in the images from his research. Of course he had studied up on the subject, he wouldn't go in there making any mistakes about it.

When Rosalind had informed him of her choice, Saul had taken the trouble to do some research on the actress just to know what he was dealing with. There, she had a more visibly relaxed posture, with her hair of an almost golden brown falling over her shoulders, a light blue shirt meticulously tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and even if he couldn't see it, he could bet that she was still wearing heels. She was visibly very different from the redcarpet images or interviews he had seen, although the more casual build in no way made her any different in her beauty. It certainly added to the perfectly aligned spine, the slightly upturned nose and the extremely annoying way in which she tapped her fingers against the tabletop.

Every now and then, in the few minutes following the end of the reading, her gaze would fall back on the director who, after a while, began to scribble his own script with a pencil. On some of these occasions, they both ended up crossing analytical gazes, holding each other as long as they could with a tone of defiance.

She underestimated him professionally at best, and Silva wanted to be able to get angry about it. But after his disastrous arrival on his first day at work, he knew he still had no reason to be. And that was something he could get angry about. Apart from the fact that she exuded too much pride and self-confidence, overshadowing everyone else in the room. And that irritated him too.

From the look in his eyes, Farah could also sense how deeply he disliked her presence there. And that certainly started to get on her nerves after a while. After all, only a big idiot wouldn't see that her presence there, to his liking or disliking, would be a strong point in the production's favor.

They all got up after rediscussing a few points as the director had asked them to do. Even though they would often have to go back and make changes and adjustments to the script, having that first moment of study was always significant for Saul in his films.

They spread out in the studio, heading for the dressing rooms where the first costume fittings would take place, while the technical team finished setting up the setup for the first promotional images and camera tests with the actors already in character. Saul waited for a few more seconds at the reading table, taking off his glasses and pinching the top of his nose between his fingers. At the end of the day, even if they hadn't started as he had hoped, at least they were working out. He looked at the general panorama of the characters, seeing where he would start recording with each of them being able to use what they had already prepared for the sequences. He wrote down next to each of his actors' names the first moment they would record. He stopped, reaching the end of the page, next to the protagonist's name.

“ Farah Dowling as Emily ”

He stared at the words for a few seconds, thinking of all the scenes he had already read and re-read in the script, even before presenting it to the production. He repeated the gesture he had previously thought irritating, tapping his pen repeatedly on the side of the page, to finally scribble "scene 14" next to it.

It would be interesting to start there. Enlightening to say the least.

°°°

Farah looked in the mirror, putting a few stray strands of hair back in place. She was already trying on the fourth set of costumes, a black satin blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a high collar, and a knee-length skirt of the same color.

“ Miss Dowling, ” a young man with frizzy hair and headphones poked his head through the open door of the dressing room. “ I'm Riven, production assistant. We're waiting for your photos.”

She thanked him with a friendly smile, put on the pair of heels that were waiting by the mirror and followed him down the corridor to where the studio hall opened onto the set-ups for the photographs. Of course, acting was at the top of her list of pleasures when she was involved in a project, but the process of photos and publicity was also particularly fun. She felt like she was starting to connect with her character.

She waited a few seconds until she was called, finally getting in front of the cameras and starting the photos naturally. She had been doing this for too long not to feel at ease. She also had to admit that the team was talented, which made things flow even more naturally.

She took off her pair of shoes at one point, throwing them aside in the completely white set, moving slowly as the flashes and clicks of the cameras marked her movements. When it was finally over, after God knows how many shots, although in just a few minutes, she raised her eyes above the equipment, observing behind the photographer who was directing her the figure of Silva, with his arms crossed and a small crease in his forehead, staring at the screen where her pictures were going.

As if he realized he was being watched, he also raised his eyes to her. Again, they remained like that for a few seconds. They hadn't even exchanged more than two words with each other and things were already that way. 

Farah knew she couldn't be too proud, not least because the last thing she needed was to work for the next year in an unsustainable environment, but the way he still looked at her as if she had been wrong to start reading the script when in fact he had arrived more than two hours late without satisfaction pissed her off for real. Perhaps that was how the saying went, the first impressions were the ones that really stuck.

Finishing what she still had to do there and ignoring as best she could the presence of the director like a parrot over her shoulder, still without speaking a single word, she picked up her things that had been left in the dressing room and made her way to the trailer that the production had prepared in the area behind Studio 16.

On the door of the considerably large white trailer, below the name of her character written in bold letters, a small note had been attached. Even without removing it, the woman could already read the simple "It's a pleasure to have you back in the City of Stars". She unclipped the note and slipped it into her handbag along with her other things, as she let her hair down over her shoulders and pushed open the door.

The interior of the place was as clean as possible, usually the way Ben asked for things to be organized for her. Things to make the place more her own during the production of the film were usually brought in by her, so she preferred as little additional information as possible from other people. She closed the door behind her, placing her bag and coat on the sofa to finally look around the place.

The white furniture or the small vase of flowers on the counter went completely unnoticed when her eyes fell on the poster on one of the walls. In it, in a landscape with slightly warmer tones, reminiscent of summer, she was running backwards, arms outstretched, on a deck towards the sea.  At the top of the poster, the phrase "A spectacular performance", published in The New York Times, appeared above the sky of the photograph. The title of the movie "Cruel Summer" ironically seemed to be on her shoulders.

She took a deep breath, feeling as if her chest was heavy with air. Every day she made an almost absurd effort to erase that particular moment in her life from her mind. Even though everywhere she went she remembered those days exactly as if they had happened weeks ago and not sixteen years ago. People remembered it all, her fans, her co-workers and even some of her closest friends. After all, her Oscar had come thanks to the film's production. Perhaps it had even been the biggest of her career, something she could never get over so that she could finally make others forget the way she wanted them to.

She approached with bated breath, pulling the colored paper from the wall with force, tearing half of it due to the strength of the material that held it in place at the ends. She only stopped when there was no trace of what had been stuck there seconds before, feeling her heart beating extremely fast in her chest. 

She needed some time to calm down, still standing in place with her eyes closed. There was no way they could have known, but that also didn't mean that she would look at her past like that every day for God knows how long.

°°°

Silva had just left his bag of belongings in the trailer itself when he decided to give in and walk a few more meters between the locations, ignoring the bend that took him back to Studio 16. He stopped in front of the door that read " Emily " in block letters, and rethought more than once what he was doing.

He could say that he had a good relationship with all the cast members he had gone through the selection processes with, and he definitely thought that those good relationships were fundamental for the environment in which they were working to be conducive to a good performance. It didn't make sense to let an implication caused by a first - and extremely petulant - impression end up undermining a good relationship with the most important person on the project.

So, still thinking that maybe it was just a big mistake that would only confirm what he already knew, but at least he would have a clear conscience when he saw that maybe he wasn't being annoying but was just right, he knocked twice with his fist on the iron door. He considered the possibility that she had already gone back to finish the photo shoot, or perhaps that she simply didn't want to see him, and was already preparing to knock one last time when the door opened.

Farah was still wearing the outfit from the last photos, the black satin skirt and blouse, but now her hair was loose over her shoulders, forming well-defined waves, and her feet were bare. She seemed to wonder for a moment what to do and how to react to the sight of the man with his arms crossed in front of her door.

“Silva,” she said at last, repeating his gesture and crossing her arms. “Can I help you with anything?”

He took a deep breath, climbing another step on the small iron staircase to almost equalize their height, even though she was still two steps above him. 

“ I've come to say welcome, as I did to the rest of the cast during the auditions ," he said, trying to use the most neutral tone he could.

But she still managed to catch the annoyance in his voice.

“Auditions I haven't been to,” she raised an eyebrow.

He could just welcome her and let her go, but something about the way her imposing posture bothered him seemed to make him want to tease her even more.

“It would be rude of me to make an actress like you audition for a movie of mine,” the complimentary tone came out like a pin poking her in the right spot.

If she couldn't just accept the cordiality, why should he bother to keep it up? Maybe first impressions weren't so wrong after all.

Farah was about to answer when the ring of his cell phone interrupted the silence before her. Saul tried to ignore it for a few seconds, hoping it would stop, but when it finally did, it started again. As if the second time the noise was even louder.

He reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out his phone to see the name on the screen. What was that? The seventh time? He pressed the power button until the sound stopped again.

“I'm sorry," he said. Nathalie's timing was perfect, always getting him into the best of tight spots even if he didn't know what he was doing. “Personal call.”

“I know you didn't ask me for advice,” she stepped down onto the step in front of him, feeling her body shiver at the contact of her feet on the cold metal. “But I'm going to give it to you anyway. I know you want this film to work, and I do too. So maybe it is time to let go of the personal.”

“Of course," he smiled. He felt his face boil at the way she was looking down at him, even though they were the same height. “Especially since you've been in America for 24 hours and in my studio for less than six hours, you already know a lot about what goes on in my personal life.”

“No," she said, shrugging. "But I know what's going on in my life, and I didn't take an almost twelve-hour flight to get here to play at being in films. You've been in the industry as long as I have, so I hope you value professionalism as much as I do.”

Silva looked away from her face almost in disbelief. He'd gone with the intention of signing a peace agreement, and he'd certainly come back wanting to stick his head in an aquarium.

“I can really see how you value your professional life," he pointed over her shoulder.

Farah cursed herself for a few seconds. She should have moved what was left of the Cruel Summer poster out of sight. It was clear that she was going to see someone there at some point, and they had agreed to pick up the costume in a few minutes. She climbed back up the step to the doorframe, blocking his view of the inside of the trailer.

“It's none of your bloody business, Hollywood!” She responded irritably. 

“Did you say something, Your Majesty? I don't think I understand," he smiled debauchedly. “It must be the accent.”

Saul was about to say another thing when the door slammed almost in his face. He let out a sharp breath, letting out a weak laugh of disbelief as he went back the way he had come, hearing his mobile phone ring again.

                      °°°

Silva got into his car at the end of the day, slamming the door hard as he threw his belongings onto the back seat. Dealing with people had never been a problem, since the most he had on his CV was a long list of difficult artists. But only one day had passed. A single day, or even less than that if you stop to think about the first six hours. Dealing with people was part of the job, so what was it about her that put him off so quickly?

His haughty posture, her snub nose, the way she was too kind to everyone else. He could make an endlessly long list in his thoughts. Perhaps the way everything seemed to line up perfectly with her. Still, it was only six o'clock. And there she was, with her arms crossed, giving him advice on how to do his job. Insinuating that for him it could somehow be a joke. 

And then she called him Hollywood. Damn all the tabloids that had created that nickname sixteen years earlier.

He needed to line up before the new working day, to prove as best he could that - whatever it was that made her underestimate him like that - she was wrong. And he would do it by making that movie the biggest hit she could ever hope to be in. 

The ringing of his cell phone invaded the interior of the car and he felt like throwing it as far as he could. He could no longer bear the infernal sound he had spent most of the day making. And he didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was.

“Nathalie,” he answered. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I've done to simply have no peace.”

He paused, as much as he wanted to continue saying what was still stuck in his throat, but he still had to talk to Sky. And she definitely wouldn't let him through the door if she heard everything he had to say.

A low laugh came from the other end of the line.

“Normally, Silva,” the voice on the other end paused. “We women don't usually like it when you change our names. And about your question, I'm sorry I don't know, but I'm flattered to be part of this moment.”

He held the phone away from his face for a brief second. He mentally cursed himself, but he needed to confirm the second big mistake of the day. 

“Rosalind," he said at last.

Her tone was full of good humor, but never - in all the years he had known the FW Studios executive - enough for Saul to really believe that she was one hundred percent okay. She also used that tone for bad news, which he unfortunately knew all too well.

“ The studio asked me to give you a message, " she continued. He was too embarrassed to say anything, so he just mumbled for her to continue. “ We left a nice dinner and drinks at the house in Beverly. I know it's too early to celebrate, but the little posts we agreed to do, obviously boosted by those of our big star, are making headlines. ” she paused. “I'd have a look later. We haven't even announced the movie and it's already being talked about on social media.”

“Of course,” he agreed with the final idea. “I'll let the team know. Thank you.”

He should apologize for the misunderstanding again, but he thought it best just to hope that she would forget it quickly enough so that he could too. He then disconnected the call, taking a deep breath as he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel.

If there was a score, at that moment it would surely be 2-0 Silva.

He took another deep breath, leaning back against the bench and unlocking his cell phone. The idea of posting on social media had come from one of his younger production assistants, and had been accepted very willingly by his superiors - perhaps to his dismay - who had made a point of making it a requirement for their actors. All of them, apparently. He opened Instagram, seeing a photo almost identical to the one he had posted from the studio at the top of the page posted by Farah. He scrolled further down, avoiding the thousands of notifications. One of the most popular movie news pages featured a post bringing together all four posts made so far about the film with the headline "Farah Dowling and Silva posted these photos almost at the same time! What in studio 16 brought these two together?"

He let his eyes run over the comments for longer than he should have, then closed the app. It wasn't news, it was speculation. And he still had the minimum amount of pride and self-respect to stay away from them as long as he could. He looked up Riven's number among his contacts and opened it in the messaging app.

Saul Silva - 07h35 pm

"Courtesy of the studio. Dinner with the team at the Beverly"

"enjoy"

Riven - 07:39 pm

"Are we waiting for you?"

Saul Silva - 07:39 pm

"Appointments"

"See you tomorrow"

He didn't wait for another reply. He put his cell phone back with his other belongings on the seat and started the car, to finally leave the studios after a long few minutes.

The journey to Nathalies's house took about 30 minutes, a strategic move when they had started their career in the city many years before. He'd lost count of how many times he'd walked there, managing to drive almost automatically between the streets. He tried to concentrate on the low rumble of the music, feeling his head start to ache again.

He entered the courtyard of the planned neighborhood, stopping after a few streets in front of a large house in shades of white and beige. It looked like a fortress from the outside, the kind where you'd expect to find a mad queen surrounded by court jesters.

He knocked on the door quietly and it was opened by one of the housekeepers. He said a polite goodnight, passing the young lady at the door, and headed down the corridor by the stairs to the guest room. He could hear the music playing softly and wouldn't be surprised by the scene he'd seen a million times before of his ex-wife sitting in one of the armchairs, reading something, while drinking a glass of wine and the world falling outside or even over their heads.

“Saul” she stood up to see him walk through the door.

“I came to talk to Sky," he replied.

"He told me you'd come,” she put her glass on the reading table. "But I don't think he's feeling up to it at the moment.”

“You don't understand the seriousness of what's happened, do you?”

“It would have saved you time and your visit if you'd taken my calls,” she ignored the question.

“I was working," he said harshly. Sixteen years of the same thing. “And now I'm here, and I'm going to talk to our son.”

“You're making too much of it, Saul” she crossed her arms in front of her slender body. “Giving too much importance to childish things.”

“A child, Nathalie?” he laughed in disbelief. “He's already eighteen, he's not a child anymore. Besides, we're not talking about just anything. I picked him up at the police station, do you understand that?!”

“I understand," she agreed. "And I appreciate your kindness in going after our son, but he's young Saul, are you going to condemn him for wanting to enjoy it? It was no big deal, just a traffic ticket.”

Silva ran a hand through his hair.

“I can't see what in all this is comfortable for you," he said at last. "He could have caused an accident, Nathalie, he could have hurt someone.”

“But he didn't, the fines were paid and now we're moving on.” she shrugged. “Me with my series, you with another one of your great movies and our son being free.”

“This isn't about freedom. The issue here is the responsibility he needs to have.”

“And who's going to teach him?” she came a few steps closer. “You?”

“Do you want to know? I don't know why I'm still trying to talk to you” he raised his hands in surrender.

She turned on her heels and walked off down the corridor towards the stairs. He knew that she would always let her son do whatever he wanted, because it was easier that way. Sky was a lot like his mother in many ways, and it was clearly better for her to give in to his wishes than to have to deal with her own personality reflected in someone else.

When he reached the bedroom door, he didn't even bother to knock. Sky was slumped against the pillows on the bed, his headphones playing loud enough for him to hear from the door, while he was working on something on his laptop. He tried to announce himself, calling his son's name, but obviously the boy wouldn't listen. He approached the bed and pushed the lid of the computer, causing the boy to look up at him and take the earphones out of his ears.

“Hey," he protested. 

“You owe me an explanation.” Silva said.

Sky shrugged.

“I went out and ended up running a few red lights,” he replied. “You heard the whole story at the police station, that's exactly what that officer said.” 

“You were away from home for two days, kid," he said. “Two days for me to have to pick you up at the police station. Do you realize that? Do you understand that what you've done is no joke, Sky?”

He shrugged again.

“I thought it was fun.” He smiled in a corner.

“From today on, I'm not going to take you out of any of your escapades” he looked at him seriously. “I'll pick up the car later, give me the key.”

“What?” He quickly got out of bed. “You can't do that, I need the car.”

“The car keys, Sky. ” he repeated. “Don't make me take them.”

The young man walked over to the chair to slip his hands into his jacket pockets and hand the keys to his father. Silva took a step closer to his son.

“I'm not going to finance your crap anymore," he said quietly. “If you want to be irresponsible, you'll have to bear the consequences.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm saying you won't see a single dollar for your parties, your trips, or wherever you put the money I've been giving you” he put the keys in his pocket. “I didn't want to have to do this, Sky, but you need to learn a little responsibility. Get a job, enroll in college. Anything like that. But you can't count on me for this kind of shit.”

The silence was well illustrated by the young man's wide eyes and shocked face. Saul took a step away before turning his back on his son, letting out a sharp breath into the corridor.

“Dad” Sky came out of the room after him. “You can't do this.”

“Not only can I, but I'm already doing it," he replied from the stairs, turning to face his son standing by the bedroom door. “If you want, you can work with me in the studio. But I'll say it again, Sky. That's enough here.”

“Dad!”

He continued to listen to the protests of both the young man and the woman waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. It was obvious that he would never let anything go to waste for his son, but the boy needed a good scare at that moment - since he hadn't even been on the verge of being arrested - so that he could see that he was becoming an adult and could no longer go on acting like a spoiled child who could have whatever he wanted at any cost.

When he finally walked out of the front door, hearing the silence of the night fill his ears, he dropped his shoulders heavily.

He felt like the court jester.

°°°

Seven and a half minutes.

That's how long it took to get from the first floor of the hotel to the large penthouse suite. She knew it wasn't necessarily a long way, but if she counted all the times the elevator stopped on the way, it made it seem like an eternity. Even more so for a day as long as hers had been.

When she finally stepped out into the corridor, leaving the large, shiny metal box behind, Farah felt her body showing the first symptoms of tiredness. She had spent most of the day doing the photos, her costume and hair tests, moving around the studio. She couldn't say it was bad tiredness, but she definitely couldn't wait to take a hot shower and get into bed.

The first day on set had been interesting, although as much as she tried to think only of the good times, inevitably specific moments made her hands tingle with irritation again. First of all, the director's delay of more than two hours and then the way he still thought he had the right to give her superior looks with his blue eyes and frowning eyebrows behind his glasses.

She repeated to herself what she had said to him. She hadn't gone there, put her name in the game, for everyone to play movie games with. She took what was happening there seriously, and that was the least she expected back.

“I can really see how much you value your professional life,” could clearly see the pose of superiority he had struck as he pointed to the poster behind her.

Her face tilted slightly to the side and her arms crossed in front of her body, as if she were doing him a favor by going over there to apologize for something she obviously knew was wrong. She could have predicted that it would be a long few months, if already in the first few hours each of the little gestures that were too carefree, the disheveled hair or the way he tapped his pen on the table and pushed his glasses up every ten minutes, already made her rethink a lot whether he really was a calm person.

She passed the card in front of the door, pushing it open. Rose was sitting on the sofa, with papers spread out on the coffee table and her laptop open on some of them.

“There you are” she stood up when she saw Farah. “Sorry for intruding.”

Farah smiled weakly, untying her sandals to step out of her heels.

“What about Ben?” she asked.

“Focused on the mission of finding a house for you as soon as possible," she replied. “I saw some photos of the cast in a restaurant. Didn't you want to join them?”

“It's been a long day," she replied. She walked over to the armchair and sat down on the edge while she looked down at her hands for a few seconds.

She'd only realized on the way home that she'd made a small cut on one of her fingers when she tore down the poster. It was stinging, as if to remind her why she was there.

“We're getting good feedback from the posts," Rose said, sitting down again. “Some websites have already reported on the big issue that is bringing Farah Dowling and Saul Silva together in a studio.”

The actress smiled weakly again, causing her friend to look at her for her lack of an answer.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“The production put up a Cruel Summer poster in my trailer," she replied. “But... I don't want to talk about it. What were you telling me about the news?”

Rose was silent for a second, waiting to see if she really should pursue the subject. She had known her friend long enough to know that she should.

“Well, headlines in your favor, but clearly questioning the director's ability to have someone like you on his hands," Rose said.

"He doesn't have me, don't use that term," she grumbled. “I don't even know if we can say we're working together.”

“Is he that bad?” Rose poured some wine into a glass and handed it to the other. Only at that moment did Farah notice the bottle and glasses on the other side of the computer.

“Silva is... annoying. Unprofessional.” Farah shrugged. Theoretically, she hadn't seen him actually direct a movie, so she couldn't say yes or no.

In the quick research she had done after accepting the role, she knew that there were some great films on the man's CV, but time passed for everyone.

"And very handsome" Rose toasted, causing the other woman to look at her in disbelief.

“Rose!" she protested.

“Oh, please, are you going to tell me that you noticed his irritation and unprofessionalism and didn't notice that he's handsome?”

“Oh dear God” she stood up from the armchair. Farah could have sworn she'd had a brief flashback to the moment he'd walked up the step towards her earlier. “I've noticed what it's my business to notice. And you know what, Mrs. Harvey?”

“Yes?" Rose laughed, knowing what was coming.

“You and Ben deserve each other," Farah added with a laugh.

“And that doesn't make your director any less handsome," she shrugged.

Farah left her glass on the table again, shaking her head negatively.

“Good night, Rose," she said at last.

She made her way to the bedroom door, shaking her head again. She was surrounded by crazy people.

Chapter Text

Farah had to stop as soon as she was out of the door, abruptly halting her steps as a bundle of clothes flew past, being guided by one of the production assistants. Farah smiled at the boy, as he shouted an apology and walked quickly into the studio.

The production was a few days behind schedule, even though it had only been a fortnight since they had started, things had effectively stopped for almost five days due to delays in the construction of some specific sets. The director seemed irritated, pacing around the studio with his cell phone next to his ear almost all the time, while shouting at some people to get the job done faster. It wasn't rude, she had to admit, but little by little he was showing the technical team and the cast that they really needed to take this seriously.

Because of the delay, they had to start recording other scenes and simple sequences, almost all of them using the backdrop of the home library or the university classroom. They couldn't go much further than that for those specific scenes, as they still had external recordings to do and the rainy weather over the last few days hadn't helped much either.

So, during the inevitable break they had to take, they ended up focusing on recording some promotional material, redoing the promotional photo shoots and rehearsing the more complex scenes with the big group. Even if she wasn't going to give it away, Farah could say that she was coming to like the way things were being run in a minimally satisfactory way. That would effectively be the first day of shooting the longer scenes and they would start with the more complex moments, which would possibly leave them spending whole days on the same sequences.

Farah had left studio 16 to walk a bit to the cafeteria, even though every now and then Riven would run past the equipment with trays full of coffee cups between breaks, she needed to walk a bit away from the noise and bustle. Even if the streets weren't exactly the opposite of that. When she closed the door of the establishment behind her, it seemed that all the noise had been trapped outside, giving way to low voices, the sound of the bell and the comforting smell of freshly-brewed coffee.

She stopped at the counter to wait for her cappuccino, zipping up her coat over her costume dress. She hadn't changed, as she only had a few minutes before she had to go into a very specific scene. She picked up her coffee and looked around for a place to sit, seeing all the few tables occupied and was about to give up when she noticed a familiar face occupying one of them near the window.

Silva had left the studio a few minutes before her with the same intention. He wanted to write down a few things in the script before they started the next recording sequence, but in the midst of the noise and commotion, with people calling out to him every few minutes, it seemed impossible. So he ordered a coffee and decided to stay there, enjoying the break and the silence.

She thought for a few seconds about whether she should approach him, but in the end, now that they were effectively working together, perhaps it had to be her turn to attempt a peace treaty. Since he had failed miserably the first time and seemed content to just pretend that her presence didn't make him visibly uncomfortable.

“ Excuse me, ” she approached the table. “Could I...?”

He stopped what he was doing for a few seconds. Her voice was definitely the last thing he expected to hear outside the studio. After so many screw-ups in the first few days of recording, he had thought it best to restrict their contact to what was extremely necessary for them to work together. Even so, he couldn't help but be annoyed by the way that, in the few moments when they had actually gotten together in the studio, she still seemed to look at him as if he didn't know what he was doing.

He also knew that a lot of other news and articles had been coming out about the two of them, and also about the other cast members who had gradually begun to announce their participation in the film. He'd only had the courage to read a few of them, after all, one or two was enough to know the content of all the others. She was praised - as she probably deserved to be, after all, at no point did she deny that she was a great actress - while his work was put to the test the whole time.

“Be my guest,”  he shrugged, looking at the script again.  

Farah frowned, feeling like turning around. Few things put her off more than people who pretended - very badly, by the way - that she wasn't there. But she took a deep breath and put her drink on the table.

Silva glanced at her again.

“Shall I get up and pull out the chair for you?” he said at last, dropping his pen on the table.

“Perhaps at official events,” she smiled with a certain mockery, pulling out the chair to sit opposite him. “But I appreciate your concern.”

He raised an eyebrow, merely remaining silent as he shook his head slightly. He should have realized on the first day that she wasn't the kind of person to stay silent at any kind of ironic comment.

The woman blew into her coffee cup, taking a sip. She analyzed the director's expression for a while as he read. His dark hair was now much straighter than it had been the first time they had met, allowing her to notice this time a well-defined cut marked by a few more gray streaks on the line approaching his slightly stubbly beard, which made his jawline more demarcated. He was also wearing more presentable clothes this time, with a well-worn gray sweater and dark jeans. She noticed that his broad chest and the muscles in his arms seemed to be outlined, even without his T-shirt tucked in like before. She seemed to be taking her posture analysis a little too far, as if she could hear Rose's voice in her mind and her friend's laughter when she teased her the first time they touched the director's name.

She looked away from him to the window, bringing the cup to her lips again as she crossed her legs. She felt the tip of her shoe lightly touch one of his legs under the table and automatically looked at him again, hoping that the unintentional gesture had gone unnoticed.

Saul had inevitably stopped what he was doing when he felt the unexpected touch, straightening up in his chair and reaching for his coffee to take a sip. He hoped she hadn't noticed the change in his posture. He heard her tap her fingertips on the wood of the table and finally raised his eyes towards her.

“Is that some kind of tic?” he teased. It was a good attempt to get rid of the moment of embarrassment that had arisen, at least in his mind.

“What?” Farah frowned.

“That thing you do, tapping your fingers on the table," he replied. “Or is it only when I'm around?”

She crossed her arms, watching him push his glasses back into place as he looked at her.

“And this thing with the glasses, is it some kind of tic?” she replied.

“What?”

“Pushing it every five minutes,” she shrugged, leaning forward slightly and leaning her arms on the table. “Or is it just when I'm around?”

Silva leaned forward, also putting his arms on the table, and kept his eyes on hers. Silence fell over them both for a few seconds, as he slowly wet his lips to answer her. 

Farah silently cursed herself for having been stronger than her to follow his movement, lowering her gaze to the man's parted mouth before looking back into his eyes.

“Excuse me," a soft female voice came from beside them, making them both return to their seats.

One of the girls who had taken their order at the counter was bouncing on her heels next to the table. The actress put a loose lock of her hair back, turning to the young woman as she saw him move his shoulders against the chair, as if to relieve himself of the tension. She had definitely moved something that had made him tense up.

“Yes?" Farah replied. She was trying to ignore her heart, which seemed to have raced from one moment to the next.

“Sorry to bother you," she smiled. “But could I ask for an autograph?”

“Of course,” Farah reached out to take the order book she was holding.

She quickly signed the piece of paper, concentrating on what she was doing and on the euphoric girl standing in front of her, trying to ignore the man's attentive gaze that she knew was on her. Always kind. Saul raised an eyebrow. At least with the others.

Farah handed the pad back to the owner, who thanked her several times before walking away towards the counter, waving the signed paper at her other two colleagues. Farah turned to face the front again, picking up her cup to take the last sip of her already cold cappuccino.

She had simply ignored him, as she had done so well over the last few weeks, as if they hadn't been speaking to each other just a few minutes before. 

“I thought members of the Crown weren't allowed to sign autographs," he teased quietly.

He saw her turn her gaze to him again and unassumingly twirl the pen over the pages of the script. Farah leaned back, reaching across the table to touch his hand lightly with her fingertips. Silva let go of the pen, trying to understand the unexpected gesture, and turned his palm upwards as her fingers moved towards his wrist until they reached the pages on the table.

He analyzed her expression, which seemed to be able to ignore the questioning look he was directing at her.

Finally, after seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes, she pulled the script out from under his wrist. She raised her eyes to his face at last, and then rose from her chair.

“Maybe there aren't enough interesting things in America for you to ask me," she shrugged. 

Why would she insist on a peace treaty, especially now that she had discovered how much she could really unsettle him? She put her coat back on and walked a little way to the exit, then stopped to turn back. Saul was leaning back in his chair, looking at her with a slight frown.

“Aren't you coming, Hollywood?” she finally asked.

                          °°°

They walked back towards the studio next to each other, keeping the silence that was gradually becoming somewhat comfortable while she read some of the notes he had made on the script page. His plans were to start recording with that particular scene, as he had written down next to her name on the first day of reading. He believed that scene 14 in particular could bring an important bond with the character, as it was a moment that would trigger an important part of the story they had to tell, but because of the delays in building the sets, they ended up having to start with smaller things.

Even so, he admitted that Farah had already given Emilly an interesting personality, and that the dynamic with Bloom Peters - the young red-haired actress with whom she would play for much of the film - was going very well and the young woman seemed to be learning a lot in rehearsals and bringing it to the screen in what had been recorded so far. Even so, there was a certain anxiety about how she would play the character in a scene like that, where the level of difficulty began when she had to convey many things to the audience from the script, which didn't have a single line for that moment.

Part of him also said, however much he ignored it so as not to think about it, that directing a scene with a high degree of complexity could also serve as proof that he knew what he was doing when he undertook to direct a movie like that. Perhaps the feeling was much more one of self-affirmation than to show off to any of the other people he shared the set with.  After years of hearing people say only the negative points about his work, perhaps he was beginning to believe some of them.

The voice of the woman accompanying him took him somewhat by surprise after they turned down one of the streets on the way. Farah commented on a few points of his observation of the scene, making him put his hands in his pockets as he listened attentively to her impressions of what they were about to record. The assurance she spoke of made it even clearer that she was absolutely certain she knew what she was doing, and for a brief second he found himself wondering if someone like her also went through moments of questioning and hesitation like the ones he was experiencing at that moment.

He handed her the pen as requested, watching her stop and stopping as well, while the actress added a few points next to his scribbled handwriting. It was perhaps the longest and friendliest conversation they had exchanged in the last two weeks, as if for a moment the acid comments could be put completely aside so that ideas could flow naturally between them. Farah finally handed him back the script and the pen, just as they reached the doors of Studio 16 again.

They separated as soon as they entered, while she went to the dressing room to finish getting ready for the shoot, and he went down the two flights of stairs to where the set was ready for them. Some other cast members, such as Bloom and Dane, were waiting on chairs with their scripts in their hands. There had been quite a stir when they said the scene would be recorded, and the younger ones had made a point of pausing rehearsal to watch. The set itself didn't involve much, but it mimicked very well the area outside the house where they would shoot some sequences once the studio recordings were finished. The grass surrounded the swimming pool, with a small rest area next to it, where some of Emilly's belongings were already on the table, and the chroma key background ensured that they wouldn't have to redo too many things afterwards, apart from inserting the details in post-production.

Silva sat in his own chair, adjusting the cameras with the return monitors, organizing some more technical things while they waited for Farah. Riven came towards him with hurried steps, his cell phone in one hand.

“Silva,” the young man came up to him. “There's something I think you should see…”

“Can we see this later?” interrupted him when he saw Farah approaching with one of the make-up and costume assistants. “We can't risk delaying any longer.”

“It's just that it's a bit urgent,” he tried again.

“And when we've finished here, we'll have time to deal with it,” he stood up.

Normally he would go over the scene with the cast before they started, to make sure things went according to plan, but the two of them had talked so much about the scene they were going to record while they were on their way back together that perhaps it was safe for them to simply record it without a prior rehearsal. He ignored Riven's protests, still asking him to look at whatever he was carrying on his cell phone, and went to meet the actress. The young assistant slumped his shoulders in frustration. He didn't even want to see what it would be like when the director stopped to pay attention to what he was asking.

“All set,” Saul walked over to the actress.

“Shall we rehearsal the scene?” Farah looked at him.

“You seem to know what you're doing," he replied. “I thought we'd take a chance.”

A shadow of a smile flashed across her face, almost making him react in the same way. The woman only nodded, undoing the knot in her robe and slipping it down her shoulders so that she was wearing a dark blue knee-length dress.

“How many takes do we have?” Silva looked away from her, blinking a few times to look at the young woman standing next to her. 

“It depends,” Musa shrugged. “How much should I worry about that?” She indicated the pool.

“That's where my character will be in a few minutes” Farah also looked at her. “Hair, make-up and costumes.”

“Well,” she scratched the back of her head. “After the pool, a couple of hours for hair and make-up and costumes, we need about the same amount of time. In three hours you can shoot again if you need to.”

“Too long,” Silva nodded.

“We can shoot it in stages,” Dowling looked at the director. “It's not such a long scene.”

He remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the time on his watch. Farah watched him push his glasses back into place and drum his fingers on his lips a few times before looking at her again.

“Your Oscar was recorded in one take," he said at last.

The woman took a few seconds to process the sentence, taking an almost imperceptible step backwards. The shadow of good humor on her face seemed to disappear almost instantly as she stiffened her posture.

“What?” she finally asked, pretending to be misunderstood.

“In Cruel Summer,” he continued. “The scene that the critics considered decisive for your Oscar. It was filmed in one take, wasn't it? The elevator scene where…”

“I know what scene you're talking about,” her tone came out harsh, making Musa cringe next to her.

Silva frowned. Weren't they in a truce? Inevitably, he was surprised by her rapid change of behavior.

“We've got one take," he said at last, his voice also becoming more serious. 

Farah took a deep breath, placed her robe on the chair with her name on it and turned away, entering the set under the watchful eyes of the others. She cursed every moment when the name of that movie was heard, but she had to concentrate on what she needed to do now. Then she could get out of there as quickly as possible. While she made her way to the front of the cameras, Saul followed behind them, once again taking his chair between the return monitors.

“At your command, director,” she looked at him one last time. 

“Silence in the studio," he shouted, watching the noises gradually cease until the silence in the place was complete. “Light. Cameras,” He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the woman above the screens. “Action!”

She looked intensely at the objects on the table, taking a small picture frame in her hands for a few seconds, while her heavy breathing caused her chest to rise and fall in an uncontrolled manner. One of the cameras closed in on her face, as her gaze left the image she was holding in her hands and stared straight ahead, glistening with tears under the reflections of the lights. Her lips parted as her eyes closed, allowing a sigh and a tear to leave her at the same time.

She walked with heavy steps to the grass, the photo falling in a low thud against the grass as she made her way slowly to the edge of the pool. The wedding ring on her left hand was twirled twice around her ring finger, before being slowly removed and also falling to the green-covered ground. Farah took off her heels with a seemingly heavy body, hugging her arms for a few seconds as her feet touched down on the pavement surrounding the edge of the pool.

She let go after a short while, lowering her eyes to stare at her own reflection against the water rippling beneath her, and raised one of her hands to release her hair over her shoulders. Her hands reached for the knot at the waist of the dress, undoing it with hesitant movements, before letting the fabric fall down her body to wrap around her feet.

Silva held his breath for a few seconds. He didn't need to look down at the script he was holding tightly in his hands to know that much of what was happening in front of his eyes wasn't there, not even in the notes he had made or that she had contributed minutes before, it was only in the essence that she had given the character.

The woman shivered, unprotected by the fabric with only a set of lingerie in the same color as the dress. The studio was cold, in the story it would have been too. But it was beyond that. Her body seemed to speak much more than any sentence that could be constructed at that moment.

Farah closed her eyes for a brief second, slowly turning onto her back before letting her body fall into the cold water of the pool.

The silence in the studio stretched on for a short while as the director stood up again, feeling for a moment unable to leave where he was.

“Cut,” his deep voice echoed louder than it sounded as she emerged onto the set.

Her hair had a few strands stuck to her face and she needed to avoid jerking her chin because of the cold. She looked behind the camera, and found the director's eyes fixed on her.

"Towels," Riven shouted, breaking the stillness of the others present, who began to move quickly.

Silva dropped the script on the chair, preparing to turn the equipment towards her again. He still seemed to be in a state of shock at what had happened there, not that he had ever doubted that it would really be a great scene, but he definitely hadn't imagined it would be like this.

“That was spectacular,” Rosalind's voice came from behind him, making him stop in his tracks to turn towards her.

The woman was standing a few meters back, accompanied by three imposing figures. It took Saul a few seconds to feel a bad feeling when he recognized the people with her. On the left stood Daniel McCarthy, a well-known actor from British investigative and police drama series who sold the misunderstood heartthrob pose of the overwhelming majority of his characters very well. On the right, Stella Eraklyon, a sixteen-year-old actress who already had a few roles under her belt because of her parents' surname, was standing next to her mother, Luna, who had given up her career in film to look after her daughter's future on screen.

Farah could feel the change in the director's posture from where he was, as he took on the tension in his shoulders again, and left the set, tying her robe around her body again to try to warm herself up. She walked a few steps until her eyes were fixed in the same direction Silva was looking. Luna stepped forward, a smile on her lips.

"Farah Dowling," she said at last. “It's been a long time.”

Sixteen years. The actress took a deep breath, wondering if it was worth answering, but her eyes followed in the short silence to the girl standing next to her, with a smile exactly like her mother's. 

"When Andreas said that our daughter would work with you, I was compelled to come here to celebrate this happy coincidence," Luna concluded.

“Work with me?” Farah forced a smile as naturally as possible. She looked away from the director, who still seemed to be processing the information.

If Stella was in the cast, she should have known about it when they started recording. She didn't understand why it was only happening at that moment. Even so, She would say with absolute certainty that if she'd been aware that she'd be sharing the screen with an Eraklyon again, she wouldn't have even accepted the role in the movie.

“We've come to introduce your new cast members," Rosalind said. 

Saul felt the blow to his stomach almost physically. Apparently he had no control over his production, his movie, and the woman seemed to make a point of showing him as often as she could that he was nothing in there. So that had to be the emergency issue that Riven had tried to convince him to deal with before they started shooting.

“The substitutions,” Rosalind looked at him.

“Of course," Silva agreed, smiling at last. At least he wouldn't let his team see that he had once again lost control of his authority there. “We got involved in the recording, I forgot,” he shrugged. “Everyone, one second of your attention, please.”

Gradually, silence returned to the studio, as the crew and cast members turned their attention to the director.

“Please,” he turned to Rosalind. “Do the honors.”

“Very kind," she smiled. "Due to some unforeseen circumstances and misfortunes, our cast will have some changes, I know that some sequences have already been recorded, but for the amount of talent that we have gathered here, I believe that this will be just another detail that you will be able to handle," She raised her voice a notch. “As of today, our promising Stella will be Madie, and Daniel McCarthy joins you as Mr. Kernan.”

Silva held a frustrated sigh inside his chest. Most of the scenes between Emilly and her husband, Kernam, had already been filmed the week before, and almost all of the young people's productions would have to be redone to replace the old actress with Stella.

“It will be an honor to work with the great Farah Dowling,” Daniel stepped forward. "Although I still think there are significant challenges," he looked at the director out of the corner of his eye. "Which I believe you've already learned to overcome, from what I've seen now.” 

“I... thank you,” Farah nodded politely.

Perfect. Saul felt like laughing, after all, that was the only possibility at that moment. He must have been one of the best jokes, and it seemed that a lot of people were having fun at his expense.

“Riven,” the director turned to his assistant. “Escort our actors to their dressing rooms.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man hurried off. “Welcome. Follow me this way, please.”

Daniel went through first, dodging the director's shoulder as he passed him on the indicated path, and was followed by Stella, who was still silent. Her extremely shiny clothes seemed to speak volumes for her, so she didn't need to say anything. Luna walked right behind them, stopping when she reached Farah's side.

“Andreas asked me to pass on good luck," she said quietly. “He thinks you'll need it.”

Dowling felt as if her ex-husband's name had hit her to the bone, but she just smiled again.

“Pass on my wish that he goes to fucking hell, please," she replied in the same tone.

The brown-haired woman laughed quietly, leaving after her daughter again. The actress looked away from Silva again, angry at the possibility of having been made a fool of at the moment when that kind of exchange would also influence her work, but before she could say anything she held his eyes for a while.

Saul turned away, mentally cursing himself for being sure that she could clearly read the frustration in his gaze and thought it best to just ignore the harsh way he was being stared at. She finally moved on, leaving the set for the dressing room without saying anything.

“Can we talk?” he looked at Rosalind.

“I can imagine what you're going to say,” the woman said, escorting him further away from the rest of the team who were getting back to work. “Then save it.”

“I'd like to understand just two things,” he ignored her final comment. “If this kind of decision is going to be made without me at least knowing what's going on, then why the hell am I still being kept here? And secondly, why? We already had a lot on tape that's going to have to be discarded.”

“Well,” she raised her hand to his shoulder, brushing away some dust. “First, we think you might be able to do a good job. You just need to understand that we're still the ones behind everything you need to do to make your movie happen. And secondly, I don't suppose you've seen the news about your ex Mr. Kernan going out with our young Madie, ignoring above all the ethical issues of being with a young woman 30 years younger than your age. Did you happen to see the news?”

He just nodded negatively. He had avoided reading too much about the production for reasons that seemed obvious to him. 

“This little prank almost cost us the good press the movie has been getting, so we thought it best to get them out of the way before it got out of hand and put two good actors in their place," she shrugged. “You've seen how our studio fares in the face of scandal, so I thought you'd understand.”

Touche. The second blow had also hit the nail on the head. After all, the final downfall of his career had begun when he lost the directorship of the film because of the gossip surrounding his divorce with Nathalie.

“I could only have been warned about the changes to prepare for what happened today," he said at last. “I get it. You're the boss. I just wanted to be informed.”

“Fair enough," Rosalind smiled. “Now come on, Saul, you should be happy. Farah, for example, I bet that after what I've seen here, even you have come around and are one step away from thanking me for choosing her as Emily.”

He forced a smile again in the most sincere way possible. 

"Right," he said. “She really is a great actress. It was a hit.”

“And that reminds me of something else," Rosalind cheered up. The damn tone of good and bad news. But something in him said that in the current scenario the possibility of it being good was very, very small. “Next week, you and Farah travel to New York. We set up the first interview to promote the movie, CBS made sure it was the two of you, and we thought it was a great idea.”

“That doesn't make any sense," he denied with his head. What was she thinking? To use him as a ladder for more tabloids? “I'd have to stop recording again, now that we're behind schedule. Dowling could go with another cast member…”

“You two,” she interrupted him. “You're the ones the news is talking about, and if it's you they're asking for, it's you two they'll get.”

°°°

Farah would give Ben a heart attack if she told him that for a few minutes she had actually considered giving up the role and abandoning the production. For a while during the day, she had finally managed to feel that the movie was going somewhere, and her body was still feeling the overload of emotions from the scene she had just shot. But it was always like that, when she finally felt that everything was going well and according to plan, something would come along to poke her in the one spot of her personality that she still didn't know how to deal with.

Living with the past.  

Over the years, she had become adept at the idea that she should live her days one at a time, but if at any point she needed to look somewhere, it would always be forward, never to face what she had gone through to get where she was. Of course, considering that much of what was in her past had built the pillars of her career and that this always came up when she talked about her work, there were specific points that she wished she had an eraser to erase from people's minds. And maybe that way she could erase them from her own.

She had great works, renowned performances, more than two Oscar nominations. But whenever they wanted to talk about her greatness or her career, the same names came up. Cruel Summer. Andreas Eraklyon. Awards. Recognition. And the biggest hell of her life.

Seeing Luna there, just a few minutes after Silva had made a point of comparing one of the most difficult scenes she had ever recorded or would ever record, had been like watching her life play out like a movie. A drama for some, but certainly a horror movie for her. 

She had considered leaving the production, but the consequences would be great and could affect much more than the production of The Lucky One. She would have to learn to live with her own shadows once again.

What made her most angry at that moment was that she had once again been run over by the unprofessional way in which the director seemed to be acting in front of the production. That small change in the cast had a direct impact on her work, after all, most of her scenes so far would have to be re-recorded. And that was if she completely disregarded the fact that she would have to play the perfect copy of her ex-husband.

She had showered, put on her own clothes and was now sitting in front of the dressing room mirror, finishing her wet hair while staring at her own reflection. She felt like a complete idiot at that moment, for having thought - for the slightest moment - that she had actually been wrong about Silva. They had a moment of exchange on the way back to the studio from the cafe in which she had really believed that he really had control over the work and that it would be a good partnership between the two of them.

Farah stopped for a second when she realized that she had unconsciously started tapping her fingers on the dressing table. She huffed to herself and went back to combing her hair.

°°°

Saul had barely had time to say no. Or to say anything else. Rosalind had been crystal clear when she left the doors of Studio 16 behind. That was the way things were, and it would be a shame for FW Studios if he was thinking of leaving the production of the movie.

He wasn't thinking, but he had got the message. And now, following the corridor to the dressing rooms, he felt as if he had been the one to jump into the studio's cold pool. To say he was frustrated might be a compliment to the way he was feeling at that moment.

He finally stopped in front of the door on which Farah's name was written just above a gold star and gave two dry knocks, waiting for the answer that followed. He entered with a request for permission, closing the door behind him. The woman was sitting in front of one of the dressing tables, and slowly dropped the brush she had been running through her wet hair on the tabletop as she watched him in the mirror.

“It was quite a sequence," he finally said. It was perhaps the most sincere thing he had said in the last few minutes. “It was a good bet that we did it in a single take…”

“Apparently I know what I'm doing,” she interrupted him by standing up and picking up her bag from the chair beside her. Finally, she faced him squarely. “I'm not sure I can say the same for you.”

He frowned.

“But I don't want to be repetitive," she shrugged, walking towards him, who was still standing in the doorway.

“I came here to compliment you on what you've just done there, Farah," he said at last. She tried to ignore the way the name came spontaneously from his lips. “I thought we were in a truce.”

“Well, that's my job. Acting, ” she replied. For a moment he wondered what she was talking about. “I'm only going to tell you this once,” she took a step closer to him, “If you really still want me in your movie, don't mention the name Cruel Summer again.”

She tried to walk past him, but Silva grabbed her wrist just as she reached his side.

“I'm getting very tired of this," he replied, turning his face to look at her. He could feel his palm warm against her arm. “I respect your work as an actress, even if you were pushed down my throat. So I'm not asking you to step down from your pedestal and become my fan. The least I expect is that you respect my work. Because in case you haven't noticed, Ms. Dowling, I'm not here to play at making movies either.”

He waited for a while after he finished speaking, but she remained silent, staring into his eyes. He noticed that her breathing seemed to have quickened, but he imagined how much she must be consumed with irritation inside just by the way her eyes sparked in his direction.

“In a week we'll go to New York to promote the movie," he said at last, loosening his fingers around her wrist. Farah pulled her arm close to her body. “I'll send the rest of the details to your agent. Have a good night.”

He turned, opening the door to hurry out into the corridors again, leaving her behind in the same place, still staring at the spot where he had been seconds before.

Chapter Text

May 20th

Saul woke up to the insistent noise of the alarm clock in the bedroom and just reached over the bedside table to turn it off clumsily. He stretched out on the covers and then opened his eyes to face the dimness of the room.

The day was still a long way from dawn, but they were about to start filming external scenes and had to be ready to shoot the moment the sun started to rise over the horizon. At first, he had considered spending the night in the trailer placed in the exterior studio, but since he would have to go home anyway to get some clothes, he decided to lie down there for a while. Perhaps his mistake was sleeping while reading the script; if he had stayed awake, he certainly wouldn't be feeling completely useless due to tiredness.

Leaving his room, he went down to the kitchen and filled a coffee cup for the trip to the studio. He still had a lot of things to do for the weekend, which he definitely wouldn't have time to do before he left.

He made a note to remind himself to pack for the trip to New York, sticking the post-it note on the fridge. He still hadn't really bought the whole story of "if it's you they're asking for, it's you they're going to get" thing. His job was behind the cameras, not posing in front of them, especially on a set that had been making him completely uncomfortable. It wasn't as if the movie was already a huge success, or as if people really wanted to hear about his work on a project they didn't even know what it was about.

However, Rosalind was increasingly surgical in showing who was really in charge of the production. First, when she made a point of not listening to his requests regarding the cast, casting Farah Dowling, going completely against his proposals; then the sudden change in the cast and then the great idea of publicizing the film, having to interrupt filming for almost three days.

He took a deep breath, tossing the pen onto the kitchen worktop. The television in the living room was still playing a movie, a tool he often used to make the house feel less empty. He hadn't been able to reach his son by phone for days, not even trying to call Nathalie, which made it clear that they were both very serious about ignoring him if it might change his mind about giving the car back to the boy.

This, added to the uncomfortable atmosphere he still felt in the studio after the last conversation he'd had with his big star, made his shoulders ache with tension. It seemed that in a short time he had unlearned how to deal with people. As much as he understood where Sky's rebellion was coming from, since there had been very few times in his life when he had heard " no " and someone had gone against his wishes, he couldn't understand where he had gone wrong with Farah.

He thought they had signed a truce, their way, that day over coffee, but he saw her completely change her stance the moment they returned to the studio. He could see the growing discontent from the moment he spoke about the Cruel Summer scene, which only seemed to double in size the moment Luna and Stella Eraklyon stepped inside the studio.

He knew that she and Andreas had starred in the movie together while they were married, but he couldn't imagine a stance like that coming from someone who claimed to be extremely professional only after seeing her ex-husband's shadow.

“I'm only going to tell you this once," she took a step closer to him. “If you really still want me in your movie, don't mention Cruel Summer anymore.”

For all the differences they had had with each other since the beginning of the job, and even though she had an annoying habit of doubting him, that day he couldn't understand where that tone had come from. She had overreacted, no doubt, but so had he.

He could still feel the warm touch of his palm against her wrist the moment he pulled her closer, preventing her from going out the door, and he cursed himself for not understanding why his body reacted in that fucking strange way to the proximity of the two of them. But nothing he had said at that moment was a lie. She had indeed been pushed against his will, but now - even if he wouldn't say so out loud - he didn't think he had a better choice than her for the part. But he was still really tired, and he felt like a big idiot for having believed, even for a few seconds, that he had earned from her the respect she had already earned from him.

°°°

When he arrived at the studio, it was just after four o'clock in the morning. The technical team was already finishing setting up the lights and cameras around the area organized for the shoot and the costume and make-up team was finishing looking after the cast inside the trailers. They would be filming two short sequences, but with several passages due to the camera angles and games. First, with Bloom, Aisha and Stella in front of the university building, then moving on to one with Farah and Daniel, which would be the characters' first meeting after their tortuous separation, and this would have to be when the sun was rising.

He sat down in his chair, putting on his headphones for the first few audio passages. A few seconds in, he could still hear the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching him on the grass. He peeked out of the corner of his eye, imagining it was Riven, and made a small note of the sound return on his clipboard.

Daniel McCarthy stood next to the director, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked down on what he was doing. He was only a few days into the production and had only shot one of his few scenes, but he spent his days there following the work being done. He thought Silva was a lucky director to have had the opportunity, in the midst of a declining career, to work with names as good as himself and Dowling as well. However, for them, Saul thought it was somewhat regrettable that after so many successful works, they had fallen for a production that possibly had no future. It definitely wasn't easy to take professionalism so seriously.

He stretched his neck over the director's shoulder again, letting out a snort of laughter through his nostrils.

“I have no feedback from the microphones,” Saul took off his headphones. He could feel the air of laughter over his shoulder and had to hold back a sigh of irritation. “Can I help you, McCarthy?”

“No,” Daniel nodded. “I was just checking.”

“Checking?” Saul looked at him. “My work? You ?”

“You seem to have understood well,” he gave a half-smile. “I did hear Farah say that you have a few quirks, but I didn't think repeating things was one of them.”  

You heard Farah say it?

He and the actor hadn't exchanged more than half a dozen words off camera, but the other seemed to have been sent to show that any idea he'd had of arrogance or superiority when he first met Dowling would simply vanish in a flash. Perhaps even the Queen herself was a greater example of humility, even on her bad days.

He pushed his glasses back into place, stood up and dropped his clipboard on the chair. He was taller than the actor standing a few paces away, which helped him to return the look of superiority even more. It wasn't a good day, and the arrogance had definitely got the better of him. Almost enough for him to be able to ignore the hint of curiosity that pricked his chest to know when and in what tone Farah had been heard talking about him.

“I didn't know you had experience in directing a movie," he finally replied with a smile. He forced himself to be sympathetic.

“I haven't, really. Not in cinema… yet,” he realized how his friendly tone had disarmed the other man, who was certainly expecting an outburst from him. Pathetic indeed. “But obviously I've directed episodes of the series I star in…”

“A good start for beginners," he interrupted. “At the beginning of my career I did that too, a good stepping stone in fact. That's where I won my first directing award, as you may know.”

“For what, 20 years?” the tone came out sharp.

“Great memory,” he nodded. “I just don't think you'll have all that time to finally be able to check something in my work.”

He gave the other a friendly pat on the shoulder, turning away from him towards the team that was finishing the adjustments he had asked for.

A few minutes later, with things almost completely organized, the rest of the cast arrived. Until they could start recording at the ideal time, he went over the scene twice with the group of young people and made a few more sound adjustments until it was just right.

Farah sat near the director's island, following the scene transitions until the director returned to his seat and asked for silence so that they could start recording. Daniel pulled up a chair next to her, coffee cup in hand, and sat down, saying something about "mess" that she didn't even bother to ask him to repeat.

Farah could tell, from where she was standing, that the director had something that was bothering him, to the point of making his posture uncomfortable in the chair. She took a deep breath and considered twice whether or not to go to him, and after some thinking, finally stood up. Things between them had been like running on thin ice since their last private meeting in her trailer a week earlier. It was as if every time they approached, to speak a word or two about the scene of the day, she could still feel the firm palm of his hand against her wrist.

“I respect your work as an actress, even if you've been shoved down my throat. So I'm not asking you to get off your high stage and become my fan. The least I expect is that you respect my work. Because in case you haven't noticed, Ms. Dowling, I'm not here to play at making movies either.”

She had thought a lot over the last few days about whether she really hadn't overreacted when she heard the name of the movie and then bumped into Luna and Stella without even being told that it was going to happen. But his words had weighed on her in a way, after all it meant that he still saw her on a pedestal, that perhaps the idea that she thought she was superior hadn't really disappeared.

Silva had quirks, as she had commented to Rose over the phone a few days earlier, but she had thought she knew how to deal with almost all of them. But something about the threatening tone that had escaped his lips on the day of the argument had definitely stirred him more than she could have imagined it would.

The director was already shouting for the cut, warning that they would play everything from the beginning again, when she finally managed to move towards him.

If he continues to be restless like this, he'll end up delaying everything. She was thinking about her own work and how she could help Bloom, who seemed to be extremely nervous about the interruptions. Or at least those were the two thoughts she was concentrating on when she finally reached the director's back.

“Silva,” she called out.

The man was still wearing his headphones and didn't seem to have heard, as his eyes were still fixed on the clipboard with the notes. Farah twiddled her thumbs before raising her hand to touch his shoulder and swaying slightly. Saul finally turned a second later, hanging the headphones around his neck to face her.

The actress quickly withdrew her hands, as if she could ignore the fact that she had touched him. She waited in silence for him to reply with his usual sarcastic tone, but instead saw him hesitate with his lips parted.

“I did hear Farah say that you have a few quirks.”

He thought more than once about how to respond. They hadn't been this close to a conversation for a week. This is close to each other. The meeting in the trailer seemed to take over both their minds.

“Can I help you?” his voice finally came out, with a more cordial tone than she thought she would hear.

It came close to indifference.

You're doing this for yourself, your scene, and for Bloom. She told herself. There's no connection to his discomfort.

“I went over this scene with Bloom a few times while we were getting ready. She's nervous because of Stella, I think the girl affects her self-confidence," she said at last. “I can try to reassure her.”

Silva sighed, dropping his things on the stool to stand up. Surprisingly, Farah seemed to be standing too close and he stopped for a moment between her and the chair. Her posture tensed, making her silently hope that  was unnoticed by him.

“Five minutes, everyone,” he broke the silence, his tone loud enough for the others to hear.

It took a few seconds for them to finally turn their bodies away from each other. With her heading to where Bloom was with the stage crew and him going the other way to the coffee table.

°°°

“We start again in ten minutes!” Riven shouted, running from one side to the other.

After managing to talk to Bloom, Farah promised that she would stay close by while the sequence was being recorded if that would put the girl at ease. She knew that Stella's imposing presence, possibly very well inherited and trained by her parents, could be intimidating for someone just starting out, but the other girl seemed to be reassured by the idea of no longer being alone.

Already opposed to her, Dowling felt completely exposed in the public square as she walked to stand next to the director behind the island of cameras and monitors. As much as he avoided looking away from what he was doing to her, keeping his eyes fixed on the return screens, the tense posture of his shoulders still gave him away. He felt her presence there, even if it was in silence.

For a moment she wondered if the way he had decided to treat her with indifference was worse than feeling him consume her with his gaze.

Silva shook one of his legs insistently as he followed the scenes, but he could already see that the results were much better as the girls became more comfortable with the idea they were executing. They took a short break to get a drink of water, still in their seats, causing the director to leave the room and head back towards the coffee tent. Farah tried to ignore the movement, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone to see the good morning message Ben had sent, saying he would meet her in a few hours.

She was still texting Ben when she heard the muffled sound of chair legs being placed on the floor next to her. Farah looked up from her phone to see what was happening. Saul had picked up the chair with her name on it, which was now placed next to hers, and was holding out one of the coffees balanced on a cardboard stand. She simply took one of the cups, then sat down and was followed by him in the same gesture. She simply thanked him silently with a nod, still trying to understand where the kindness had come from.

He was already distressed by the fixed image of the woman standing next to him. As much as he avoided looking at her directly, he could see that her attitude was making him even more uneasy standing there. He decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to defend himself against the disruption she was causing him by arming himself with indifference.

But the atmosphere between them was almost killing him.

So, without yet having the courage to face her again, after having done so - mistakenly - for far too long minutes before, he got up from where he was during the short water break, going on to pour two cups of coffee and returning with her chair. Farah thanked him silently and sat down next to him.

They stood there for as long as it took for the scene to end, keeping silent and ignoring with the same intensity the urge to look away.

The sequence took about an hour and a half to complete, until Riven shouted the call to return in ten minutes at the director's request. The girls left the scene together, chatting animatedly on their way to the coffee tent. Saul would be a fool not to admit - at least to himself - that the conversation that Dowling had proposed to have with Bloom had had a great effect on the young woman's performance. Beside him, she subtly observed that, for whatever reason, he also seemed to have relaxed. The two things had certainly worked well together to make the work flow.

They got up from their chairs side by side, each moving on to the next task. The director passed by the technical team, directing the reorganization of the cameras and the more subtle lighting now that the sun was beginning to appear timidly on the horizon. Meanwhile, the actress went on to readjust her hair and make-up in the five minutes before the next shoot began.

Daniel was already in front of the cameras adjusting his costume while they organized their main angle on camera. Farah soon joined him so that they could go through the scene once before the light was set for them to start recording. He then left the scene, stopping behind the lines marked out on the ground, and she moved a little further away, to the mark made at one of the entrances to the University's side streets.

Saul looked at the time on his wristwatch and the return of the adjusted images on the monitors. He asked for silence in the studio, checking the lights and cameras one last time, before finally giving the command for them to run.

In the scene, Emilly left the workplace later than she should have - or too early, depending on your point of view - after a grueling night trying to recover some of her lost work. It was the second of three major blows she would suffer before deciding to look for herself. Walking in the opposite direction was the superb figure of William Kernam, Daniel's character and her ex-husband in the plot.

He carefully observed the coldly calculated positioning of the cameras, as they intended to record all three angles at once, in the fewest takes possible so that they could make the most of the sunlight, without having to wait for the next day. The intention was for everything to sound as organic as could be.

Farah delivered Emilly's personality through the text with ease, as if the scene had become an ordinary part of another life she lived when she was in front of the cameras. Her expression intensified, making the words harsh while the man's voice continued to come out calmly. Silva couldn't help but admit that the repugnant personality that Kernam would come to have over the course of the film seemed to fit like a glove with the pompous pose that the English actor himself carried with him.

William closed his hand tightly on one of Emilly's arms, pulling her close. Farah lifted her chin, bringing her face closer to the man's.

“That wouldn't fucking surprise me," she said at last. “Because maybe that was the only character flaw I really expected from you.”

She pulled hard her arm back, slipping out of his grasp, and turned her body away, going the way she had come before the man stood in front of her. Farah stepped out from between the cameras, stopping off to the side as Daniel finished walking towards the buildings.

"Cut," Silva said loudly, standing up.

Betting on single sequences was definitely one of the things that had been working best, even if they sometimes took longer to rehearse and go through, the results had been even better than he had imagined.

“Today was perfect, everyone,” Saul turned to the cast who had come forward to hear him speak. “You're free to rest for the next few hours, I'll see the rest of today's crew in the studio after lunch. To the rest of you, see you tomorrow.”

As they usually did at the end of filming, one of the cast gave a quick round of applause, before dispersing in the direction of the trailers. Farah returned to where she had been sitting a few minutes earlier, picking up her coat from the chair rail and the cell phone she had left on the seat. Silva handed the headphones and clipboard to Riven and looked at her for a few seconds, pushing his glasses back in place in an automatic gesture and putting his hands in his pockets, approaching slowly. If she moved away in time, even without noticing his approach, she might take it as a sign to just leave things as they were and stop trying.

But she stood there, oblivious to the tall figure of the man approaching her at a slow pace, while answering something on her cell phone.

“Dowling," he called out, still a few steps away from her. The woman looked up from her cell phone screen to meet his gaze.

It was, in fact, the first time in hours that they had allowed themselves to do this.

“Is there a problem with the scene?” she came forward.

“No," he replied. “On the contrary, it was great. Really great. I actually wanted to thank you, you managed to calm Bloom down in such a way that she really delivered all the best she could.”

A shadow of a smile flashed across her face.

“The girl is very talented” her voice carried a certain tone of pride. “I'm glad I could help. Her. Helped her.”

He took one of his hands out of his pocket, scratching the back of his neck a little uneasily. They had exchanged more than three words without everything exploding, which was already a good start and what had sparked a warning in him that it might be better to stop there. Before everything turned into a snowball of the kind he couldn't hold back before it crushed them.

“I want to propose a deal," she said at last, when they both seemed certain that the silence would continue.

“I'm just a subject, your Majesty ,” the tone was light, trying to break the ice that still caused some discomfort. “But I can't guarantee that I'll agree.”

"I imagine you know that if I really were your Queen, you wouldn't have a choice, really," she said back, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at almost the exact same moment. She hoped she hadn't turned the shade of red she imagined she had because of her poor choice of words. She just concentrated on seeming to return the comment as she always did. “Truce. At least until we get back from New York.”

He had to sniffle before holding out his hand to her. Was he being pathetic? Because he definitely felt pathetic. He'd been teasing her like that ever since she'd arrived in the United States, but when he stopped to think, it felt strange. So it was definitely best not to think.

Or perhaps he had already thought too much about it unconsciously. Something about her nagged at him intimately, and he had already numbered for himself the many ways in which she was capable of annoying him, but there still seemed to be something else. Perhaps hidden in the way he hadn't yet realized that it also upset her every time she stopped to think about the infinite list of quirks she could get up to.

Maybe that was the reason things got out of hand so easily.

“That way I don't seem to have a choice," he returned with a neutral expression.

Farah held back the urge to inhale deeply, wondering if the way his comment married disturbingly well with hers was just an unfortunate coincidence. Because it couldn't be anything else. 

She extended her hand back to him, feeling him wrap his slender fingers around her in a firm grip. Warm. Too much.

They pulled their hands back at almost the same moment. This time he was sure that the silence needed to be prolonged. She turned on her heels, heading for the trailer with her coat hanging from one hand and the other holding her cell phone tightly. She soon heard footsteps on the grass keeping pace with her and closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling a touch wrap around her waist and pull her slightly to one side. She turned her face slightly.

“Is our coffee tomorrow still on?” Daniel asked, completely ignoring the way he had invaded her personal space out of the blue.

She needed a few seconds. She had almost completely forgotten that they had arranged a coffee to study some scenes.

“Of course," she replied.

Yes. Completely pathetic. Saul watched the couple from a distance. At least he hadn't misjudged himself yet. Perhaps it really was best to leave things as they were, even if he now felt buried by the inevitable snowball.

As the rescue sounded, the cell phone beeped a few times, making him look away from the other two and take the device out of his pocket.

Sky - 7:50 a.m.

"Dad"

"Are you there?"

It was early. Very early indeed. Of all the people he imagined he could be, receiving messages from his son at that hour and after all those days was really the last thing he expected.

Saul Silva - 7h51

"Good morning

"Closing work"

"Problems?"

He didn't even bother to close the app, seeing that his son was still online. He really hoped that the answer to his question would be no, but he wasn't sure what to expect after everything that had happened over the last few days. Perhaps it was pessimistic of him to hope that the bad news, if it came, would at least be less than the last one he'd had to deal with. No police station, please.

“Excuse me,” the male voice came to the front, making him look up from the screen. Ben smiled sympathetically at the man, who looked at him a little confused. “Do you know where Farah is?”

Silva frowned, trying to remember where he knew the bald man in the tweed suit with the friendly expression on his face. The agent. His mind seemed to click seconds later.

“I didn't introduce myself, it's crazy of me to walk into your studio asking questions like that,” Harvey continued without giving him time to answer. “Ben Harvey. Farah's agent and friend.”

“Of course, Harvey, I've heard of you,” Silva gave a friendly smile. “We haven't been introduced yet. Saul Silva.”

“The director,” Ben nodded. “I know, I've heard a lot about you too.”

He certainly heard, after all, there was no lack of places to choose from. Websites? Tabloids? Endless gossip programs? Even though he knew that his life was once again wide open in each of the options, the thought of the last one somehow baffled him. Farah perhaps?

“Well, Fa... Miss Dowling,” he sniffled. “She's in the trailer, I believe she's gone to collect her things.”

“Perfect,” he thanked Saul. “She must have gotten my message. It's going to be a long day today, we're moving things from the hotel to a rented house near the beach. I still have to finish organizing the travel arrangements so that everything goes smoothly for you.”

Wow . Silva processed for a second. An unimaginable duo, the two of them. The agent had an energy that radiated from his body, especially because of his quick and spontaneous way of talking to others. They had met less than five minutes ago, and Ben was already talking as if they had been friends for years.

Completely contrary to Farah's polite and calm demeanor.

“You'll still have time to organize things when we get to New York,” Saul tried to calm him down.

“I'm not going to New York," he lamented. “So all this running around, CBS is going to end up making me balder than I already am.”

He would have genuinely laughed at the joke, if he hadn't clung to what he'd been told earlier.

“Aren't you going with us? I thought the team used to accompany us on the trips," he tried to keep his tone casual. 

"No. The studio was crystal clear with the reservations: for two," he shrugged. “And do you happen to know how much it costs to stay at the Plaza?”

This time he couldn't help but laugh. The way the other person spoke, as if they were friends who had casually met somewhere, had somehow eased the tension of the news that would surely come back to bother him later.

The cell phone beeped again, causing him to briefly turn his attention back to the device.

Sky - 8h00

"I've been thinking about our conversation"

"I wanted to know if you were serious"

"Can I really work with you in the studio?"

Inevitably, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Saul Silva - 08h00

"I'll pick you up this afternoon"

“Do you have children, Mr. Harvey?” He put his cell phone in his pocket and looked at Ben. He felt as if tons had come off his back.

“Call me Ben, please," he smiled. “I have two. A couple. Sam is 18 and Terra has just turned 16. And you?”

“Saul, please,” he returned the cordiality with a smile. “A boy, Sky. He recently turned 18.” 

“Were you talking to him?” he indicated with a quick gesture towards the other man's coat pocket. Saul simply nodded. “One proud father recognizes another.”

Again he let out a hearty laugh. That was definitely how he felt at that moment. The silence coming from his son over the last few days had made him expect, unfortunately, the worst things that could be happening. But seeing Sky take the initiative made him proud; he had really listened to what he had told him. It was a chance to start over together.

“Ben!” Farah's approaching voice interrupted their conversation.

“Hey,” he hugged her quickly.

She took a step away from her friend after greeting him, facing Silva who was watching the two of them with his hands clasped behind his back. Ben analyzed for a moment the way the silence stretched between them, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

“Shall we go?” he finally looked at Farah. “It's a long day.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “See you at the studio.” Saul nodded.

“Right," he replied, extending his hand towards Ben. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“I'll say the same,” he returned the squeeze in a friendly way.

The director stood in place, leaning his shoulder against one of the trees as the two of them walked out of the studio. He tried to turn his attention away from the way her light brown hair seemed to glow against the still shimmering sunlight. But unfortunately his thoughts didn't wander very far.

It was really just the two of them going to New York.

Three days. And all that the city that never sleeps could hold for them.

Chapter Text

Farah leaned back against the seat, letting the weight of her body relax as she felt the wind hit her face through the car window. Ben knew her well enough to sense the moments when she liked to just enjoy the silence, especially after a busy day at work, so he just concentrated on the traffic, looking at her out of the corner of his eye every now and then when they stopped at a traffic light.

She felt a slight headache begin to bother her temples because of the early morning rush. She hadn't been able to sleep in the hours she'd spent in the trailer, even though she thought it was a better choice than spending the last night in the hotel as the couple of friends had suggested. Finally, in the absence of sleep, Farah had spent her time reading the script which - by now - she could recite backwards.

The truth was that she felt that nothing could occupy her mind so well as to divert her thoughts from the things that naturally consumed her every day. Being in America always brought up more feelings than she could normally handle perfectly well, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why she rarely allowed herself to spend as much time filming in Hollywood as she should have with The Lucky One. And then, as if her memories weren't enough, she now had to deal with her past materializing in front of her every single day she was on set. 

Stella was a perfect copy of her father, and not just because of her physical features that completely left Luna out, but Farah could see her ex-husband's image in almost every gesture and posture the girl made during the recordings. Andreas had always been the kind of person who oozed self-confidence through his pores, to the point of overshadowing and making even the most confident of people doubt their own talent when they shared the same space as him. Bloom was having to deal with this, through the way the young blonde-haired actress behaved when they went to shoot together, and even though many people reinforced their mutual talent, she hesitated. She realized how things seemed to repeat themselves, and seeing how much it affected someone - the way it had once affected her - she began to spend some of her free time with the young actress. 

She wanted to help, obviously, but she could also feel that the connection she was creating with Bloom behind the camera was helping her. There were moments when she could be more or less herself after walking through the doors of studio 16. But still, every time she looked away, she felt as if the Eraklyon surname could suffocate her. 

She needed to learn to deal with it, and so far the way she had managed to make it all more bearable was to arm herself with the coldest attitude she could have. Even if she felt that this was a mistake and a success of equal intensity. After all, there were things in her present that disturbed her as much - or even more - than her past had been disturbed.

After all, Saul Silva was in everything she tried to divert her attention to. From day one, inevitably. Perhaps that's why reading the script wasn't the best way of trying to divert her thoughts from the things that bothered her. The director's scribbled handwriting was also there, on a yellow post-it note, stuck next to one of her scenes. The note was formal, with few words, perhaps the safest way he had found to talk to her in the week in which they had hardly exchanged a word with each other. 

She admitted that she wasn't being an easy person to get along with, even if the thing that bothered her most about the whole thing was knowing that the director had an image of her formed before they had even met. In the end, she was being exactly the person he thought she was. On a pedestal, acting as if she underestimated every step he took inside the studio, being cold, distant. So, even though she no longer agreed with the idea she had formed about him when they first met, she thought it might be best to let him believe it. At least she was safe. Or at least she wanted to believe she was. 

But during the sleepless night, Farah had thought too much about it all. Good coexistence didn't necessarily mean that she should give in or make herself too transparent. Offering a truce was the least she could do, three days didn't seem too long. And then at least she would be able to breathe more peacefully.

Farah stared for a second at her hands on her lap, as if she could still feel her left palm warm from his touch.

“He doesn't seem that bad,” Ben interrupted the silence in the car by turning into one of the streets towards the beach. Sometimes her friend seemed to have the ability to read perfectly well what was going on in her head, no matter how much he insisted to Farah that she was definitely more empathetic.

“Who?” she looked away from Ben. 

“Silva,” Ben shrugged. “He seemed quite nice actually.”  

Farah shrugged. All the staff at the studio seemed to like him very much, and the director was in fact a kind person to everyone. So even if there was that insistent spark of hostility between the two, she wouldn't deny that her judgment of the man was correct. But perhaps she wouldn't agree out loud either.

The silence in the car lasted for a few seconds as Harvey slowed down a little to change lanes.

“Rose told me that things have been better between the two of you," he tried again. He knew when there was something in the air, and the tension between his friend and the director was definitely palpable even in the short time he had been with them.

“ We're... Dealing with ,” she turned her eyes to the road. “Don’t worry, our contract with the studio is safe.”

“ I understand, Farah, your discontent last week. Even if you didn't tell me all about it, " he sighed. “ But I don't understand why you're doing this. ”

She wrung her hands over her lap.

"Define ‘this’ , Harvey," she muttered.

“You're arming yourself," he replied. “ You were already doing that before we came here. And I understood that it's for everything, that being back in America involves that. But now it's different. ” 

“ I don't know what you're talking about, " she shrugged again. 

“ I'm telling you, Farah, you seemed fine when things started working out with Silva in the studio, ” Ben slowed down again, entering the last street. “ But now you're not being you, you're being the person other people think you are. You're arming yourself again, being The Iron Lady .”

“ Don't call me that, " she said harshly. Ben fell silent at the same moment. 

Farah took a few deep breaths, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before turning to face her friend behind the wheel.

" I'm sorry, Ben, " She said at last. “ This has nothing to do with you. I just need things to stay as they are. ” 

Finally the car stopped, but for a while neither of them moved to get out. Ben turned to his friend, looking at her for a few seconds. Farah was a great actress, and the Oscar that adorned her shelf was just one of the proofs of that, but he knew her like the back of his hand and there wasn't a single line that he and Rose would let pass, no matter how much she wanted to.

“ What I mean, Farah, ” he touched her shoulder gently, making her turn towards him again. “ It's just that sometimes you can let your guard down. ”

That was where he was wrong. She had only allowed herself to let her guard down for a few minutes during the previous week, on the day she met Silva in the café, and she couldn't deny that they had  definitely had lighter moments. She would certainly choose them if she could, but it wasn't exactly a question of choosing. 

“ You know I can't, ” her tone was low, but enough to end the conversation.

Allowing herself to let her guard down was allowing herself to feel. It was losing the control she still had over the things that insisted on flooding herself. If she let her guard down, she would allow her feelings to take control. And that was the kind of thing Farah wouldn't let happen again.

Ben withdrew his hand with a brief nod. He knew that it was much easier for him to tell her what to do from the outside. Then again, he could read Farah well enough to understand what she was protecting herself. There was already something there, no matter how much she struggled not to see it.

They finally pulled up in front of the house, with one stopping for a few seconds to analyze the elegant white façade while the other took her travel bag out of the car. The house wasn't large, although from the outside it looked very refined. The back was directly on the beach, enclosed by a low fence and a gate that was also painted white. The front was surrounded by a light, half-height wall and a wooden gate with a few details that gave access to the doorway. Harvey stepped forward, turning the key in the gate and pushing it back.

“ Rose left everything organized for you yesterday, " he said as they walked together to the door. “ The apartment we're in is near the airport, because of the children, but it's close enough for us to be here in minutes, as soon as you need us.” 

“ Thank you, " she replied, stopping in front of the door. “ I need a moment, if you don't mind. ”

“ Of course, " he smiled amiably. “ I'm just a phone call away.”

“ I know, " she smiled back, pulling her friend into a quick hug.

They said goodbye in silence and she waited for a while, until she saw Ben close the gate behind him and the sound of the car engine starting reached her ears. She tightened her fingers on the handle of the bag she was carrying and brought her other hand to the key, turning it calmly to enter.

Inside, the house was just as she imagined it would be. The entrance hall gave access to three steps that led down to a large living room with glass doors on one side, still covered by cream-colored curtains, and a corridor that flanked the stairs. Farah passed through the living room door, following the corridor. There was a sideboard with some flowers on it and a rounded mirror on the wall above it, one of the doors leading to the kitchen. Not very big, but still cozy. She noticed that the windows above the counter overlooked the beach, as she imagined the living room windows would. The other two doors in the hallway led to a bathroom and an office. She imagined that the upper floor was the two bedrooms that Ben had told her about, but she preferred to make her way to the living room.

She put her bag on the white three-seater sofa and looked around. On the front wall there was a television above the small fireplace, a coffee table, two more armchairs and a bookcase with some decorative items. Clearly an impersonal place, with as much personality as a house rented for the season could have. 

Farah realized that Rose had tried, placing some flowers and a solitary picture frame with a photo of her, the couple of friends and Sam and Terra, at the boy's high school graduation. But that was as far as she could see.

After all, it was just another place. Just another house. Literally thousands of miles away from home. 

She pulled aside the curtains covering the glass doors, feeling the sunlight hit her face, and took a deep breath. The beach stretched beyond the fence and the well-kept garden and the low sound of the sea came over the walls to serve as her only company. It was definitely not her place, but it still seemed like the ideal place to house her silence. 

It was a funny feeling in the end, since she should have been used to it after spending more than half her life in realities like that. But still, being away from home wasn't easy. In England her days were like that too, silent, alone, but at least she was home.

The ring of her cell phone, muffled by her bag, broke the silence in the living room, making her let out a long sigh before spinning on her heels back to the sofa. The photo of the red-haired girl flashed on the screen before she picked it up.

“ Bloom? ” she tried to sound as informal as possible, she knew how her posture sometimes made the girl nervous.

“ Miss D. ” Bloom seemed to struggle to speak calmly. Farah smiled to herself. She and Terra would definitely get on well if they ever met. “Am I bothering you? ”

“ Nonsense, ” she sat down on the edge of the sofa. “ I've just got home .”

“ Yeah. Me too, " she replied.

“ Can I help you with anything, Bloom? ”

“ I actually called to say thank you, " she said. “After the shoot, Silva called me to talk, and said he was very proud of how I had managed to do things. He said it was even better than he had imagined, can you believe that?”

" That seems very kind of him, " Farah replied. 

“ I told him he owed you one, " she continued, putting aside the filter that made her speak slowly. Farah knew the young woman well enough to know that she did this sort of thing when she was too excited. And that meant quite often. “And he told me that it's really amazing that I'm getting the chance to learn a few things from a fantastic actress like you.”  

Farah hadn't expected the compliment, even if it was indirect. Her mouth felt dry and she had to moisten her lips. For God's sake, don't be pathetic. He was being cordial, she knew he treated others like that. What was the compliment? Just another one, like any other.

“Miss D.?” Bloom called her again. “Are you still there?”

“ I am, " she replied. “ Of course I am. That was also very kind of him.”

“ Yeah. I thought it was pretty cool too, " Bloom agreed . “I think we're lucky too. Well, you've been in the industry for years, so you should know better than me. But I heard stories about terrible directors when I auditioned for the role. So I think we're lucky too, don't you?”

“ Lucky? ” she repeated quietly. Her mind seemed to swirl for a second and she shook her head, pushing away the snowball that seemed to be descending unbridled into her thoughts. “ Bloom, darling, my... agent is calling me. I have things to sort out about the weekend trip. ”

“ Of course. Sorry, I guess I got carried away, ” the girl laughed on the other end of the line.

“Don't worry, it's fine,” she kept her cordiality above the anxiety that had almost overtaken her. “Thanks for calling. I'll see you tomorrow.”

The young woman said goodbye and then hung up. She was once again in the silence of the house, staring at the cell phone in one hand. Inevitably, she thought about her meeting with Silva in the trailer and then found herself thinking about New York. She inevitably felt anxious about what to expect. She looked down at her free hand again, his touch still tingling her skin.

That's what would happen if she really let her guard down. She would start naming the feelings that sometimes pricked the bottom of her chest.

°°°

Saul left the recording area after the team had finished organizing the space and was taking the materials back to the studio. He had just over two hours before he had to drive back to Studio 16 and start the afternoon's work, but he felt the accumulated fatigue from the night making his thinking too slow to simply ignore it and carry on working.

Like most of the cast, he thought it best to drive home and then go back to work. As comfortable as the trailer was, it definitely wasn't where he wanted to be at the moment. Even though there were still many things to do at home, being there always won out. 

It took a little longer than the twenty minutes it had taken to get there, the traffic was starting to intensify at that time in the most diverse directions of the city, and the closer it got to the weekend, the worse it was to drive on those streets around Hollywood. But if he was finding it chaotic, he wondered what his weekend would be like in downtown New York, having to go from place to place like the proud FW Studios puppet he had become.

He arrived home, enjoying the silence as soon as he walked through the front door. Sunlight streamed in through the living room windows, making the room bright and the atmosphere pleasant enough to make him sigh. He threw his keys and wallet on the coffee table, then put his glasses next to them and sat down on the sofa. It had been quite a night, in fact, and his shoulders were still aching with tension. He hadn't been able to really concentrate on his work, there were too many things bothering him silently enough that he didn't need to think about them, but not enough that he didn't know they were there all the time.

All right then, if all he had to do to get back to normal was to think about it all. That's what he would do. Think about it. 

Saul layed back on the sofa, resting his back on the cushions and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He wanted to tell himself that several things had taken up the space he'd given his problems in his mind, but obviously there was only one face. Only one name. 

"I imagine you know that if I really were your Queen, You wouldn't really have a choice," she replied.

He could easily have chosen a long list of adjectives to describe himself at that moment, but he thought that a big idiot could easily sum up everything else. Farah Dowling had been hanging over his head like a cloud since the day he learned that the actress had been cast in the movie, without him even being told. But now it was worse. It was no longer hanging over his head, it was inside it. A big, dense cloud that made a point of blurring his thoughts about everything. She challenged him, seeming to have some kind of trigger in her gaze, set off by her pair of almost golden brown eyes. And he spent far too long trying to identify what it was. The day at the cafe, when she leaned towards him across the table in defiance. Their meeting in the trailer, when he had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her closer. The moment he had stood up when she called out to him, feeling too close for an instant. The cordial handshake before they left the studio...

“ Enough, ” he pressed one of the pillows to his face. “ That's enough. I have more to do. ”

Okay. He was convinced that thinking might not be the best idea. It hadn't relieved the tension in his shoulders and now it seemed that her image was perfectly engraved in his mind every time he closed his eyes. It was just reinforcing the idea he'd had: he was a big idiot. 

He got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He should eat something before going back to the studio, but he still had to get Sky and organize his things for the trip. Having lunch on the street seemed a more practical idea than actually cooking something himself. 

He leaned his waist on the sink counter, taking his cell phone out of his pocket to tell his son that he was leaving the house soon. He noticed the two missed calls from Rosalind, a message in the voicemail and one more from Riven. He took a deep breath and opened the messaging app.

Riven - 10:12am

"There's a girl here, sir. She says she's your new assistant manager. What do I do about it?"

Rosalind calling, Riven desperate. He genuinely seemed to be having a deja vu from the week before. And once again things were getting out of hand. He opened the voicemail notification, pressed the first option to listen to the messages and brought the phone to his ear.

- Silva! A great day for us - Rosalind's voice reached his ears. - I imagine you're recording, so I'll be brief, don't worry about calling back. As we agreed, I'll let you know whenever I need to. I'm sending Beatrix to the studio, she was my personal assistant and she'll be a great help with your production. Thank me later - a short pause on the other end of the line. - Ah. Yes. Yes. I almost forgot. I'm sending you your new ticket, we needed to reschedule your flight. CBS has moved up your interview, they want it to air tomorrow night, so you're flying out in the morning. On Saturday, there will be a photo shoot and an interview with Hollywood Planet in the first hour of the afternoon. Sunday's schedule is still to be confirmed, but I'll let you know as soon as possible - another short break. - Happy filming. See you on Monday. And don't worry, your movie will be in good hands. Take care of our star.

An innovative news channel, but taking into account that he rarely really got anything out when Rosalind started talking non-stop like that, he thought that a recorded message might actually be the most effective. Again, a complete change of plans, with the date of the trip being changed to a day earlier than had been organized. He would have to restructure everything.

He opened the messages again, replying to Riven only with the producer's name; he knew that would be enough explanation of what had happened. He then went to the chat with Sky to let him know, finally, that he would be picking him up in 40 minutes. 

As he went upstairs to his room and threw some clothes on the bed to start organizing them in his suitcase, he tried to sort out in his mind which scenes would have to be left unrecorded. Firstly, because some things he simply wouldn't leave in the hands of two assistant directors, and he didn't even know one of them, and he would run the risk of having to re-record and delay things. With them, only simple things, which would help without running the risk of getting in the way. In the end, Silva would have to postpone the scenes he was going to shoot with Farah and Daniel the following day until that afternoon, leaving the other things for the crew to get on with while they were alone. 

He closed his suitcase and put it next to the door, mentally going over the list of things he had to take before pulling his cell phone out of his jeans pocket again. He knew that some of the crew would already be at the studio to record in the afternoon, but if he intended to bring the Farah scene forward, he would have to let her know. First, he searched for Ben Harvey's number in his contact list without finding any results. Then he took a deep breath. Truce. Right? His head wouldn't roll down the stairs if he just made the call. 

The phone rang twice before a female voice answered on the other end.

“Dowling,” her voice was quiet and Saul could hear a song playing softly in the background.

“Hi,” he sniffled against the discomfort in his throat. “It's me. Silva.”

“Silva," she repeated. He could sense the surprise in her voice. “What do I owe the call to?”

“Rosalind contacted me, I believe she spoke to your agent as well?”

“Yes," she interrupted him. “We're traveling early tomorrow morning. Early interview, photos on Saturday. I'm updated. Anything else?”

“I need you in the studio this afternoon,” he was quick. “We'll advance tomorrow's scene, so we can avoid any more delays in case the trip... gets long.” 

“I'll see you in the studio," she finally replied.

Saul didn't say goodbye, he just waited with the phone against his ear for the moment when the line went silent. It hadn't been so bad after all. Not least because of all the things he could complain about Farah, her commitment to always doing things to the best of her ability wasn't one of them. 

He left his suitcase where it was, knowing that he would still check everything at least once more before heading to the airport. He picked up the things he had left in the living room and drove off in the opposite direction to Studio 16. He imagined that Sky would already be waiting, because he was even a little late for the time he had told the boy. It would be quite a start, plus with the food of dubious quality that Riven got when they were working during meal times. He hoped at least that things would go well enough for his son to feel comfortable being there. 

He stopped the car in front of his old house about 15 minutes later. He could have gone down and knocked on the door, but that would certainly have led to a completely unnecessary conflict, given that his time was as short as his patience. He simply pressed the horn twice and waited. In less than a minute, the door to the house opened and Sky hurried out, carrying his backpack.

Saul unlocked the car doors, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the young man opened the car door to get in quickly.

“Hi,” he slammed the door and looked at his father with a smile.

“Quick," he smiled back. “Are you running away from your mother?”

Sky laughed.

“Are you?” he joked.

“It's been 16 years. And counting!,” he shrugged, making his son laugh again.

°°°

Farah crossed her legs, settling her bag on the back of her chair. The cafeteria was quieter than it usually was, perhaps because of the quiet hours in the early afternoon or perhaps because people preferred to enjoy the warm sunshine after a week of rain rather than being cooped up in the same environment every day.

She had just finished organizing her things in the new house when Ben called to tell her about the changes to the travel itinerary. More things to do in less time, especially with the deadline for the recordings getting tighter because of the interruptions. She had just finished organizing the clothes she was going to take to New York when the phone rang again. 

She couldn't disguise her surprise when she saw the director's name on the display of her cell phone. It had been over a month and even though they had been in contact with each other for emergencies since the beginning, he had never even sent her a message, always opting for the sticky notes he seemed to make a point of sticking to her things. But at the same time, she waited for him to contact her, imagining that he would want to anticipate things before they traveled.

Now there she was, just a few minutes later, sitting in the coffee shop from a few days earlier while she waited for her companion to return with the coffee he had gone to buy for the two of them. She missed a good cup of tea, but the Americans definitely didn't appeal to her palate, making her limit herself to the caffeine addiction they apparently had.

Turning her attention away from the empty tables around her, Farah realized that she had started again with the repetitive motion of tapping her fingertips on the surface of the table.

“You always tap your fingers on the table," he replied. “Or is it only when I'm around?”

She stopped what she was doing, letting the air out of her lungs.

“Bloody hell!," she cursed quietly.

Daniel approached the table where she was sitting, two large cups of coffee in hand, and pulled out the chair facing her.

“It's a shame," he said, pushing one of the cups towards her and sitting down. “That our coffee has to be rushed like this, and here above all .”

Farah avoided raising her eyebrows and gave a forced smile.

“ It's a great place, " she said. “But unforeseen events happen, we could reschedule if that's the case.”

“No, I insist,” he smiled.

He really insists. The actress remained silent, sipping her hot drink. She wanted to record her scenes and go home, finish organizing her things and enjoy the few seconds of peace she still had before the chaos of the next few days. But that was fine, that kind of cordiality was part of it. 

“Don't you think it's strange?” the question drew her attention back to him. He was apparently finishing his speech, and she had no idea what he was talking about. 

“Strange...?” tried a less "I wasn't paying attention" way of asking him to repeat it.

“That the studio chose Silva to promote the movie with you,” he brought his coffee to his lips in a pause. “Normally that's the role of the protagonists, so I don't really understand why they put the director in the middle of it.”  

“Well, from what I understand, we're navigating the tide that the critics have been dictating,” she shrugged. “Silva's name is in the headlines, as is mine. Maybe that's the studio's bet.”

Daniel laughed and shook his head.

“We both know what's got his name in the headlines," he said. 

“Actually, I don't know,” she took a deep breath, dropping her coffee on the table. “I don't usually read gossip sites and magazines.”

“But you should imagine it anyway,” she ignored the acidity of the comment. “No one who knows anything about movies is putting any faith in the guy's work. I mean, we're fantastic artists, and we're working with a backyard director…”

“You understand the world of cinema so well, Daniel," she narrowed her eyes. She couldn't say why, but the tone of his words brought a burn to the pit of her stomach. “But you've only been with the cast for a short time. I'm still going to ask you. Do you really think Saul is a backyard director? We're shooting almost the entire movie in single cuts. This doesn't look like a backyard production to me.”

McCarthy remained silent for a few seconds. The woman's words had taken him by surprise; after all, he imagined that she, like him, had an opinion about the work they were doing.

“But if you look at his record over the last few years, you'll agree with me that the prospects aren't good," he laughed.

“We all have productions on our record that should elicit exactly that kind of comment from people," she shrugged.

“You have an Oscar!” Daniel commented on the obvious as if he could refute her argument.

“And he has a Golden Globe. Curiously, almost at the same time," she sighed, leaving his coffee on the table. She pretended to check the time on her wristwatch, not paying attention to the hands. “I need to get back to the studio and change so we can shoot.”

“Of course,” Daniel stood up with her. “I hope we have the opportunity to have coffee again, in a more informal place.”

“Why not?” She repeated the smile.

She gathered her bag from the back of her chair and slung it over her shoulder to head for the door. Her colleague walked beside her to the studio again, saying a lot of things about a lot of subjects that Farah just pretended to listen to and sometimes nodded. 

Back inside studio 16, she took the side stairs towards the dressing rooms to put on her costume and fix her hair and make-up. The rest of the scenes were already taking place upstairs with the younger crew, and Farah could hear the muffled sound of voices going back and forth through the corridors with production staff. 

When she went upstairs, using the side entrances to the stairs again, they were organizing the set of the room where she was going to record what would be her last scene with Denial for the next few days. She wish it was the last one for good. 

Silva was sitting behind the monitors, his headphones hanging around his neck and he was pointing out a few things to the blond-haired young man standing next to him. Farah noticed that she had never seen the boy there, but neither had she seen the effusive Beatrix who had arrived in the few hours she had been away. She imagined that he must be some of the changes that Rosalind was sneaking in, just like the girl was.

She adjusted her robe better and tightened the sash around her waist, arranging her hair loosely over her shoulders. They'd already been through the scene twice before the recording of the first group, and the adjustments had already been made. So she just sat back and waited to be called when everything was in place for them to start. Soon Daniel entered her field of vision, wearing a well-tailored suit with his tie open around his neck, beckoning her to join him.

In the morning, Emilly was two steps away from hanging her husband from a tree by his plaid tie, and now - just a few hours later - they would be recording her last attempt to save her already unsalvageable marriage.

“Everyone take your seats, please,” Silva settled into his chair. 

Farah walked over to the chair in front of the dressing table and sat down, while Daniel disappeared through the closet opening.

“Light. Cameras.” the director called out loudly. “Silence in the studio. Action!”

Emilly stared at her reflection in the mirror, combing her hair slowly, looking a little lost. At that moment, William came out of the closet, adjusting his suit and buttoning it. 

She raises her eyes through the reflection, to finally drop the hairbrush on the wooden worktop and turn to her husband.

“Where are you going?” she stood up.

“I have an appointment," he replied indifferently. 

“I thought we'd stay at home together tonight, if I knew you had an appointment I'd be already dressed to go with you,” she hurried. “Give me a few seconds to change.”

She tried to pass her husband in the direction he had come, but felt him grab her arm as she crossed in front of him.

“You stay," he said.

“What?” she glared at him. “Will... What's going on?”

“There's nothing going on," he smiled.

Emilly still stared at him in disbelief. Her presence in the house had been easily ignored by her husband for days. She knew something was wrong, but she still didn't know what. In all those years, this was the moment when she was most certain that her marriage was hanging by a thread. 

He moved closer. She knew he was acting strangely, and had been giving her too much reason to be really suspicious of his attitude over the last few days. A mistake to be corrected, at least for as long as she had the patience to correct it. He wrapped one of his hands around her face, reaching down to capture her lips in his. The woman held her husband's open tuxedo tightly, pulling him as close as she could. Without much patience, William undid the knot that held her robe in place, running one hand over her shoulder to pull the sleeve halfway down her arms.

He ran one of his hands over her exposed chest, circling the side of her breast - pressed against his shirt - with his fingertips and turned his face away. She stared at him uncomprehendingly, still half naked and gasping for breath. William didn't even look at her, he just put his jacket back on, staring at his own reflection over her shoulder.

Saul put down his headphones, feeling his mouth suddenly go dry as he felt his stomach tingle. His heart seemed to want to beat fast in his chest and he reached for the glass of water next to his chair. Pathetic, Silva. Pathetic. He repeated to himself, his eyes still fixed on the feedback monitor.

“You, dear, stay," William replied, walking past her towards the exit.

The silence that followed lasted no more than a second, even though it seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Farah knew the scene was over, and she pulled up the sleeves of her robe again, covering her body before slowly turning her face towards the director's island. Silva's gaze stared at her over the equipment once again and she felt as if the director was able to go through every little cell in her body.

Two seconds, but Farah felt watched for eternity. And she felt the opposite of what she had imagined she would feel. She felt that she would be able to stay under that gaze for much longer. Pathetic. Don't be pathetic.

Two seconds.

Saul stood up, as if her gaze would snap him out of his trance - or as if he were escaping one much worse than the one he was in. The glass of water rattled, tipping over on the table and splashing on his shirt.

“Cut!” he shouted at last, angrily slapping the fabric to keep the drops away.

Farah finally moved from where she was, walking towards the man who was now pretending very well that he hadn't stared at her like that seconds before. In fact, she wanted to be able to walk straight past and pretend that she hadn't seen him either, or pretend that she hadn't returned his gaze with the same intensity. But she needed to go home, finish packing her things and finally accept what the announcement weekend had in for her. And if she really wanted that, she needed to talk to him to make sure everything had gone well.

Professionalism . It had always been her best weapon, and it would continue to be so.

“Silva,” came up beside him. The man stopped trying to dry his shirt and turned to her.

“Dowling,” he nodded. She inevitably raised an eyebrow, observing the mess. 

The director put his hands on his waist, staring back at that kind of look. The way she looked at him when he seemed to be messing up like a child would.

“The water," he said at last. “I ended up splashing a little. It's nothing.”

“Yeah," she almost laughed at the crease that had formed between his eyebrows. “I saw it.”  

Of course she did. Silva pressed his lips together. It was obvious that she had seen, it seemed that there were no more than five meters between the two of them. Apparently the distance still wasn't enough to prevent chaos from happening.

“And I can help you…?” he replied.

“I've just come to confirm that we're done for the day," she said. 

Silva licked his lips again, not even realizing that his mouth had dried out again. He was about to reply when Sky arrived at their side with a handful of paper towels in his hands.

“Here, Dad,” he reached for the other one.

"Thank you," he replied.

“Dad?” Farah looked at them both.

So the boy wasn't Rosalind's intrusion. She just hadn't imagined that he would be Saul's son. Now, looking at the two of them side by side, she could see the resemblance, although much of the boy's young face escaped his father's memory. They both had the same eyes.

“Oh, yes,” Silva put the towels aside. “This is Sky, my son. He's going to be helping me as an assistant for a few days,” he put his hand on the young man's shoulder. “Sky, this is... Farah Dowling,” the pause was almost inevitable. “The star of our movie.”

She smiled at the boy, who held out his hand in greeting. 

“Welcome, Sky," she said.

"Thank you, Miss Dowling," he replied. “It's a pleasure, my father…”

“Is busy,” Saul came forward.

He and Sky had talked about many things while they were in the car together on the way to the studio. Inevitably, Farah had been one of them. And coming from the boy, knowing that he had inherited the best possible personality traits - there was still a small fraction of Nathalie living there - he preferred not to let the sentence end. 

“Of course,” the young man ran his hands through his hair. “I'll help Riven with the wiring.” 

“Perfect," he agreed.

Sky said goodbye to then two and left in the direction of the camera assistants. The silence between Saul and Farah lasted a few seconds, even though they were still looking at each other.

“So I guess we're done for the day," she said at last.

“Of course," he agreed. “It was perfect as always. I think you still have a lot to do, so you're excused if you want.”

“I'm going to change," she smiled. And she almost cursed herself for feeling her face heat up when she saw him sniffle. 

Finally, he just nodded. Farah put her hair back, walking a few steps past him before turning around again.

“See you in New York, Hollywood .”

Chapter Text

John F. Kennedy Airport - New York's main airport and one of the world's leading air traffic hubs - already reflected very well, just in its gigantic terminals, what any visitor would actually find on the city's streets. Lots of people, loud noise, the sheer chaos of a metropolis. For some, in fact, the charm that the city had to offer.

A person designated by the studio was already waiting for Farah and Saul when they emerged from the arrivals hall. The flight had left California a little after nine o'clock in the morning due to a delay, which had landed them on New York soil after two o'clock in the afternoon. They had eaten whatever the business class offered and followed the more than five-hour journey in almost complete silence.

In fact, what they had most to talk about were subjects that the two of them could deal with in a cordial way to make the atmosphere inside the aircraft seem less awkward than it had turned out to be. But they also both had their own reasons for thinking it best to remain silent.

Silva still felt stupidly disconcerted by the scene the day before, and as much as he tried to make himself understand that it had been no big deal, or that it really shouldn't have seemed like a big deal, his less rational side made a point of reminding him exactly what it was. What bothered him more than anything was that he couldn't fully ignore the way she had stared back at him. Through the distance that separated the two of them on set, through the professionalism that he was sure they would follow despite everything. For a brief fraction of a second, her gaze seemed to show that, in a way, she belonged to him.

In the silence that followed them, she shared almost the same thoughts. She had arrived home that late afternoon, trying to get on with the routine plans where she would talk to Ben about the trip and the weekend's schedule, but unable to keep her thoughts off the studio walls. The scene had been just another one, just as the day should have been. What happened next was that it scrambled her thinking to the point of disorganizing everything she had planned to do. Often, when they had finished recording, it was common to see the figure of the director watching her over the island of monitors. But this was different. Undeniably different. And in a disturbing way too. It was as if there was no tangible distance between them. It was as if she really belonged where she was, as long as it was under his gaze.

She had done, even if only for a short time, what she had told Ben she could never do. She had let her guard down and allowed herself to feel.

The silence during the flight and the journey of just over half an hour to the broadcaster's headquarters was just a way they had both managed to arm themselves, within their own thoughts, to avoid admitting - to themselves and to each other - how things really were. But of course, they both also knew that the neutral atmosphere and lack of words couldn't last much longer. There was the interview they were going to give together, the photos, and three days that they had to spend most of in each other's company. The least they could do was try to keep the tense atmosphere at bay.

Things could work out. As long as they were both willing.

He brought up the first subject, while still in the car. He would talk about something, but that he knew she would be able to answer - preventing the comfortable silence from giving way to embarrassment at the lack of an answer. He asked warmly about Ben, commenting on the agent's endearing personality during the previous morning's recordings. Farah answered in the way he imagined, comfortable talking about her friend, but in the same way as she would answer the question if asked by the driver who remained silent. At least it had been enough for them to finally arrive at their destination and be able to put some of the tension behind them.

As soon as they entered the CBS Broadcast Center building, they were greeted by two more members of the local team who, together with the studio manager who had welcomed them, began talking non-stop about many things at the same time. Saul put his hands in his pockets, avoiding the repetitive gesture of pushing his glasses back into place due to discomfort, and looked away. Farah turned her face away from the group almost at the same moment.

The director raised one eyebrow at her, who seemed to understand what his expression was saying. Clearly an effusive confusion. A faint laugh left her lips in agreement with the situation, causing him to give her a wry smile before motioning for her to go ahead with the group.

They passed through the access doors to the elevators. Two of the three men accompanying them said goodbye when they arrived in front of the row of three elevators that stretched down one of the corridors. Dowling took a deep breath. One more. She knew that Ben had possibly pulled out the last strands of his hair trying to change that little detail, but usually these things were beyond the control of her friend's dedication to not making her have to face that kind of thing. It would only be a few minutes, as it always was. What she needed to do was not think too much about it.

When the door opened, the young man who would be accompanying them to the dressing room indicated for them to go through. Silva waited for her to enter first. As usual, she moved to one side, avoiding leaning against one of the cold walls, and watched him stop beside her.

Five minutes. She concentrated on that thought as the doors slowly closed. She knew that nothing much would happen, but if it were a rational feeling, she would definitely have no trouble dealing with it. She watched the floor counter rise, as if it were counting down to the number the assistant had pressed after entering.

Three floors before they reached their destination, the elevator stopped with a slight jolt. Farah moved almost unconsciously, her hands grasping the arm of the man standing next to her.

Silva lowered his eyes to the firm touch around his arm, somewhat surprised by the unexpected action, but he didn't move from where he was. He noticed that the expression on her face had become more tense, even though she wasn't looking at him. He subtly took a step to the side, coming a little closer to her, in the short space of time that a gentleman in a blue suit joined them and the elevator began to rise again.

Neither of them tried to turn away quickly from the touch. Something told him that she needed it somehow, so he just stood beside her in silence. And indeed she did, even if for the short time remaining until the doors opened again on the floor they were supposed to go down.

The assistant who accompanied them held the door open for the two to pass through. Dowling finally let go of the director's shirt sleeve in a subtle movement. Perhaps at another time she would be able to thank him out loud for staying. She felt his subtle touch on one of her shoulders, as if he were guiding her down the corridor, but at the same time wanted to make sure that everything was really all right. She just looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile.

“Someone from production will pick you up in an hour," the young man said as they arrived in front of the dressing room door.

“Perfect,” Silva offered a friendly smile.

°°°

The dressing room was a considerably large space. The room had two sofas, a television showing some of the station's daily programming, and next to the door was a table with some canapés and drinks chilled in small ice buckets. On one wall, large windows gave a wide view of the city towards the Hudson River, on the other - opposite the device that broke the silence of the room - a large mirror and a door that gave access to a more private area for changing.

Farah left her bag on one of the sofa racks and took out her cell phone so that she could give Ben an update on how the trip had gone so far. The separate outfits for the two of them were on the hangers next to the bathroom door and, considering the short time they would have to get ready before going into the interview, he asked her to get ready first, giving her more time to prepare calmly afterwards.

He removed his glasses, leaving them on the coffee table between the sofas, and picked up the hanger with the clothes labeled with his name. He changed quickly, putting on black  pants and a white shirt, leaving the blazer on last. Silva washed his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink for a few seconds. His stomach burned with anxiety at the thought that he was following exactly the steps Rosalind wanted him to follow: the good old ladder to the news.

It was clear that everything surrounding his name in the movie wasn't exactly interesting in his work. The tone was much more one of speculation about how his work was going together with the other name in question. Farah Dowling. He believed it was about her and how she had fallen into perhaps the most unlikely production of her career.

Sixteen years earlier the situation would have been completely different. They could have been on more or less the same level, making things much easier. But that wasn't the case. And he would have to deal with it, only he hoped in a better way than he had been dealing with everything else.

He dried his face and hands, pulling on the jacket he was wearing earlier to check the pockets. Shit. The contact lenses had been left in the handbag that had gone straight to the hotel. He would have to manage without them, and without his glasses. He had heard many times, when he was still married to Nathalie, about how to build a public image and all that nonsense.

He left his own clothes on the hanger, putting on his blazer and finally heading back to the living room 10 minutes later.

The actress passed him at almost the same moment, carrying her dress over her shoulder. She had done her makeup lightly while waiting for him, so all she had to do was adjust her outfit and finish fixing her hair. She had done this so many times that it was almost an automatic task for her.

The dress sorted by the team had possibly been Rose's idea, as it looked exactly like the kind of outfit her friend would throw on at the first opportunity. It was elegant, but made of an apparently very comfortable black fabric, with a zipper that went halfway up the back where the straps intertwined. The length was also great, a little below the knees, and just right to define the curves of her body.

She quickly got dressed, put on the black sandals that were separated next to him and - just like Silva - left his own clothes on the hanger.

She looked at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, adjusting the earrings she had brought with her and the rings she was wearing, checking that everything matched the way she had imagined. When everything was aligned, she took a few deep breaths.

As much as Farah knew that their interest in going there was to start promoting the new movie, the same topics were always in danger of coming up. And as much as she hated it, she had to be ready to pretend - or rather, act - if any of them came up during the interview. Your ghosts were yours, and in order not to make things worse, the best thing you could do was pretend they didn't exist when they walked down the red carpet of any of your jobs.

She went back out into the lighter room so that she could finish fixing her hair. Before she'd even seen the outfit they'd chosen, she'd already decided that it would be easier and more comfortable to keep it loose, but now that she saw the cut of the top of the dress, she might try pinning it up somehow.

She reached into her bag for some hairpins before heading back to the large mirror. Silva was standing in front of the windows that flanked the room, observing the view below with his hands in his pockets. He noticed again the tension that had been very present in his shoulders over the last few days. He took another deep breath.

Even if he didn't know it, he had helped her a few minutes earlier when they were in the elevator. The least she could do was find a way to relax the silence that was beginning to overwhelm the place.

“Either you're a big fan of the Hudson River,” she stopped in front of the mirror. “Or there's something bothering you.”

The man turned towards her, turning his attention away from the view from the window. Farah was holding some hairpins, but at that moment she was analyzing him in the reflection of the mirror. She thought she knew what was making him tense up like that, but she was afraid of being invasive if she simply asked about it.

“It's a beautiful river, and the movie about the plane landing is also very good,” he tried to relax. The comment made her shake her head. “But the situation is giving me the shivers.”

“Imagining Tom Hanks?” she joked back. Silva laughed weakly. “Or stepping out from behind the cameras in front of them?”

It was a good way to start.

“I've never felt very comfortable with that kind of circus ," he shrugged. “As you just said, my place is behind the cameras.”

“But people want to hear you talk about the movie," she replied. “If you know what you're talking about, there's no reason to consider throwing yourself from up here.”

“Well, let's just say that I know the tone that awaits us when we leave here," he replied. “And I don't have the patience to deal with it. Let's just say that sixteen years of hearing the same thing is long enough.”

Farah remained silent for a few seconds. She knew what he was talking about, after all, the speech about the director's work was often repeated. She herself had arrived in America with this idea in mind. She also understood what it was like to spend almost twenty years hearing the same thing every time she tried to talk about her new work.

“It's simple," she said at the end. “Don't give them what they want. If you've convinced FW, and you've convinced me , half a dozen reporters is the least of it.”

Saul smiled, not knowing quite what to say. In a way, she was right. If he had managed to get that far only by being sure of what he was doing, one or two sensationalist journalists would be the least of it. In her silence, Farah went back to looking at her reflection to finish fixing her hair.

He kept looking at her, his shoulder resting on the side of the window. The actress pulled her hair forward, leaving her back exposed by the dress. The zipper that went up to the end of the fabric was still about two fingers open, probably unnoticed by the covering of the long strands.

“Your dress," he said, leaning back.

“What?” She looked over her shoulder.

“The zipper is still open,” he indicated her back.

Farah turned her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder at the back of her dress. She put one of her hands behind her back, trying to reach it without much success.

“Shit," she cursed softly.

“I…” he cleared his throat. “May I?”

She seemed to hesitate for a millisecond before turning her back to him and facing the mirror again.

“Please," she replied.

Saul approached her, pushing aside a few strands of hair that were still there. She watched him attentively through her reflection, ignoring the urge to turn her face to look at him over her shoulder. He pulled up the remaining two centimeters of zipper without much effort, taking longer than she should to look at what she was doing.

“Two minutes,” a deep voice in the hallway came followed by three short knocks on the door.

He pulled away in a near jolt, putting his cold hands in his pockets. He would certainly have pushed his glasses back on if he was wearing them.

“Good luck to us, Hollywood,” she turned to him again, with a smile in her corner.

°°°

From the corridor, they could hear the noise of the audience inside the studio during the recording break. The talk show would consist of a brief interview about the movie and then a quick Q&A about the production.

As soon as they entered, guided by the show's production team, they stopped to wait next to the entrance demarcation. A few people from the audience waved excitedly at her. Billy Tucker, the show's presenter, was reading some chips sitting in a chair behind his desk.

“Recording in 3… 2…” one of the directors signaled from behind the cameras, causing the presenter to drop his papers and turn towards one of the cameras. “Action!”

“We're back, and now, with exclusives,” he smiled. “I hope you're ready for this, because I wasn't myself when the production confirmed the participation of these two people.”

The audience reacted enthusiastically.

“Straight from the land of the Queen, one of our greatest ladies of cinema, nominated three times for an Oscar and winner of a beautiful golden statuette,” a short pause. “And coming from the city of angels, he who was one of the youngest film directors to win an award, and winner of a Golden Globe for Best Director,” another pause, while the audience was already getting up. “Farah Dowling and Saul Silva.”

Billy dragged his chair backwards to the sound of clapping, as he stood up to greet the guests entering the stage. Saul again subtly touched his hand to the back of the woman accompanying him, guiding her one step ahead of him. They quickly turned to the audience to wave to them with a smile on their faces, before turning back to the presenter.

They greeted each other with a firm handshake before heading to their seats. He indicated the sofa for Farah to sit on first, taking the seat next to her. Silence returned to the studio.

“I have to say that when I first heard about The Lucky One I almost couldn't believe how unlikely it sounded,” Billy smiled.

“Well, I must say I heard that from the studio too," Silva jokes, making the other laugh.

Farah looked at him with a smile. He was doing well, if he hadn't given up by then he could easily make it to the end. Internally, he was grateful that he wasn't going through this alone, and - above all - that she was the one with him.

“So, for the home audience to understand,” Billy pulled out one of the cards. “Our guests today are here to promote the, I have to bet, production of the year. The movie ‘The Lucky One’. Farah, back in America after a few years, how did the invitation to participate  come about?”

“Unusual," she replied. “But it was too interesting a script to pass up. In fact, I hadn't had any contact with the production itself, nor with Saul, everything came through the studio and my agent.”

She felt Saul hold back his laughter in a barely contained smile. The story of how she had actually been cast in the movie would definitely make good stories, but none of them the way they wanted. But he could imagine what it would be like to say "I had a contract to fulfill, my agent was desperate and I thought it would be a failure, but here we are" , just as he could imagine saying "one fine day I left home and discovered that this would be my leading lady" . She understood the joke, so she couldn't reproach him even with her gaze.

“Our initial idea was an unknown cast, completely new people,” Saul said. “Farah was definitely a surprise to me when the studio informed me that she had agreed to take part in the movie.”

“A stroke of luck, director?” Tucker laughed, looking at them.

Silva raised his hands in modesty. He seemed to be getting comfortable, since things were really going the way he hoped they would, and seeing him more relaxed was also making her feel calmer.

“There wouldn't be another Emilly Kerman, I dare to say," he said at last.

“Don't give me so much credit,” Farah looked away from the director to the other. “He must have said that to every single actress who auditioned.”

Silva laughed, and the audience also seemed to be amused by the comment.

“You seem to have a good dynamic," Billy said. “That's fundamental for the work to go well, no doubt about it. So, before we move on to the other part of our interview, what should we expect to see reflected in the movie?”

The two remained silent for a few seconds. Farah turned back to him, who shrugged, indicating that she should speak first. Anything Saul said at that moment would end up with him laughing in some way. A good dynamic. Less than a week ago they were almost setting the studio on fire just by passing each other in the corridor. But yes, in the twenty hours that their truce lasted, he had to agree.

“Saul brought a proposal that I hadn't worked with before, which is trying to shoot the movie in single takes, even with the camera games,” she began, taking her time to look away from him. It was funny how, at that moment, they called each other by their first names as if it was the most common thing they'd done since they'd met. “I think that says a lot about his confidence in the cast and ours in his work. So I think the result on screen will be interesting to watch.”

“Risky, don't you think?” the presenter looked at Silva.

“It's like she said," he shrugged. “I trust what my cast is doing. And I think I've gotten some credit with them too.”

The interview went on for two or three more questions before Tucker announced a new break. He stood up, going to one of the sides to adjust his make-up and tie.

Farah turned to the man sitting next to her, who seemed to be breathing faster than usual, and picked up the glass of water on the table to reach him.

“Be careful you don't end up splashing everywhere," she joked quietly.

Silva narrowed his eyes, took a small sip of the liquid and put it on the table next to him. He thought about replying, but the other man was already returning to them to continue. In all those years, perhaps he had never felt as nervous as he did at that moment, even though he could see things going better than they were. Farah had a confident posture and an ease that he would never have, but it seemed that next to her his little self-confidence problem, for the first time, was almost disappearing.

“We're back with a simple dynamic now,” Billy put a pot of paper on his desk. “When our audience had access to the first publicity images, the ones our home audience is going to see now, we asked them to write down some questions for you.”

“Right," they answered together.

“Silva, I'm going to ask you to remove the first one and read it, please,” he held out the glass to him. “Then feel free to reply.”

Saul put his hand inside the glass, moving the papers between his fingers to finally pick one up. He unfolded it in front of him, squinting a little to focus on the small print. The glasses. Farah's laugh pulled him back from his moment of irritation, making him look away from her.

“You can't see anything, can you?” she said.

He laughed weakly, a little awkwardly, before nodding.

“Not a word," he replied. The audience laughed again. “If this were a game, you'd certainly have the advantage.”

She laughed again, taking the paper from his hand. Behind the cameras, she noticed some movement outside the studio.

“Define the protagonist in three words,” she read. “Start.”

“Good,” he frowned. “Brave. Strong…”

“You're being cliché,” Dowling rolled her eyes.

“Well, do the honors then, Your Majesty ," he returned.

She crossed her arms in disbelief at the use of the nickname, but for the first time managed to take it in a relaxed way. Perhaps because it was the first time it had really been used like that, and not at times when they were almost... Anyway. She shook her head, re-reading the question.

“Audacious. Okay, we agree with ‘strong’. And I think challenging.”

“Challenging is a good word," he agreed.

One of the production assistants asked to be excused, entering the studio space with the director's prescription glasses in his hand. Silva took them, thanking him with a nod. The audience reacted again, applauding with a humorous tone, making the man wave to them too.

“Can you see now, Hollywood?” she called out, waving to him.

Bingo. Paid in full.

“Don't worry, I could see you anyway.”

The words escaped freely. He felt his face heat up, calling himself a big idiot again. He knew what tone it could have come out in, and the worst thing was that it might have been exactly the way he would have liked to say it. The audience had reacted, or at least she thought they had, because for a few seconds the sounds seemed somewhat muffled and a certain heat burned the pit of her stomach.

“Shall we continue?” he finally managed to say.

Farah picked up the glass jar with the questions again, turning towards him. Silva pushed his glasses back into place, and she smiled as she watched him pull out one of the papers to read.

The tone of the dynamic remained light, calm. For the first time in years, the two, who in silence shared almost the same fears about the past, were able to look forward. The focus remained squarely on the movie to come, and you could genuinely feel people's excitement and expectation to really see it work.

The questions took a funny turn at times, at others they followed a more technical pattern, but they still allowed the two of them to talk about the movie. Saul had to admit, at that moment, that Rosalind was indeed right in a way. And in many ways, perhaps. Firstly, Farah was definitely the best thing that could happen to the movie. And secondly, that The Lucky One was already a success even before it was released. Perhaps the high expectations that had been building up around the movie would have put pressure on it, caused some negative anxiety and increased nervousness. But curiously, the opposite was happening. The director was feeling anxious, indeed, but more than anything he was sure of the good work they were doing. There was no chance of disappointing the public when his movie was shown. He put his hand in the fire for that.

The recording, which was supposed to last no more than half an hour, ended up doubling in time at the instigation of the program's producers. They knew that a lot would end up cut in the final edit, but they still had a lot of good material to put on the air the same night.

They took some photos in the studio with Billy Tucker, which would be used to promote the show on social media, and were finally released to leave the station. They went through the dressing room again, changing their clothes while the assistant assigned by FW was already waiting for them in the corridor. They knew they would be staying at the Plaza, as Rosalind herself had already told them, along with the other points of the trip, but much more than that would still be a surprise for both of them.

The walk from the station building to the hotel would take less than ten minutes, but when they got off the car was already waiting for them in front of the main entrance. They made their way in silence, a little tired from the rush of the day and with the exhaustion of a full week added to it. Phillipe, the newly discovered name of the young man who had accompanied them from the airport, took advantage of the four minutes until they reached their destination to confirm their schedule for the next few days. The interview they had just recorded would be aired on the 9pm show, as was expected. On Saturday, they would have the photo shoot and another interview, only this time for Planet Hollywood. Sunday had been set aside just so that they could have a smooth flight back to California at two o'clock in the afternoon.

When the car finally pulled up in front of the Grand Plaza Hotel, the clock was almost seven o'clock in the evening and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. They were given a few more instructions and access cards to the two-room suite rented by the studio. A group of around 15 people were waiting in front of the main entrance.

“Your arrival in NY has been much talked about," Phillipe said as he parked.

Farah just mumbled an "all right" , after all, she was more than used to that kind of reception when people found out about her movements around places. It was definitely another point where she missed home, where she could live in the tranquility of being just another person. Saul got out of the car first, seeing the people waiting for her - waiting for them - stretching in anticipation, and went around the car to open the door on the side where she was standing.

The actress thanked him with a smile, putting her bag on her shoulder as she walked past him towards the entrance. The hotel security guards moved towards them, but she signaled to them that everything was fine. It wouldn't be the minutes she spent attending to those people that would make a big difference to her hours of rest. The director just waved to a few people, standing on the steps while she signed some posters and notebooks and took some photos.

It didn't take much longer than half an hour before everyone began to disperse in a satisfied manner. It was likely that more people would be there soon, even more so with the speed with which the information was being transmitted on the internet, so they took the opportunity to enter the hotel's main hall. The manager was waiting for them with a cheerful smile on his face, his hands folded behind his back and his posture perfectly aligned in his perfectly pressed suit.

“It's an honor to finally have you here," he said cheerfully. “I imagine you must be exhausted. We've set up a special table in the restaurant for you, so feel free to make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be waiting for you.”

Silva couldn't help but feel a little annoyed by the kind of excessive flattery that some places sometimes gave. As if someone was watching every step they took, almost holding them back so that they didn't fall or take a single step sideways. They were always in everyone's sight, even more so now that they were there for just that. To be seen.

It would definitely be perfect if they could get away from it for just a few minutes. If they went up to the room at that moment, they would have to change again, minimally conforming to the dress code they expected in the executive restaurant of a place like that, and it wouldn't be dinner or a moment of rest. People would be around them all the time, asking questions, trying too hard to please them when perhaps they didn't even need anything. The director looked for his friendliest smile, put his hands in his pockets and took a step forward towards the man looking at them.

He hadn't asked Farah anything about it, not least because it had been a last-minute idea, but he would understand perfectly well if she didn't want to go along with what he was going to do. That kind of thing was a thousand times more a part of her life than it would ever be of his.

“Actually," he said at last. “Is there an alternative way out that we could use?”

The manager seemed to be taken by surprise, blinking a few times before answering. Dowling didn't seem to understand very well either, but at first decided not to say anything. What the hell is he thinking?

“Well,” the other frowned. “We have it. I can show it to you.”

Saul just nodded. The man turned, following the side path at a moderate pace. Farah finally moved, taking him by the arm before he followed suit.

“Alternative exit?” she said quietly to him.

“Let's just say I've been flattered enough for one day," he looked at her. “And I'd particularly like to take a break from all of this.”

“But you said ‘we could’," she narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he pushed his glasses up with his free hand.  “But I'll understand if you want to stay. You're much more used to everything than I am…”

“I think that if we don't go now,” she interrupted him. “We'll lose sight of him.”

She smiled a little, letting go of his wrist, which she was still holding. Maybe it was a crazy idea? It probably was, but what about the whole thing - from the moment she accepted the role in the movie - wasn't a completely crazy idea?

He smiled back before spinning on his heels behind the guide, who was almost lost in one of the turns to the side corridors.

°°°

They practically had to walk around the hotel block after they left through one of the back doors. It was a funny situation to think about, but at the same time it was as if going out that way allowed the air to enter their lungs in a different way. They crossed the avenue to Central Park, passing people too busy with their own issues to really notice who they were.

The night was already coming on, illuminating the long path of lamps along the way. For a few minutes they stood in silence, walking alongside each other, paying attention to everything that passed them by, but at the same time allowing themselves not to really pay attention to anything.

The idea had actually been ideal. As much as they weren't in a quiet place, it was a neutral place. No people walking around them, or all the time asking if they needed anything or walking them through the next steps. The week had been exhausting, with days spent recording in the studio. And no matter how organized the days were, they were always the mess you'd expect from Hollywood.

There were no people shouting out their names every few minutes, or any obligations they had to fulfill. It was, if you were to use a good metaphor, as if the professionals were still waiting for them in the hotel lobby and they were just two people walking side by side.

Silva still felt anxious, even though the interview had been a thousand times better than he had expected. There would be a second part to everything. After all, inside the studio, managing to guide his answers into safe questions, everything had gone well, but now they would need to make an impression on the millions of people who would be watching the two of them in a few minutes' time. Something told him that the repercussions on the internet could be even greater than the studio itself expected. And from that place where opinions could run free, he definitely didn't know what to expect.

“You did very well today,” her voice called him out of his reverie. Saul put his hands in his pockets before turning his face towards her.

Farah wasn't looking at him. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her and stared at the road.

“You kept things under control," he replied.

“I didn't do anything more than give you a bottle of water," she shrugged.

“Perhaps someone else in your position would have taken the opportunity to throw me into the fire," he replied.

“There will be a lot of opportunities for me to throw you into the fire,” finally turning to look at him.

Saul laughed weakly, shaking his head slightly. The subject came to a natural end, with silence returning to the two of them, only in a comfortable way. Further along the path they were following, some food and game stalls stretched along the sides of the sidewalk.

A few people were scattered around, occupying the spaces and chatting in small groups. One of the first stalls had more adults than children, even though they were squeezing in between their parents' legs.

Sky loved those things as a child, collecting stuffed animals that Saul picked up at games every weekend they spent together. Their walk to the Santa Monica pier park was an obligatory 40-minute drive every Saturday.

The director's long sigh did not go unnoticed by the woman accompanying him, making her tilt her face slightly to the side to analyze his expression.

“A big fan of amusement parks, I imagine," she said at last.

Silva looked at her again.

“Don't tell me you limit yourselves to polo matches in England?”

“You know, Mr. Silva, sometimes I wonder if you would say these things in front of the Queen” she put her hands on her waist. “Her Majesty would be delighted to meet you.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Do you know the Queen?” he asked.

Farah laughed, shrugging.

“Why don't you show me some exciting American fun?” She pointed out the darts game up ahead.

The man shrugged, reaching for one of her hands to pull her towards the stall a few meters ahead.

“Good night,” the lady smiled as soon as they arrived. “Two dollars, five darts. If you pop all five balloons, the prize is yours.”

“Counteroffer,” he smiled. “Five dollars, ten darts. If I hit them all, I can choose the prize.”

“Good luck,” the lady pulled the cash from the counter, and gave him a yellow bucket with de darts.

“A bit cocky, don't you think?” Farah murmured to him, laughing.

“Excuse me?” He looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

She let go of his hand, which she hadn't realized she was still holding, and stepped back to watch. Silva positioned himself at the mark on the ground, taking the first of the ten darts between his fingers. He took a deep breath, aimed at one of the balloons with his hand raised in front of his face and threw it accurately. He carried on like this, trying to ignore the anxiety with which she watched him every time he hit. Some of the people waiting nearby came over to watch as he played.

Eight balloons popped. He dried his sweaty palms on his pants, picking up the penultimate dart from the bucket. The balloon popped, and a few people around vibrated. Farah laughed, crossing her arms again in front of her body and he turned over his shoulder to look at her.

“No pressure,” she smiled.

Saul turned again, picked up the last dart and repeated the concentration process. He threw it at the last balloon, hitting it without much difficulty. The lady in charge of the stall looked at him impressed and approached the counter again. Farah was definitely awestruck by his side, but she must have figured that he would never accept the challenge if he wasn't absolutely certain that he could prove the point.

“That one, please,” he pointed to one of the smaller teddies on the hooks next to it.

The lady took out the small stuffed octopus with an angry face and handed it to him, congratulating him once again on having succeeded, and moved away to attend to the next family that was approaching. He turned to Farah again, with a smug smile in his corner, and walked away with her, making room for the others to approach.

“I admit it," she said. “Impressive. But it would have been better without your glasses.”

“And apparently, I was right in my choice," he replied, holding out the plush to her. “It reminds me of you.”

She looked at the object stretched out in her direction for a few seconds and then looked at it again. The angry face on the plush was a clear reference to the souvenir, but was he giving it to her?

“Should I wait for you to catch on or for a child to run past and grab it?” he cleared his throat.

Perhaps the gesture had crossed a line. This was a truce, not a relationship of years. He was still the backyard director and she was the great actress. To think of forgetting that was to consolidate the mistake. He was about to withdraw his hand when she moved to pick up the octopus.

“Thank you," she smiled. Saul could read a change in her posture, but he couldn't tell what it was. “I owe you a game of polo.”

He laughed, getting rid of the tension that was already taking over his shoulders. A truce. Farah took a deep breath. Where he's just returning the kindness.

“Shall we go back?” he indicated with his eyes in the direction of the hotel that lit up the end of the road they had come from.

She just nodded, holding the gift close to her as they turned in the same direction they had come from.

Once again they took the long way around, avoiding the glorious entrance that probably awaited them at the main gates. They had been on the run for almost two hours. By then the interview had already been aired, and was probably the talk of many places. But they could still guarantee some more quiet time, at least until next morning.

They re-entered through the back doors from where they had left earlier, turning around on the same path they had used to get there. The instructions about the suite access cards and the room details had been passed on in the few minutes they had spent in the manager's presence, so they had run straight into the large hall with the elevators. Farah had been too calm for the last few hours to consciously think about the long climb ahead of them, but it was inevitable not to feel her hands freeze the moment the doors opened for them to pass through.

He pressed the button in the elevator to the floor of their suite while she went to the same place as always, near one of the side walls at the back. Saul would normally stop somewhere without much thought, but he remembered how it had been when they had arrived at CBS earlier, so he moved over to her. Farah watched the man stop next to her, with his shoulder just a few centimeters from touching her, and cross his arms in an ordinary way. He wouldn't say anything, but the simple gesture served to show that he was there even if he didn't know why she was like this.

The reserved suite was on the penultimate floor and had a large living room with a large sofa and a television and two bedrooms side by side. A relief in a way. The studio's investment in their stay was high, but not high enough to be risky. In any case, they couldn't deny that it was extremely comfortable.

They went in silence, each to one of the bedrooms, carrying the suitcase that was waiting for them just inside the entrance. Now that he was "home", the tiredness of the day began to hit harder, accompanied by sleep. Silva took a quick shower, returning alone to the living room at first.

The sofa had a wide seat, enough for him to lean back with his legs up and his feet resting on the coffee table. He turned on the TV, as he usually did at home, to keep the noise down. He only turned on the light from one of the lamps, as the place was well lit by the streetlights coming in through the open curtains, and reached into one of his pockets for his cell phone to send news to Sky.

Soon Farah came out of her room, wearing light fabric pants and a blouse in the same color. She joined him on the sofa, sitting down next to him while she typed something into her phone. Ben would want to know how things had gone in detail, she couldn't forget to answer him later, but there were a lot of messages about how the interview had gone.

“It seems we're having repercussions," she said, placing her cell phone on the coffee table.

“I'll have the luxury of ignoring this until tomorrow,” he repeated the gesture.

“Agreed," she nodded, tucking her legs in.

She stopped for a few seconds, paying attention to the movie playing and leaned her body back, resting her head against the back of the sofa. She felt the sofa sinking in a little more as Silva settled himself on the place in the same way as her, reaching for the TV remote to turn up the volume a little. They lay in silence, letting their tired bodies take over as sleep came to them both.

She knew that, after falling asleep, she had felt a little cold at some point, but then she felt warm. And that's how she felt as she slowly began to wake up. She opened her eyes slowly, trying to get a sense of where she was. The television timer had turned it off at some point, but one of the digital clocks on the hack read almost three o'clock in the morning. The room was now lit only by the lamp that seemed much less bright, and she finally had a sense of where and how she was.

At some point they had grown closer to each other. Perhaps he had also felt as cold as she did. Somehow they had gotten to where they were. Farah had her head resting on the man's chest, who was still leaning against the back of the sofa, although a little more towards her. One of his arms was quietly embracing her shoulders. Saul had a peaceful expression on his face and seemed to be genuinely resting.

For a second, she had no idea what to do. The right thing to do was to get up, wake him up and each of them go to their own rooms. And then pretend that much of that day hadn't even existed. But just as she thought about moving, she heard him sigh, lightly squeezing her arm to pull her to him again.

She cursed herself again for feeling it. It was wrong. It was exactly what she had been saying from the first second that she wouldn't let it happen, but in that inconsequential moment it was also stronger than her.

She snuggled into his embrace, lying back against the man's chest as his breathing calmed down.

And she allowed herself to stay.

Chapter Text

Saul woke up to a funny sensation on the tip of his nose and moved one of his hands to push it away. He settled his back against the comfortable backrest of the sofa, gradually becoming aware of the rest of his body and the warm, comfortable weight against his chest.

His eyes felt the first discomfort from the bright sunshine coming through the large windows of the suite and he had to blink a few times before finally facing the situation. Farah was resting her head peacefully against his chest, one of her arms wrapped around his back, one of her hands firmly gripping the fabric of his T-shirt. He had woken up to the feel of her hair against his face, and only God could tell how long it had been like that. 

He wasted too much time looking at the two of them. His hand fitted almost perfectly around her waist, holding her close, snug as if that had always been where he belonged. Idiot. Idiot. He breathed heavily through his lips in a frustrated attempt to move without waking her. But he couldn't, especially with her perfectly aligned on his body as she was.

The woman was awakened by the movement, with a long sigh leaving her body, before slowly opening her eyes, also bothered by the sensation the brightness was bringing. She paused for a few seconds, as if she once again needed time to understand the situation, raising her face to look into his pair of blue eyes, which stared back at her. 

Neither of them moved for a while, close enough to feel their breaths meet before their faces touched. Farah cursed himself again in silence, now more certain than before that she should have left when she woke up at dawn. Perhaps Silva would never find out how close they had gotten that night. And they certainly wouldn't have woken up like that, as close as they were at that moment. 

Too close. Dangerous perhaps. He felt his mind blur for a few seconds, as if something other than his reason was making a point of disturbing him at that moment. He felt his face heat up, but he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment that was taking over.

His palm seemed to burn against her waist. 

Farah seemed to snap out of her trance, quickly turning her eyes away from his face. The pit of her stomach tingled as if she were thousands of meters high, on the edge of a cliff, about to jump off. She braced her hand against his chest, finally managing to push herself back. The slightly chilly air slapped against both of them, causing both bodies to protest at the sudden lack of contact with each other.

“I…” his voice came out hoarse, still burdened by his newly awakened sleep. She moved too, pulling the arm that was still around him closer to her own body. “I…”

She moved her body further to the side, while he moved almost at the same moment to sit on the edge of the seat.

“It's been a long day," she replied, tying her hair up in a loose bun. She tried to feign triviality as best she could. 

“A long day," he repeated, clearing his throat. “And we were tired.”

“A lot," she agreed. “And we ended up sleeping.”

Farah merely nodded. They shared the same sequence of feelings about what had happened, even if they felt it necessary to justify to each other that it hadn't been a conscious act to have sought each other out in their sleep. Perhaps they were more justifying it to themselves, as a way of ignoring the feeling of emptiness that seemed to be where their bodies had touched seconds before.

The silence that fell at that moment was, with absolute certainty, the most embarrassing they had ever experienced. Possibly all their lives. And not just because they didn't know what or if they should say anything else. She hadn't had such a restful night's sleep in a long - long - time, as she had in that one. But the feeling of rest was quickly buried by the certainty that she should have gotten out of there when she had the chance. She didn't want to think about how she felt. But she was almost one hundred percent sure that it might be too late.

The phone alarm on both their cell phones started ringing at the same moment, breaking the silence with the loud sound of the two devices together, and they came to their senses almost in a jolt. They turned off the ringtone and stood up in almost mirror-like movements. Saul took a deep breath, filling his chest with what little courage he had, and looked at the woman standing less than a step away.

“I'm sorry if I…” he tried again, but he had the impression that anything he tried to say would die in his mouth. 

In a way, it's a good thing it didn't end. After all, what would you say? I'm sorry if I got lost in how comfortable it seemed to have you around. No. I'd already signed off on a lot of stupid attitudes. You didn't need to subject yourself to another one of them.

“You haven't tarnished my honor or anything like that," she tried to use an acid tone. He could take it as a joke and it would definitely be easier to look him in the face. “And I hope I haven't tarnished yours. Because I'm just as guilty as you are.”

Saul raised an eyebrow at her.

"Good," he said. Her tool was the right one to use at that moment. ”I guess again today then…”

She seemed to freeze for a few seconds, tucking the lock of hair that had come out of the bun behind her ear.

“Today,” she sniffled. “Today again…?"

“A full day,” he held up the cell phone between them. “Today is going to be a full day again.”

Farah just nodded again. Once again they seemed to move in a mirror image, moving forward at almost the same moment, unintentionally stopping each other in their tracks. Farah stopped, crossing her arms in front of her body and avoiding looking at him. Too close again. 

Silva took a step to the side, carefully moving his body away from hers, even though the slight rubbing of the fabric of his shirt against her clothes seemed enough to make him clear his throat again.

They had a long day of work ahead of them. And while they concentrated on that, they would both be safe within their comfort zone. The only thing they needed to do was to take meticulous care to stay within it.

The actress remained still for a few seconds, arms crossed in front of her body, and took a deep breath, only leaving the room when he closed the door behind him. She let her shoulders drop, closing her eyes for a few seconds. What exactly was she thinking? What was she imagining? That she would just sleep there, with him, all night, and then have time to leave when it was comfortable?

Perhaps that was the biggest mistake. Being comfortable. As if being completely upset was comfortable. She would do what she always did best. She would work and think only about what she needed to do. That way she wouldn't have to face everything else. 

She picked up her phone again from the coffee table and headed for her own room, closing the door behind her as well. The bed was set up with the intention of returning there the night before, with the suitcase open on top of one of the armchairs and the small teddy he had won for her on top of one of her pillows. She walked over to the bed, holding it in one hand for a few seconds, trying to think clearly about what she should do with it. Farah felt the stupid urge to smile, holding it as long as she could and throwing it into her handbag. 

The device's screen lit up in one of her hands, vibrating against her palm and making her look away to see what it was. They still had an hour before they were due to leave, so that was all the time they had to get ready with the clothes already sorted by production. It was going to be a media day, even more so after the - as yet unknown - repercussions of the previous day's interview, so they had to be ready for it.

She picked up one of the dresses that Rose had sorted on one of the hangers and didn't even think much about it, sitting down on the end of the bed to look at the whirlwind of things arriving on her cell.

Ben Harvey - 10:30pm

"I hope you're following the interview. It's going to be big!"

Ben Harvey - 11:00pm

"Incredible! I knew it would be incredible. Congratulations on that and on getting bigger and bigger."

Ben Harvey - 11:57pm

"The reviews aren't out yet, but the repercussions on the internet are even better than we imagined"

"Rosalind was right to send you two"

Ben Harvey - 12:21am

"Rose says I'm bothering you"

"Rest up, but tomorrow I want to know the details"

Ben Harvey - 12:23am

"We love you and we're proud of you"

It was amazing how she could see exactly the scene in front of her. Ben pacing back and forth in the living room, while Rose was still on the sofa, possibly with the remote control in her hands, laughing at her husband's euphoric state and telling him to let her rest. It would be good to have her friends there. Farah was wishing she could talk to Rose right now.

She felt as if the stuffed animal inside her bag could look at her. Perhaps it was best not to talk to anyone, not even herself. 

Ben Harvey - 08:23am

"Good morning! The schedule is full, but I know you'll do well again."

"I think you would like to see that"

Just below her friend's last message was a link to The New York Times website, followed by a few more that she didn't pay attention to. She would look after she had finished viewing the messages, or at least some of them.

Rose Harvey - 08:35am

"I didn't think you'd go another day without hearing from me."

"Good luck"

"Break a leg!"

The rest of the things didn't seem important enough for her to stop everything she was doing to look. But the link to the article Ben had sent still seemed to flash between the messages. Priorities. She left her cell phone on the bed and headed for the bathroom to start getting ready. 

She took a quick shower, did some light makeup - since she might have to redo it for the photos - and changed her clothes. The black tailored pants had a high waist and a perfect fit - there was no denying that Rose had a great eye for that kind of thing. She then put on a white satin blouse, fastening it to the hem of the pants and adjusting it in front of her breasts and the sleeves at elbow height. For a few minutes, she considered whether to let her hair down or just put it up in a neat bun, but thinking along the same lines as the make-up, she thought the first option would be less work.

°°°

Saul blinked a few times in front of the bathroom mirror, giving his eyes time to get used to the contact lenses so that he could see well again. One of the things he would definitely have at the top of his list from that weekend onwards was an extra pair with him. He wouldn't risk it being like the first interview, just as he wouldn't risk dying in his mouth like a stupid fish. 

He needed to have as many things under control as possible to avoid hitching a ride on a bus that was heading for the first wall it came across.

He put his blazer on over his white shirt and adjusted his collar in front of the mirror before returning to his room. His wallet and cell phone were on the bed - which still had the covers neatly arranged from lack of use. He gathered his things and put them in his trouser pocket. He also gathered his pair of glasses to leave on the living room table for when he arrived.

When he left the room, he noticed that he was still alone and allowed himself a few deep breaths. His thoughts were more in order, but he still felt that part of his mind was even more troubled than before. Now, as well as having to deal with the awkward moment he'd spent minutes before, he was starting to break out in a cold sweat, anxious about the busy routine of the day ahead.

He hadn't yet had the courage to open any news or social networks to see how the interview from the night before was going. He would keep completely out of it for as long as he could. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to consuming negative reviews about himself, or anything sensationalist that had come out with his name in the last sixteen years. What was really weighing on him was the fact that he really thought things had gone well, at least to the point where he had managed to feel less tense. If he saw that he was just clowning himself about that, and that things were exactly the same as they had been in California, he definitely wouldn't be able to work. And that was the last thing he needed.

He left his glasses on the coffee table, checked the time on his wristwatch and went to the window. People were already moving almost frantically down the street. He stared for a few seconds at the street they had passed the night before, observing in the distance the games and food stalls enclosed in colorful tarpaulins. 

The low beep of the cell phone in his pocket snapped him out of the wave of daydreams that might come next, making him realize that - apart from not having read anything about the talkshow - he hadn't opened a single message he'd received since the previous afternoon when they landed. He searched for his device, unlocking it and opening the app to see the long list of unread messages. The studio working group was one of the conversations that had the most notifications, and as much as he might have wanted to ignore them, the thought that maybe they were things about the recording tasks he had left made him open them first. 

Technical notes. Reminders. Notes. And just below were some photos of the team with some of the younger members of the cast. He thought he briefly recognized the place, but realized that just below it there were things about the interview, so he just closed it and moved on to the next two he could read. Rosalind and Sky.

At least it's not a phone call. He thought. That way you can't hear her tone of voice, which sounds like she's going to fire you all the time.

Rosalind - 11:05pm

"Waiting for you to tell me how right I was"

"Congratulations"

He took a deep breath, swiping the screen to see the next one.

Rosalind - 12:01am

" The repercussions on the internet don't lie. The Lucky One is big "

At the bottom there was a sequence of links to Twitter and Instagram pages, but at that moment they were completely out of the question. He simply returned to the conversations menu, opening his son's contact, who had as many messages as the group with his production colleagues.

Sky - 12:30am

"Good luck, Dad. If you've faced a marriage with my mother, you can face anything"

He couldn't help but laugh weakly, leaning his back against the glass. Nathalie would make her son's life hell for weeks if she saw that kind of message. The next three messages were photos. Now it made complete sense to have recognized where the resemblance to the place in the team's pictures came from. They were all together at home. At his house. 

Sky had gathered the group together to watch the interview, and surely his ex-wife would never leave that kind of gathering at home. Even more so to watch it on the 55-inch television in the living room. He gave up reading the rest, opening the phone book to call his son. The phone rang twice.

“If my director sees me talking on the phone in the middle of the recording, I'll be in trouble,” Sky laughed quietly as he answered.

“I hear he's not in town," Silva replied with a half-smile. “But anyway, You should leave the studio to answer the call.”

“Yes, sir,” he could hear the sound of one of the side doors slamming and a noise coming from down the line. “There you go. How are things out there?”

“It's working," he replied. “I didn't think you'd be in the studio so early on a Saturday.”

“We watched the interview at home yesterday," he said. “Then the guys left, we had to work early. Riven gave me a lift this morning. Let's just say my mother didn't want to drop me off at work. Have you seen the photos? Did you read our messages?”

“Yes, I saw it,” he paused.

“I know I should have asked, but I didn't think you'd mind. I swear things are all in place and we haven't touched your drinks…”

“Sky…” Silva called out. The young man remained silent. “I really hope my things are still in place. Next time let me know.”

“Yes, sir…” his tone was serious and Saul felt like laughing, but he kept his posture. “Now come on, tell me, how did things go? The internet is really talking about it.” 

“Sky…”

Saul had to think of a delicate way of saying that at that moment, that was the last thing he wanted to know: how much people were talking about it.

“Of course, apart from the newspapers. You've probably already seen it, but The New York…”  

The noise at one of the bedroom doors acted as a perfect cue, because his son was entering a moment of euphoria in which almost nothing would be able to stop him talking.

"Son," he called again, achieving silence on the other end of the line for a moment as the white wooden door opened. “I have to go.”

Farah stopped on her way out of the room, cell phone in hand, as she read the article Ben had sent her earlier. Silva said goodbye to his son quickly, seeing the crease between her eyebrows from a distance. News was coming from everywhere. It wasn't as if he could ignore what they had gone there to do at the same time as so many people were preoccupied with just thinking about it.

“Bad news?” he managed to say after a while, putting his hands in his pockets.

She remained silent, raising her index finger in the air to ask him to wait a few seconds. He paid even more attention to her after the gesture, trying to investigate any trace of anything that wasn't nothing. He noticed how incredibly beautiful she looked in her choice of clothes, inevitably thinking that it would be obvious - but he had never noticed how well anything would suit her until he saw her leave the room the night before. 

Idiot. He turned his face to the window, staring out at the great ally that the Hudson River had been for the last twenty-four hours. 

“Silva,” she called him closer than he expected her to be.

When he turned back to the woman, he saw her holding out her cell phone towards him, with the page of The New York Times open on the glowing screen. He hesitated for a few seconds before stepping forward and taking the device.

Click and post - direct it like the movies do

Last night Saul Silva and Farah Dowling gave their first interview about "The Lucky One". In a show of chemistry and partnership, the renowned Hollywood director and the Oscar winner for Best Actress talked about the film's shooting and what audiences should expect from the production.

Within minutes, "Saul Silva", "Farah Dowling" and "The Lucky One" were already among the most talked about topics in the country, as well as the name of the movie appearing as one of the most talked about topics in the world.

Our critics, if they could bet, would say that the dynamic between the couple last night demonstrated all the potential that the production carries in its name and, yes, you can get ready for one of the films of the year!

Below we've listed some videos with the best moments of the interview and the viewers' comments on the separate show.

Silva scrolled down a little further, past the fifteen-minute video of the best moments of the interview, which featured a shot of the two of them sitting on the sofa next to the presenter. 

HollywoodNews (@hollywood_news)

Were you ready for that? Because we weren't! What can you say about the show these two put on tonight? #SaulSilva #FarahDowling #TheLuckyOne

Will (@willyand)

There's no way this movie could be bad after seeing these two today. #TheLuckyOne #FarahDowling #SaulSilva

Betty (@taylorbetts)

Tell me it wasn't just me???? The two of them together OMG I want this movie on my desk now. #SaulSilva #TheLuckyOne #FarahDowling

The sequence of comments accompanied by short snippets of videos and photos seemed to endlessly scroll down the page until the very end. The director only read a few of them, incredibly aware that they would all be treated in the same way. As much as he had the impression that things had actually gone well, he couldn't even come close to measuring how well they seemed to have gone. People seemed really excited about what they had seen. For the first time in years, he felt positively fed by the news.

A few minutes later, he handed the phone back to her, who remained silent while he read it, only analyzing his expression, which oscillated between surprise and complete disbelief. 

It wasn't as if he had reacted much differently when he started reading. She had been in the industry as long as he had, and could still read during the work what kind of repercussions she could expect, but the whole thing had really taken her by surprise. She imagined that the interview had gone well, and from Ben and Rose's words she couldn't exactly take an average of the rest of the public. But it had been bigger than she had thought, and perhaps even bigger than the excitement her friends had shown about it.

It was as if now The Lucky One was really happening in the space it should occupy: within people's expectations, positively excited to know how things would turn out. I'd give it a go. She had misjudged things months before, but she was certainly relieved to be wrong.

“Congratulations, director…” she brought her cell phone close to her, but kept her gaze on it. “It seems you've made people give in.”

He put his hands back in his pockets. 

“I'm still not sure about all of them," he replied.

The answer came back to them in the way he imagined it would. Silence. He knew that Farah had understood what he wanted to say, even though it might not have been ideal to say anything at all. The movie was doing well, he had calmed down the studio, he had managed to calm down the media and finally his work was beginning to be rewarded as it should always have been. But still, like an idiot, he had been worrying about getting the approval of just one person.

The woman took a deep breath, discouraging herself from speaking. She hoped that he had already realized that this too was water under the bridge for her, but she knew herself well enough to know that at no time had she given him the slightest indication of this. Silva was indeed a great director, and he was doing a spectacular job producing the movie. She would venture to say that he was perhaps one of the best directors she had ever worked with. And Farah admired him for that. In silence, though.

The sound of the diaries' alarms once again broke the silence muffled by the sun and they hung up almost at the same moment. Once again the cue they needed to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

Saul stepped forward, pointing her in the direction of the exit door.

°°°

The drive to the magazine's headquarters took about forty minutes, due to the ever-increasing traffic. Phillip would accompany them at the studio's request throughout the day again, breaking the tense atmosphere with the sound of the radio playing low inside the car.

The arrival at the studio was very similar to CBS. They were met by representatives appointed by Hollywood Planet to accompany them through most of the process, but at least their credentials were ready and this time the dressing rooms had been organized separately. 

They would have three photo shoots, two individually and then the ones they would do together, ending the day with the interview that would accompany the notice in the next edition of the print and online magazine due out next week. They would have lunch in the time between activities and then return to the hotel.

They split up soon after going up to the second floor, where the photo studio and the interview location were ready for them, and went off to prepare their looks and make-up. Silva didn't have much to do or organize until the moment he was called, so he just sat and waited for a while, fighting his curiosity to see what else Sky had sent him about the night before. He shouldn't have been too confident, denying the anxiety he still felt about not knowing what to expect today. Usually when he was like this, he ended up putting his foot in it.

Farah took considerably longer to get ready. As she had imagined, a few spots of make-up had been redone and her hair had been tied up in a high, neat bun. Finally, the red dress with wide straps below the knees was waiting to be put on. When she left the dressing room, accompanied by one of the studio assistants, Silva was already in the photo studio. 

He was wearing a darker, perfectly tailored suit over his white shirt and one of the costume assistants was adjusting his tie. She felt like laughing weakly, noticing how he was concentrating on staring at the ceiling while the young woman was doing it, as if being in front of the cameras was the same thing as having several firearms pointed at you. 

He sat down on one of the chairs, crossing his legs and watching as he waited. Alone again on the white table, Saul opened the button of his blazer, slightly throwing back the ends of his jacket and putting one of his hands in his pockets, before facing the photographer.

The first session lasted perhaps forty minutes, as he seemed to get a little more comfortable in the position he was in, even though she noticed the certain resistance he had acquired to looking in the direction she was now facing.

When he was finally released, he gathered up his coat, which was now lying next to him on the floor, and made his way behind the camera, for the first time in all that time directing his gaze towards her. Farah stood up, allowing herself to give him a small smile as they changed places. He had done well, dealt with his nervousness and faced up to things. He deserved that credit. 

Their photos took about the same amount of time, perhaps a little longer because they were extended at times. When it was over, the rapid movement resumed inside the studio. A few small changes to the set for the next photos, light adjustments, organizing the cameras and the few minutes they had to eat something Phillip had brought for them. 

They exchanged a few words about some things, usually addressing each other rather than the other. 

It was just after one o'clock when they started to get ready again, without going back to the dressing room. Two people adjusted the actress's makeup and hair again, while the director's shirt and blazer were realigned so that they could go on to the next stage.

They took their places together in front of the cameras, next to each other, almost unconsciously preventing the exchange of glances between them from taking much longer than a few seconds. Some music was played in the background as the photographer returned to his position in front of them.

The friendly young man raised the camera, analyzing the image for a few seconds before lowering it again.

“Make yourselves at home," he said. I'm sure the tension in their shoulders was a sign of something. “I need you guys a little closer.”

Saul finally allowed himself to look at her for more than a fraction of a second, receiving a long look back. They took another step closer, still not close enough, but maintaining the imaginary safe distance.

“Come on, guys…” the young man lowered the camera again. “We want to see what you showed yesterday. Let it flow.”

Let it flow. Maybe it was better not to. But they knew that in a way they had nowhere to run. They were professionals, right? Things shouldn't be as difficult as they were making them out to be. Farah took a deep breath, dropping her shoulders a little in her perfectly aligned posture, and moved more, stopping part way in front of him. Silva followed her with his eyes, undoing the button of his blazer again. The exchange of glances between the two extended again, with her looking over her shoulder at him. The first flash reached them just as she stopped.

“You won't die if you touch me," she said softly to him.

The director took another step forward, touching her shoulder with his chest because of the proximity, and guided one of his hands down her back until it rested against the side of her waist, where it had been in the morning. The second flash reached them before they had even stopped looking at each other.

°°°

It had been a long day. And as if they weren't exhausted enough by the amount of things and time they had spent on the road, the completely chaotic traffic had made the journey to the hotel take a tortuous two hours. 

When they finally arrived at their destination, they were almost silently grateful that this time there wasn't a group of people waiting to give them a warm welcome. As much as Farah didn't mind answering when necessary, at that moment all she could think about was taking off her heels and sitting in silence for a while.

The reception inside the hotel had also been much less formal than the day before, perhaps because they had disappointed their hosts when they had denied dinner in order to walk around the city and play in park stalls. As much as Silva might have wanted to repeat the dose of normality, the completely chaotic day had tired him out enough for the room to seem like the best of ideas at the moment. And maybe this time he wouldn't have company to accompany him in some crazy idea. Although the atmosphere between them wasn't actually tense, there seemed to be something in the air that prevented things from being as normal as they had been the night before.

Even so, as they entered the elevator, he repeated the gesture that had become customary over the last two days, standing silently next to her, close enough for her to know he was there, but without saying a word. 

As they entered the suite, Farah let a long sigh escape her lips, as she stretched out her arms and threw her small bag on the sofa and went to her own room. When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, she was already barefoot and letting her hair down over her shoulders, even though she hadn't changed out of the clothes she had worn to go out.

The dining table next to one of the windows was set with all the dishes and a trolley with trays, two bottles of wine and a note. Has this been here since we arrived or...? For a moment she stopped to think how tired she was and whether it was to the point that she hadn't noticed the clear change in her surroundings.

Soon the door to the room next to hers opened. Saul walked calmly to the space between the sofas, reaching for the glasses that were waiting on the coffee table. He seemed too neutral to also be surprised by dinner.

“This here…?” she indicated the things with a shake of her head.

“It arrived while you were in the room," he replied, finally looking at her. “Courtesy of the hotel,” He quickly indicated the card on the trays.

Farah paid for the small piece of paper and unfolded it to read.

"A dinner of thanks for the stay of two great stars. Our hotel is very honored to have received you and hope that we will soon be able to repeat the welcome in the best possible way."

“I think they gave up on the idea of the table in the restaurant, imagining that we might run away again” he tried a relaxed tone.

“Is that what we did yesterday?” she threw the paper back.

Saul shrugged.

"I certainly did," he replied. “But as for you, you'll have to tell me.”

The look she gave him sounded suggestive before he turned away, clearing his throat.

“I'm not hungry," she said a few seconds later, walking over to the sofa to sit down on one end. “But I'll have the wine.”

He just nodded, reaching for one of the bottles and the opener before sitting down on the edge of one of the armchairs. Farah took a deep breath, crossing one of her legs as she watched him open the wine and calmly pour the two glasses in front of him. 

He put his things down on the table again, stood up with the two glasses in his hands and approached her just enough to hold out his arm with the drink. She just thanked him silently, bringing her hand close in an attempt to ignore the light touch of her own fingers against his palm. 

This time Silva took the seat on the sofa a little closer, but still within the imaginary safe distance that he had thought was the best thing to do throughout the day. Now that they were there again, alone, with the silence being broken by the very low sound of music that neither of them cared what it was, he was pretty sure it was for the best. 

The suite seemed to be getting stuffy as night fell, but at the same time they both felt their bodies protesting as if they were cold, almost in a silent plea to go back to the way they had been the night before.

They drank the first sip of wine in silence, as well as all the others that would follow. They remained trapped in their own universes, as if ignoring each other's presence almost like a great white elephant would make it easier not to think about the last two days. 

They were halfway through the second bottle when Farah placed the empty glass on the coffee table and stood up, each step calculated by his gaze. She took off her coat, throwing it on the sofa rail next to his blazer, which had been there for a long time, and adjusted the neckline of her blouse, pulling her shoulders back into place.

He looked away from her just as he noticed her leaning her shoulder against the wall next to one of the windows. He stared at the empty glasses of wine on the table, feeling the damn alcohol-fueled courage bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. It was as if he could skydive - and maybe that was a bit of what he was doing. Without the parachute. 

“I don't think there's much point in looking,” his voice filled the place after a while.

“Looking for what exactly?” she looked at him over her shoulder.

He refilled the glasses, finishing the rest of the wine in the bottle and got up from the sofa too, pulling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up above his elbows. He held the glasses in his hands and approached her. He handed her one of the glasses, taking a step back.

“Among the gifts downstairs," he replied. “I don't think there's one that's more like you than the one we won last night.”

Farah narrowed her eyes and sipped her wine.

“Funny," she shrugged. “You didn't seem to want to complain about my mood when we woke up earlier today.”

Touche. It was his turn to bring the glass to his lips, taking a sip of the drink. He should stop there. His last thread of reason insisted on telling him that. But blessed - or not - was the alcohol in his system at that moment.

“Maybe I'll remember that next time.” Saul raised an eyebrow at her.

Point for him. The woman didn't want to appear to be at a loss for an answer, but in fact she was. She limited herself to a forced laugh of mockery, no matter how hot she felt her face get. It was the wine's fault. Of course it was, especially if she blushed as much as she thought she might.

Perhaps silence was the ideal weapon for the moment. 

“It wasn't so bad, was it?” his words made her turn her eyes away from the night when she saw by the reflection of the glass that he was getting closer. 

“It depends on what you're talking about," she raised her eyebrow at him.

From both of us. He swallowed the words with a sip of his drink. He wasn't going to cross the line and risk throwing it all away again. All he needed was twenty-four hours without doing anything stupid. That would be enough.

“The weekend itself," he replied. “We did a lot of work in a short space of time. I know you're used to all this, but it just seemed…”

“Different," she added. She leaned against the wall and took a step towards him. Silva nodded in agreement. “Everytime is different. But you're right. It wasn't so bad.”

His gaze seemed to spark behind the lenses of his glasses, as if daring her to continue. She bit her lip hard. Her stomach tingled as she stood on the edge of the cliff again. Fucking wine. Bloody fucking movie. Fucking city. Damn... Saul took a step forward, interrupting the frequency of her thoughts with a sigh.

“I guess it depends on what you're talking about," he said more quietly. It was a challenge. It was clear. He wanted to hear her talk. 

She remembered how she had already managed to break him with much less than that and felt the warmth of the place creep up her lap through the neckline of her blouse.

“From both of us," she replied quietly.

His breathing was heavy for a moment, seeming to miss the movement of his chest that came and went with the air. Farah took one last step towards him, moving as if guessing what he would do next. She gently touched the center of his glasses with the tip of her index finger, gently pushing them back into place. Silva lowered his hand in the same direction and looked deep into her eyes as she also withdrew her hand.

“We worked out because you're not as unpredictable as you think you are, Hollywood ," she said quietly.

He kept silent, looking down from her eyes to her lips, which were reddened by the wine. A faint smile appeared on his lips as he looked her in the eye again. 

His gaze seemed to burn into her skin, making her almost gasp. It was the same way he had looked at her in the studio days before, as if he could do it forever. And she felt the same way again.

“What?” she forced her voice out. She wanted to take another sip from her glass, but she couldn't tear her attention away from his red lips, almost carefully placed in front of her face.

“I wanted to know how predictable I would be if I did something,” his sweet breath hit her cheek.

She wanted to say many things, all of them at that moment being shouted by reason almost drowned out by the wine. Silva took one last step closer, his chest brushing lightly against hers, and raised his free hand to her lips. He calmly skirted the cupid's bow with his thumb and brought his own face closer.

He advanced towards her, closing the space between them with the light touch of their mouths against each other. Farah raised one of her hands, hooking her fingers between the strands of his hair and moving closer. For as long as they were together, neither of them thought of moving any further. 

The touch of their lips on each other was soft, sweetened by the drink, and infinitely far from enough. And yet, for a while, neither of them moved in either direction. 

Half of each screamed for more, while in the background they heard the echo of reason telling them to stay away. But the sensation of having her upper lip fitted perfectly between his was enough for him to ignore the second voice, suffocating her as he had been suffocated for the last few days.

Farah finally let go of him, slowly pulling her face away from his and looking into the blue eyes that were staring back at her. She slowly moistened her lips, as if the taste of his kiss could now override the taste of the wine, and let one of her hands fall by her side. 

Saul silently watched her walk slowly away and finally turn to take firm steps towards the bedroom. The white door slammed between them, making the sound of the music even more muffled in the room. He walked over to the armchair, dropped himself on the edge of the seat and drank the rest of the wine in one gulp. 

He took a deep breath from the twinge of conscience in his chest. 

She was the fucking parachute jumper. Except he was in free fall.

Chapter Text

May 23rd

They landed on Sunday evening in a crowded atmosphere, but still a thousand times less chaotic than New York had managed to be. As opposed to Friday morning, there was no reception of any kind, it was as if they were at home in California, so possibly having someone waiting for them in the lobby was a completely unnecessary idea. 

There was much more movement towards the boarding gates, as well as in the queues, than where they had disembarked, making it much easier for them to get to where they would be waiting for their luggage. The flight itself had been a mixture of random events during five hours of almost complete silence and attempts at indifference. 

Of all the small matters that came up sporadically when they were needed, the night before seemed to be the last thing they would consider talking about. It wasn't as if they didn't remember anything, or as if they had actually managed to sleep after everything, but neither of them wanted the responsibility of bringing up the big white elephant that shared the seat with them.

Farah had returned to the bedroom with her mind buzzing, feeling her body warm with the heat spreading through her lips. It was as if the taste of his kiss still tingled there, almost begging her to go back the way she had come and surrender to his touch again. The glass of wine was half-emptied on the bedside table next to her, with the sun streaming in through the bedroom window before she even had a chance to close her eyes and go to sleep. At a certain point the tiredness had completely left her body, as had the alcohol, completely clearing her thoughts of the pang of guilt that plagued her.

What were you thinking, anyway? It wasn't as if the red alert hadn't gone off long before. Maybe even before that damn trip. So how, knowing that she should keep as far away as possible, had she allowed herself to fall into his arms twice in such a short space of time? Why on earth had she made a point of ignoring every warning that her reason had relentlessly given her over the last few days?

It hadn't been a quick climb to get to where they had been and he had spent every hour of his night thinking about it. The occasional glances and touches in the studio were distant, safe, armed. He wasn't close enough to notice, just as she wasn't close enough to feel disarmed when she felt him do the same. But the trip had been different. And that's exactly what they had agreed while they were drinking. The constant teasing had given way to the most dangerous thing: a flirtatious game that they both seemed to enjoy more than they should. 

Now she would have to deal with the consequences of the stupid actions she had allowed herself to take. Farah would take it as a learning experience at least, now she was sure she should have done what she told Ben. Putting on her armor and being the cold person others believed her to be was to become her personality for the next few days. If she was still like that, Silva certainly wouldn't find the loophole through which he had come to her.

His mind was equally confused, scrambled by the lost night's sleep and the subsequent feeling of regret that had seized him. Regret for the wrong thing, after all. He should be regretting having committed the biggest blunder he'd ever made in his life, washed down by waves and waves of slip-ups, for having gotten too close by ignoring all the red flags that his common sense had set off from the very first moment. But no, even that morning, after hours of thinking while staring at the white ceiling of the room next to hers, the regret was different.

He regretted that the moment he had stood up in the living room and placed the empty wine glass on the coffee table with conviction, he had gone straight to his own room. Even though he had hesitated for long seconds in front of her door. He should have knocked, he should have followed the urge to have the warmth of her body next to his again. At least then, at that moment, he would actually have something to regret. Instead, he locked the wooden door as soon as he walked through it, as if he could avoid drowning in the desire that was squeezing his chest. 

The sun hadn't even finished appearing in the sky when he decided to go out. The alcohol had long since finished burning through his system, leaving him with only the sound of thoughts that insisted on telling him that he had ruined everything. Worse than the other times. He had ruined the only thing in a long time that he really wanted to make it work. Now all he had to do was convince himself that he was talking about his movie and nothing else.

He put on some shorts and a pair of sneakers. When he was at home, running was one of the things that helped him think, but possibly at that moment he was doing much more than simply clearing his head. He was running away, which he hardly ever did. He usually faced his problems head on, or at least the ones he was sure he could handle. But Silva couldn't imagine a scenario that wasn't completely chaotic when he woke up to find her. But he couldn't run forever, even if he wanted to do exactly that on the way back to California.

By the time he got back to the hotel, it was almost time for lunch, which they certainly wouldn't be doing in the fancy restaurant, even if it seemed like the best idea if they were going to be alone in the suite again, in an environment very similar to the one that had taken them there the night before. Farah was in the bedroom when he returned, where she hadn't even left to eat. And even though the bedroom door was open and he could see her sitting cross-legged on the bed with her laptop open on her lap, their privacy was more than necessary at that moment.

They had a flight of more than five hours ahead of them, on which they would have to deal with each other's inevitable proximity. They would take those remaining hours to sort out how they should act when that moment arrived, because the more they seemed to want to avoid the subject, the more it seemed to come between them.

When they landed in the airport, they had already managed to exchange a few words with each other, trivial and unimportant matters, just an attempt to reassure each other that nothing had happened the night before. And they were actually doing quite well at pretending to be normal after a while. 

They stopped next to each other to wait for the luggage coming down the conveyor belt. Silva crossed his arms in front of his body, shifting his weight to one of his feet, concentrating more than he thought he needed to in order to avoid the habit of adjusting his glasses every minute he felt tense. Contact lenses might be a better idea. 

His cell phone vibrated inside his jeans pocket, drawing his attention and, consequently, that of the woman standing next to him. Farah watched him analyze the screen for a few seconds before picking up the call and putting it to his ear to answer. She moved further away, taking her own phone out of her bag and checking to see if Ben had received the messages she had sent, but so far there had been no sign of her friend.

Farah - 08:30pm

"I'll take a cab home"

"I'll let you know when I arrive. Don't worry"

She approached slowly as the director removed the second suitcase from the conveyor belt, with his cell phone clamped between his face and shoulder.

“No, Sky,” he seemed to be repeating. “I'm telling you, I'm going to rent a car here from the airport, tomorrow someone from production can bring it back,” he paused, reaching for the suitcase for her, who thanked him silently. Silva held his cell phone in one hand again, taking a deep breath. “You're still grounded, kid. And I'll find out if you took my car.”

Farah slung her bag over her shoulder, staring at her feet to avoid smiling weakly. It was funny somehow to see him like this... being a father.

“Right, right, I've got to go," he said at last, bringing her gaze back to his. “I'll see you at home.”

Saul put his cell phone back in his pocket, lifted his bag in one hand and looked at the woman who was analyzing him.

“Children, " he grumbled. “Perhaps someone more stubborn than him is yet to be born.”

The way he spoke seemed to imply "you know how it is" . She certainly didn't know, nor did she allow herself to think about it, but she had lived with her friend's children all their lives. She didn't know what it was like, not even close, but she could imagine.

“And you don't suppose at all who he took it from?” tried to use a friendly tone. 

He shrugged. He understood that she was talking about him, but her tone of voice showed an attempt to make things seem okay.

“Have you heard about my ex-wife?” he asked back. Farah laughed weakly, rolling her eyes before nodding. He gave a lopsided smile at the seemingly successful attempt. “Is Harvey coming to pick you up?”

Of course, there was a vast choice of subjects that they could use to avoid saying "I'm sorry I got in your face and kissed you", but of all of them, talking about Nathalie was the one they seemed least keen to pursue. She shook her head negatively, pulling the strap of her suitcase up and bringing it close to her body.

“He didn't answer me," she shrugged. “I'll take a cab home, it's not far from here.”

“I'll take you,” the sentence came out faster than he thought it would. He lowered his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. Stop acting like an idiot teenager in his forties. “If you don't mind extending my company for a few more minutes. I've heard that the drivers here often scam tourists.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. She was beginning to clearly identify what that look meant. He'd left a ball in the air, and now she was going to cut it firmly in his direction. 

“It doesn't give me much credibility to talk about scams just after offering me a ride,” she narrowed his eyes.

“Don't worry about that, I need to make sure you get to the studio in one piece tomorrow," he replied. “My neck depends on it. Let 's go?”

She hesitated for a few seconds before nodding at him. Silva walked past her, waiting until they were next to each other to head for the exit. He had already made the car reservation right from the day they left for New York, and he knew his son well enough to know that the boy would use his arrival and the fact that he was alone to use the excuse of picking him up at the airport as an escape from his punishment. 

They waited in front of one of the access gates while the car came to them. One of the airport staff helped him put the suitcases in the back of the suv and soon they were on their way to their first destination. Dowling explained more or less how to get to the house she was renting, ensuring that if they got to the beach there would be no way of getting lost afterwards and that she would give them better directions when they were getting close. 

He didn't ask permission or announce what he was going to do when he put out his hand to turn the car stereo down to some music; he didn't exactly want to hear anything, but any option seemed a little better than the silence that was almost forcing them to talk about something. Silva turned into one of the streets, coming out on the avenue that bordered the beach, taking the opportunity to glance at the woman sitting next to him.

“Do you run every morning?” she broke the silence. She needed to keep things trivial for just a few more minutes. 

“Almost all of them," he replied. Especially when I need to think. But that wouldn't be the right choice of words. “It helps to... relax. “

“It would be a waste to leave New York with Central Park right in front of us,” she slowly turned her face to look at him. Maybe I needed to start running too. 

“That's exactly what I thought," he agreed. In a way. “It was quite a weekend.”

The silence lasted a few seconds.

“To the right,” she indicated one of the streets that was approaching. 

He just nodded, taking the car along the route that had been indicated.

“I agree with you," Farah finally said. He glanced at her without really understanding. It was time for the final card. Perhaps the Oscar scene, whether he believed her or not. “About the weekend. I was so tired yesterday when we arrived that if you ask me, I can't even sort out what happened after the first glass of wine.”

Saul clenched his hands on the steering wheel and let out a sigh before giving a half-smile. Was it too much to ask of God if she really was telling the truth?

“Well, I remember it was a good wine," he said. “And that at some point it helped me sleep as I hadn't slept for many days.”

She looked at him for a while, but avoided doing too much. She wanted to identify if he really meant what he said, or if he was just using the same excuse as her to pretend he didn't remember anything that had happened the night before. But whatever the truth behind his words, they had the same purpose as hers. To pretend that their day was over before they even got to the hotel.

“I also slept like I hadn't in a long time," she added to her speech. “A hotel arrangement. The night ended early, but properly.”

She shifted in her seat, trying to disguise her unease as if she were adjusting her seatbelt. He clenched his hands tighter around the steering wheel, whitening his knuckles, but tried to keep his expression as neutral as when they first started talking. True or not, perhaps it's best not to remember anything at all.

“We're here," she sighed, masking her slightly relieved tone. They walked a tightrope for more than half an hour, but it was good to know that neither of them had fallen.

Silva brought the car closer to the house, parking it on the sidewalk in front of the gate. Farah removed her seatbelt and put her bag back on one shoulder, while he just stared at the road ahead in silence. 

She put one hand on the doorknob, wondering for two seconds if it would be ideal to open the door and leave without saying another word, and how much credibility that would lend to her attempt to make him believe that nothing had happened between them. At least in her memory.

She took a deep breath with her eyes closed before turning to him.

"Well," she said, making him turn his face to look at her too. “I think we've reached the end of our truce.”

He held back a smile, just arching an eyebrow.

“Should I put on armor or something to go to work tomorrow, your majesty?” he replied.

“At your own risk, Hollywood,” she shrugged before getting out of the car.

°°°

For him, definitely the best thing about traveling anywhere was the moment when he finally returned home. When he stopped the car in front of the house and got out with his suitcase in hand, he could feel the air enter his lungs more easily, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of the tension in his shoulders any time soon. It was good to be home.

When he walked through the front door, the house seemed like a different environment, completely different from the one he had left three days ago. At other times, he might not even have bothered to turn on the lights, but just dumped his things on the coffee table, turned on the television to get at least the impression of some company and ate something improvised on the kitchen counter. But the noise that sounded like some superhero movie reached his ears before he could even see inside the room. All the lights in the house seemed to be on at the same time and Sky was slumped on the sofa, lying back against the cushions paying attention to the screen. On the normally empty coffee table there was a pizza box still covered, some paper napkins and a bottle of soda. 

He closed the door behind him, carefully placing his suitcase on the floor as he slowly digested the scene. Many of his things were out of place, even if there was no apparent mess, showing that the house had clearly been inhabited by someone else during those days, his son had his sneakers on the white upholstery of the sofa, the glasses were resting on the wood of the table, the music was too loud. But even with all those things, the sigh that left her chest wasn't one of irritation. He couldn't remember the last time Sky had been there with him, especially considering how badly their relationship had been damaged in recent years. He wanted to stare for a while as if he feared he wouldn't have the opportunity to do so again so soon. It was too cheesy even for him. 

“Dad,” the boy stood up on the sofa when he noticed the man at the door. 

He gave his son a smile and left his suitcase where it was and walked down the two steps towards the living room. The young man said something just as an explosion took over the scene.

“I didn't hear a word,” Silva said a little louder. “Turn that down,” he pointed at the television. “And get your feet off my sofa.”

Sky muttered something, lowering his feet from the upholstery and picking up the remote control to turn down the volume of the movie. He sat down better on the sofa, analyzing his father's expression as he took off his shoes and socks, leaving them next to the armchair. Saul closed his eyes for a few seconds, feeling the cold floor under the soles of his feet.

“You look exhausted," the younger man said. He opened his eyes and looked at his son with another sigh that ended in a smile.

“Good of you," he replied. “Exhausted to say the least.”

“At least things went well, didn't they? I was following the news that came out about…”

“Sky," he interrupted in a gentle tone. “No offense, but the last thing I want to talk about is my job.”

Things had really gone well; from what little I had seen, the news said exactly that about the visit to New York. But everything was going well until the moment they stopped going. Until the moment when he repeatedly put his foot in it. He didn't want to start talking about the job because he knew that at some point his son's curiosity would catch up with him and there was no way he could think about it without being flooded with memories of the previous two nights.

“I've received my first day's pay from the studio," Sky said at last. He noticed a tone of pride in his son's voice and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I bought us pizza.”

“You'd rather spend your money than eat my dinner?” sat down on the sofa next to the other.

Sky smiled and shrugged. Saul raised his hand, ruffling his son's hair before leaning back on the sofa. It would be a long few days, but he would still have time to think about it later.

They ate their pizza commenting on trivial things about the movie they were watching together. It was funny how, for a moment, they seemed to have returned to the weekends they used to spend together, when they'd come home from Santa Monica exhausted and unable to do anything other than lie on the sofa and eat some junk food. These were weekends when Saul allowed himself to be a normal person, and allowed his son to have a childhood like any other child. Something that Nathalia would never let happen to either of them.

It was already late when he decided to go up to his room, with Sky assuring him that he would put things in order before going to rest too. The week wasn't even over and he was already getting ready to start again. They would be at the studio early to work, trying to catch up on the extensive shooting schedule that had had to be put aside because of the trip.

He took a quick shower, putting on sweatpants and a rather threadbare black T-shirt and going to bed. He still had a lot to think about before returning to Studio 16 the next morning, but he felt as if the shower had unblocked every single thing he had been avoiding thinking about since he got home. Farah's image was a fixed memory in his mind no matter what he did.

He brought a pillow against his face, trying to cover the idea that perhaps he didn't want her image to disappear from his thoughts. He was sure of the mistake he had made and that it had started long before he had kissed her. He knew that things had been like this long before he had thought to name anything he was feeling. Not that he knew how to name every one of the thousands of things going through his head at the moment. He wanted to be able to regret it, since he knew it had been a mistake. Hell. You need to get your head together, Silva. 

Pretending would have to start being easy, after all, their careers depended on it. And much more. Farah was, as he was sure, completely different from anyone else. And that meant she was too good for him to allow himself to keep screwing up like that with her. He would cling to the certainty that he was the only one who really remembered the slip-up the night before and continue to act as if, in fact, their evening had ended just after eighteen o'clock.

He put the pillow behind him and reached for his cell phone on the bed. He opened the messaging app as usual, appreciating for a few moments the silence on the team's communication channel since the night of the previous day. He would take it as a positive sign; if not, he would have enough time to worry about it later. Below the chat menu with Rosalind were various notifications. Most of the messages were still links to articles and publications about Friday night's interview, which even with the passing of days still seemed to be resonating strongly on the internet and in the media.

Rosalind Hale - 09:31pm

" I'm still waiting for you to admit how right I was"

"And I hope you've had a good return to the city of angels"

He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with one hand before adjusting his glasses.

Saul Silva - 11:00pm

"You were right"

"It was quite a move. The movie is being talked about all over the world"

Before he could put the phone back on the bed to pull up the covers, a new message came across the screen. It wouldn't have been impressive to imagine that the old lady wasn't even asleep, peeking out at everyone and everything like a bat. 

Rosalind Hale - 11:02pm

"Not just the movie"

"You and Farah together are absolutely everything our studio needed"

"I hope you thanked our star for your success"

Exactly what was she expecting to be thanked for? Going over the top and kissing her after they'd had two bottles of wine? To have thrown herself into the fire when she imagined she would? If the options were valid, then certainly yes. But once again Rosalind was right, if part of the plan involved pretending that everything was normal, one of the things she absolutely had to do was thank Farah for the way she had helped to steer things. If everything was going so well, surely most of the credit should go to her.

He had to take another deep breath, gather up what little courage he had left and use his best face. He went back to the conversation menu, searching for the actress's contact in the list and opening the empty conversation between the two of them. He deleted the message twice before sending it until he more or less had an idea of what to say.

Saul Silva - 11:08pm

"Just stopping by to say thanks for the weekend"

"Surely without you things wouldn't have gone as well as they did"

"Good night"

He knew that she probably wouldn't even bother to reply, although part of him hoped that she would at least return his professional cordiality. He didn't bother waiting for a reply, leaving his cell phone on the bedside table to try and get some sleep.

°°°

Farah walked in through the front door, leaving her suitcase by the entrance anyway, and took a deep breath of the empty air. Her body felt a thousand times more tired than when she had disembarked an hour earlier. It was as if, standing there, she could let go of all the strength she had been using to disguise her exhaustion, feeling it spread through every little part of her body.

The trip should have tired her out enough that she didn't even feel like turning on the lights or walking around a bit after arriving, but her mind, a thousand times more worn out, seemed to have done the job. She removed her heels and locked the door, heading straight for the stairs to her bedroom. 

Ben had replied to her message on the way home, even though she had only seen it on the way to bed. She left her bag at one end of the mattress, and threw herself back on the pillows with her eyes closed. If she had the chance to talk to herself from days before, and recount the things that would happen and - above all - the way they would happen on that trip, she could imagine two possible scenarios. In the first, she would assure herself that she was going crazy and that it was completely impossible for things to turn out that way. In the second, she would give up on her plans for the trip, moving mountains to ensure that Rosalind would change her mind.

Exactly who are you trying to fool? She didn't have to act with herself. And at that moment, a clear third scenario appeared in her mind. She would ignore the voice of reason that warned her about how things would get out of hand and go ahead anyway, paying to see if they really would. And she would arrive home on a Sunday evening anyway, flooded with so many feelings that she couldn't even name. Or at least that she didn't want to think about long enough to give herself time to name them.

Things had been that way long before they went away together, but at least she was sure that she could keep herself safe inside her own bubble while their contact was limited to a few hours a day. But that weekend had come with the perfect intention of showing her how even her armor didn't seem to be as effective as she thought it was. She'd had the chance to really see Saul without the lenses and monitors between them, or without the rigid posture he tried to assume when he wanted things to work, even though he couldn't disguise the kindness with which he always treated everyone.

She had had time to really see him , breaking down the walls that her first impressions had put up as a way of keeping her safe. He was completely different from the person she had seen on her first day at work, and even though he had shown this every day since, often overriding the pride that she had felt was unshakable in order to make things go the way that was best for everyone.

When she boarded the plane for the trip with him on Friday morning, she imagined that her stay in the city would be long and full of challenges, but not like that. Unlike in the studio, she could see the loose ends that insecurity left in his personality. As if, no matter how sure he was of what he was doing and how talented he really was, it wasn't enough to convince people. 

As much as she wanted to convince herself that she shouldn't feel the way she was feeling, she admitted that she had had fun with him in the short time they had been able to be just themselves. She felt as if the little plush could watch her from inside her bag and reached out to pick it up, resting her hands on her lap as she arranged herself on the pillows. 

The problem went far beyond fun. It went right up to the moment when she had lost control of what came next. She deeply regretted letting herself get carried away so easily, as if she were a young teenager discovering the world and not a grown woman who had already seen more of it than she cared to remember. It was pathetic to remember now, alone in a room that wasn't hers in a house that wasn't hers, how good the comfort and quick security had been that had allowed her to fall asleep in his arms. 

And from then on, all she could do was remember the image that seemed to be impregnated in her mind in the same way that his perfume had remained on her satin blouse. The kiss . 

Convincing herself that she didn't remember anything, just as he said he didn't, should be the only way forward for both of them. That way, she wouldn't risk anything more than what she had already thrown out the window of the Plaza Hotel when she allowed herself to.

She wiped her hands across her face, as if she could dispel the image her mind perfectly reproduced of his lips reddened by the wine. She needed to use the time she had to concentrate on something other than this, perhaps making it easier to get to the studio and get on with the movie the next day.

She took a shower, changed her clothes and unpacked, putting her things away in the closet that Rose had left with her things. Time seemed to pass terribly slowly, as if days had passed before the clock struck eleven. She made herself a sandwich and ate it with a glass of juice before going back to her room, finally lying down with the intention of resting.

She reached for her phone under the covers, finally bothering to answer Ben's messages about her arrival. She knew her friend well enough to know that he would have been there with her if he had done it earlier, but this was one of his moments. Sharing her own company seemed enough for a Sunday evening after so many things.

Ben Harvey - 10:59pm

"Rose asked me to tell you that if I don't hear from you in an hour, we'll come over and have a slumber party in your living room."

Farah Dowling - 11:00pm

"It's been a long few days, but everything's fine"

"I was unpacking my things after Silva left me at home"

"You know, I don't like being in the middle of a mess."

Ben Harvey - 11:03pm

"Do you need anything? You know we can be there in minutes"

Farah Dowling - 11:05pm

"It's okay, Harvey"

"I just need a good night's sleep"

Ben Harvey - 11:06pm

"See you tomorrow night. Sam and Terra want to see you"

She limited herself to an "ok" followed by a "good night", or she would spend her next few hours of sleep exchanging messages on subjects that could very well be discussed the next day, as she knew they would be. She was stretching out her arm to put her cell phone away when she felt it vibrate against her palm again. 

She blinked a few times until she realized that she was actually seeing the name that shone on her wallpaper. Silva was the furthest thing from her mind. Or any time at all. She analyzed the text of the message for a few seconds, trying to understand his real intention in sending it at such a time. Apparently he's as focused as you are on pretending that everything is normal.

Farah Dowling - 11:10pm

"If this is an attempt to prolong our truce"

"You may almost have succeed "

She blocked her cell phone and left it on the table. Pretending that everything was as it was wouldn't make things any less them.

°°°

The day had been strange.

That was by far the best definition Saul could give of the almost superhuman amount of things he had managed to do in such a short space of time. They shot straight through for almost the whole day, taking advantage of the relaxed and excited atmosphere that the team was generally in. He could clearly see how the good repercussions that the film had already achieved, in that short period of promotion, acted as the additional gas that everyone there needed to dedicate themselves even more to the work they were doing.

The younger actors were thrilled that it was the first big production they'd had the chance to take part in, taking on even more responsibility and dedication for the roles and rehearsals. And the older actors, even though they were experienced in one way or another on the big screen or on the theater stage, seemed to have acquired the confidence they needed from the first moment that they were on the right track. Silva had never denied that the proposal for the film was risky. He tried to make this clear to everyone who was working on the production, perhaps out of fear that people would end up getting frustrated in some way, but he still tried to be positive and give them the confidence he knew they needed to show that it would work. In all the weeks of recording, however, nothing had worked better than seeing people talking in an optimistic tone of expectation.

From the outset, He had the intention of filming the feature in single takes, using camera games and the positioning of the actors, so that the scenes would happen as organically as possible without the need to record the same thing several times, which could somehow turn the delicate story they had to tell into something stilted. Silva knew that this wouldn't happen in a well-executed way, but the idea was to make everything in The Lucky One as natural as possible. It was a risk to work with so many young actors on stage, most of them with little experience, which at times meant that they had to go back and re-record. So that was one more reason for the unusual day to go down in the production's history.

It was the first time they had been able to run through all the day's recordings freely, shooting all the proposed scenes in single takes, as they had thought since the idea for the movie had come up. It was also the first time that Bloom had been loose enough on stage to improvise part of her performance. When he interrupted the recording at that moment, with the silence in the studio waiting for the director's command to continue or start again, he could see behind the director's island the proud way Farah looked at the young woman sharing the scene with her. The same pride seemed to shine in the girl's eyes when he praised what she had done and ended the scene.

It was funny, after almost two months of recording, the idea that it seemed like only that day had he really seen his movie take shape in front of his eyes. And the moment he climbed onto the little stool that Riven occupied most of the time, asking for everyone's attention so that he could be heard, he saw in the eyes of every single person there that they felt the same way as he did. 

He wished he'd had time to speak to each of the cast members after he'd dismissed them, but he hadn't even done so with half the staff when the assistant walked past with his phone outstretched towards him. Riven knew that there were very few situations in which he had to interrupt something, but - given that Sky had been under his watch all day, which ruled out a problem involving his son - there was only one option left, and that was to drop the call.

Rosalind spent most of the phone call talking about how the day of recording had gone, with details that even he couldn't remember. He knew that the producer's intention in putting Beatrix to work doing exactly the same job that his assistant did so well was precisely that. To know everything in real time. At other times, he might have felt uncomfortable with the idea of always being watched in real time, but he couldn't help admitting that the young woman did a good job when she set her mind to it and that this had reduced Riven's heavy workload, which made it even less likely that things would go wrong due to overload.

He couldn't quite understand the reason for contacting her, if it was for that kind of conversation, since for several days she had been limiting herself to short messages with the same tone she would use in person. But he had known the woman long enough to know that it was never just that , there was always something more to every step she took. And his hunch had been right. After a few minutes of cordiality, she had played the big card.

“We have a cocktail party at the studio headquarters tonight, we want you there,” her tone made it clear that it wasn't really an invitation. It was an order, like all the others she made a point of dumping on his head. “We're going to have some big names that we'd like to be part of our work again, and you're currently our golden boy, not so much a boy, but what matters is that your name shines through and we need that. So get in touch, take photos, make posts, show that you're dedicated to improving your work. And leave the rest to us.” 

Would it be surprising if he said he hadn't had time to even reply? Whatever idea he had of expressing his opinion on the invitation wouldn't be heard, and the muted sound of the next line always made that clear. He looked at the time on his cell phone screen, at the same moment that the ticket and event information came up in a message notification. He had just over an hour to get home, get ready and leave again. If he was going to play the role that the studio had painted for him, he hoped that he would be given a bit of functional notice. But he understood the move. They couldn't risk putting him into an important event like the one they were planning before they knew what the repercussions would be over the weekend.

The ticket was individual, and from the instructions he realized that the sacrifice would only be made with his neck, since Farah's name was not on the list of gifts he had received with it. Perhaps it really had been better the way he had been caught off guard. If he had to go through a moment of exposure, without her by his side to feel at least a little of the confidence he had had over the last few days, it was better not to have time to think too much about it.

He left things in the studio as they were, knowing that the staff would be able to organize things for the next day of recording, and called Sky so that they could go home. As he'd imagined, he had time for the bare minimum.

He took a quick shower and put on one of the suits in his closet. He hoped he wouldn't overstay his welcome at dinner, he was still too tired from the weekend and the intense day to have much more than a few hours. He straightened his blazer and put in his contact lenses, putting only his wallet and car keys in his trouser pocket to finally head for the stairs.

The day had given him little opportunity to think about matters other than the running of the business, but with the break he'd had in the forty minutes it had taken him to get ready, the same thoughts seemed to have sought to settle comfortably right in the center of his mind. Farah had been with him all day, involved as she had been in the same things, working as if she had really left New York behind. On the one hand, it was exactly what he had hoped would happen, and at that moment he was trying to ignore the other side that said he might not want it to be exactly like that. 

He stopped in the middle of the stairs, unlocking his cell phone when he heard the low ring of notifications. Riven was just updating him that things had been completed as expected and wishing him good luck. Good luck. Maybe I needed a lot more than luck. He had a strange feeling that perhaps being there was a shot in the dark that could backfire. He looked at the conversation menu for a few seconds, noting the previous night's conversation with the actress. 

At no point did he think that Dowling would actually reply to the pseudo-cordial message he had sent in his desire to say something without sounding like a big jerk. So he didn't even need to take the time to explain how surprised he had been to wake up in the morning to the reply flashing up on the cell phone screen. Even more so in the tone she had used. It was as if everything had gone back to the way it was before they had traveled, but at the same time it was exactly like the night they had spent in Central Park. It was indeed confusing, but what wasn't?

He thought for a few moments, perhaps less than he should have. But it wouldn't hurt to risk it. After all, they were reaffirming all the time, even if in silence, that nothing had happened between them.

Saul Silva - 9:00pm

"I didn't have time to talk to you. The sequences today were perfect"

The online status seemed to have been rehearsed to appear below her name when he sent the message.

Farah Dowling - 9:00pm

"Shouldn't you be at a party?"

He frowned for a few seconds. Riven should obviously have said something, since the other option would have been to describe her as a mind-reading fairy perhaps.

Saul Silva - 9:01pm

"I've heard that the studio is going to serve my head on a plate to a group of suckers"

Farah Dowling - 9:02pm

" Should I hope there's a back exit? "

He took a deep breath. There was no way he could put his foot in it any more than he already had.

Saul Silva - 9:02pm

"It wouldn't be fun without you"

He shook his head for a second, denying himself the smile that stubbornly appeared at the corner of his lips. Sky looked at his father from the sofa for a while, pulling one of the cushions onto his lap before laughing.

“Does that stupid smile mean a girlfriend?” The boy said at last.

Silva put his cell phone away, then crossed his arms.

“Respect me, kid," he grumbled as he finished descending the rest of the steps towards the door.

“I'm sorry,” he held up his hands with a debauched smile on his face. “I'll just remove the idiot then .”

He shook his head again on his way to the door.

“I'm out of time, Sky,” he put his hand on the doorknob. “Keep your mother updated before the police come knocking.”

°°°

In just over an hour of partying, Saul felt as if he had used up all his capacity for socializing in the midst of so many people he didn't know. Well, in a way he knew who each of them was - after all, Rosalind wasn't being modest when she said that there would be big names of interest to the studio there - but Silva could say that, in his twenty years in Hollywood, he shouldn't have bumped into the vast majority of them.

Even so, he moved among the guests, stopping in small groups when he was invited to take part in conversations on the most diverse subjects he could imagine circulating among them. One or other familiar face would approach, and on a few occasions he had also been invited to talk a little about the film itself. He complied with Rosalind's requests as if they were a list of tasks he needed to complete before being allowed to go home, allowing himself the insincere compliments that sometimes came his way, returning some of them with his best smile, taking a few photos and spreading the word about the studio as if it were the most promising place to be in the film industry. I didn't want to be there, but since I was, I wanted to leave as few loose ends as possible.

Andreas Eraklyon seemed to circulate as much as he did among the guests, even though he was more of a target for the production company than a recruiter, as Saul put it. He imagined, in the moments when he exchanged a few words with the actor in the conversation circle where they stopped together, that his interest stemmed from the opportunity to cast his daughter in The Lucky One. Both he and his wife had the surname that predestined success for the girl, and even if Stella had a talent in her own right, he knew they would use it to boost the career they wanted for her. 

The actor's name, marked with an asterisk on the list he had received from Rosalind, had made Saul pay more attention than he would have liked to the things the other man was saying. For a moment, he found himself analyzing the man's attitude towards the other guests and himself, thinking how unbelievable it was that he had been married to Farah for a few years. He didn't know Luna well enough, apart from a few visits to the studio, but she certainly seemed to make a lot more sense next to someone like Andreas than Farah's image did. Even the way he talked about his work and career made it almost clear between the lines how different they were.

From what he remembered reading when he did some research on the actress a few months earlier, the couple's divorce had come as quite a surprise to the media, which had been buzzing about the production of Cruel Summer in which they were both involved. They seemed to be the perfect couple in front of the cameras, and there had never been a single word in the news that could have contested the image of them as a happy couple while they were together. Silva didn't remember much from that time, as he was preoccupied with his own face on tabloid covers while facing the dismantling of his career and his marriage at the same time. 

After a while he was exhausted from walking among the people, but it still seemed too early to leave without seeming rude. So he took one of the stools next to the bar in the lounge. His head was starting to ache and he had to avoid drinking because of the car, so he settled for a soft drink. Searching for his cell phone in his trouser pocket, he opened the conversation with Farah again, via the notification on the wallpaper.

Farah Dowling - 10:58pm

"After how long should I call out the royal guard?"

Saul Silva - 11:10pm

"Maybe I'm about to walk to the Santa Monica pier right now"

“I was going to suggest drinking are on me tonight,” Saul heard the voice speak louder than the buzz of the place next to him.

He just wanted to be silent for a few seconds. He left his cell phone next to the glass on the counter, turning his face slightly to look at who was coming in. Andreas took advantage of the brief cue to peek over the director's shoulder directly at the cell phone screen still lit on the wooden worktop. He had imagined a few things when he saw the interview with the stars of The Lucky One aired a few days earlier, but something told him that the situation seemed to be much deeper than the couple's few minutes on screen had shown him. He knew his ex-wife like the back of his hand, every little mark she carried. And the brief glimpse of the messages she was exchanging with Silva only confirmed what he imagined.

She was still the same pathetic woman he had married twenty years earlier.

“No alcohol during working hours,” Saul tried to sound friendly.

Andreas sat next to him on the other bench uninvited.

“I've always heard about FW's strict policies," he said with a smile. “I wish I had the chance to talk to you without a bunch of vultures. You know how it is, in this environment everything can become news.”

Silva merely nodded, taking a sip of his soft drink and returning the glass to the stand. They had already talked a few times, even the damn photo Rosalind had asked for was already on the net. He couldn't imagine that they had so much in common.

“I wanted to congratulate you on the work you're doing," he said. “It doesn't seem like a very easy task to deal with everything you're dealing with.”

Everything? Surely he would have to be clearer.

"Actually, things have been pretty quiet now," he replied. “Stella has even been doing very well.”

“I'm sure it is," he agreed. “I saw the interview you gave on Friday. You talked about an unknown cast, what drew Farah to the movie?”

“Well," he shrugged. “The industry, as you may know, is unpredictable at times.”

“Tell me about it," he laughed weakly. “I don't want you to be offended by what I'm about to say, but my ex-wife in a production like yours was one of the last things I could have imagined.”

Saul found it incredible how the phrase "don't be offended" always came before something that would certainly sound offensive.

“I'm sure she's been a great challenge," he added. “A difficult genius, I'd say. She's never been very easy to deal with on set, ever. So don't feel personally offended by the way she acts sometimes, I think it's part of the royalty she internalized when she started acting.”

“You must have noticed from the interview that things are going well,” he frowned slightly. Silva didn't quite understand the warning tone the conversation seemed to be taking.

“At no point did I deny that she's a great actress ," he shrugged. “She's always been used to acting very well, especially to get the things she wants. She can seem like your best friend while you're sharing the same room and then not even look at you properly when she gets what she wants. But why am I saying this? You should be used to it by now. The comments she makes shouldn't even bother you anymore.”

The air rushed heavily out of the director's lungs.

“The comments...?”

“Yeah,” the actor brought the glass of drink to his lips during the pause. “Stella says they're common in the studio corridors.”

“Maybe I want to,” he cleared his throat. “Remind me what kind of comments Stella has been talking about, you know, a lot of things go on in the studio every day.”

“Well, the usual stuff,” he left her empty glass on the counter. “The fact that she's slightly regretting having accepted the role, as if she'd put her name on the fire in a work... you know? "Destined to fail" ,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, as if quoting the words. “Stella said she didn't seem to care much behind the scenes, with that air of underestimating everyone. She must certainly do that to you. How many times have you heard her doubt your work? A dozen?”

Saul remained silent after the questions. He remembered too many things that had happened in the first month of filming, too many moments in which he felt that his role was constantly being put to the test. 

“I thought we were in a truce.”

“That 's my job. Acting.”

Maybe he needed a drink. Or two.

“But as I said, don't feel personally offended,” Andreas continued in his silence. “No one is ever good enough for Farah Dowling. That's exactly why I took a year's sabbatical after we finished recording Cruel Summer. I bet you've witnessed almost as many bouts of stardom as I have. How many times has she threatened to quit your movie?”

“Leave the movie?” the only thing he managed to do was repeat the last sentence. 

It didn't make sense for Andreas to talk as if he had been in the studio with them all those days. He tried to shout to himself that it was a big misunderstanding, but at the same time some things seemed to make sense. How could he be so stupid as to fool himself like that? 

The actor stood up, placing a friendly hand on the director's shoulder.

“That's right, my friend," he said. “I wouldn't be surprised if one day your movie is no longer enough to feed her insatiable ego and the most you'll get is a notice that she's out.” 

He walked away with his chest puffed out, satisfied by the confusion he could see in the eyes of the man behind him. Should he stop? Probably, but he had kept the desire to do it inside him for twenty years. He reached a neutral point in the hall, where the sound of the music and the conversations was quieter, and took his phone out of his pocket.

°°°

The day had been busier than she could have imagined when she left the house in the morning, but she still didn't feel tired enough to sit still and do nothing. She took advantage of the sunshine to walk along the beach for the first time since she had rented the house. 

The silence she walked through for a few minutes seemed to be the company she needed after so many days living in the eye of the storm. She still had a lot of ideas to sort out, especially now that she could think more clearly about everything that had happened recently. She didn't want to say that she would know exactly what to do from now on, but she felt as if she could get rid of some of the guilt that had been suffocating her to make room for other things that she realized she couldn't keep quiet.

Silva was at the center of most of them. As sure as she was that allowing herself to get seriously involved with anything was still far from an option, she was able to start trying to convince herself that the things that had happened had happened and there was nothing more she could do about them. In a few months she'd be back in England, she'd be home, and above all away from all that mess. Farah just needed to keep things safe until the filming and release season was over. She’d thought a lot about how she should act over the next few days, even if she didn't have a clear idea of whether or not there was a right way to handle the situation. So she would start from the lie she insisted on telling herself.Nothing had happened that required them to return to California. They would continue to work together, enjoying the dynamic of colleagues that they had learned to have, even if by force. The day of recording had been proof that this was probably the ideal way forward. And whatever happened from then on... 

Nothing. Nothing would happen from then on . She would repeat this as many times as she needed to until she was sure as she could be that this was how things would be.

She was returning home through the garden doors when she received his message thanking her for the day of recording. It seemed to have been a real milestone for everyone on the set, as if in those sequences everyone had finally realized that the film was really happening. This time without the atmosphere of uncertainty that seemed to surround the studio doors, and with the good energy that made them believe that The Lucky One was already a success.

Before leaving the Studio 16 she had checked in with the director, as he did at the end of all his shoots, to make sure that things had turned out as expected and that she could go home and think about what was next. Riven had commented on the last-minute schedule Rosalind had put him on, and she could already imagine the way he was consumed with anxiety at having barely left the set and fallen into partying at the forty-fifth hour. 

She used what little she knew of him when she answered the message. If being in the Plaza had already made him look for ways out, what would he expect from being alone in the midst of as many vultures as she knew he would be? Within the gentle good humor that she responded with, his reply seemed to arrive like a slap in the face. Concentrate, Farah. 

At that moment, it would be better not to answer. She didn't want to end up putting her foot in it, so she concentrated on other things. 

She had been in touch with Ben almost all day about the dinner they had planned, even though her friend was terribly late when she decided to open a glass of wine and sit alone in the living room. It was almost eleven o'clock at night and Silva hadn't sent any more news about how things were going, so perhaps this was a safe moment to take up the subject again, with no way out. 

She again used the good-natured tone she had used before when writing to him, allowing herself to laugh at the reply that came a few minutes later. She half-filled her glass of wine, curled her legs up on the sofa seat and opened the conversation with Ben. Had they arranged dinner or lunch?

Farah Dowling - 11:25pm

"Should I still expect you in this century?"

To her surprise, the reply seemed to come in quickly, while new messages were sent in succession.

Ben Harvey - 11:26pm

"Away from social media, it's your night off, ok?"

She didn't understand how her friend's sentence had come completely out of context and gave up on understanding. If he hadn't canceled, he'd be there soon. But why away from social media? She had barely got near her own cell phone. 

She returned to the messages menu, looking at the unknown number that had sent her two messages at almost the same time as she was writing. She opened it curiously, trying to identify the contact without a photo. 

(Unknown number) - 11:25pm

"I know you'd love to see where your director gets his good references from"

Again, she didn't understand anything, looking further down at the link to a post on Instagram. For a moment her mind seemed to snap. Was this what Harvey meant about staying away from social media? It would be too coincidental if it wasn't. But if he was making a point of warning her, what else was going on that she couldn't see? She feared it was something to do with the movie, since apparently it was only what people had been talking about since the weekend. 

If it was something about the movie or about them, she should warn Saul, shouldn't she? He was at an event representing exactly that. It would be an almost impossible skirt to get out of if a subject like that came up without him having any idea what was going on. So she ignored the warning, clicking on the link that quickly directed her to a post on the director's profile.

He couldn't process what she was seeing at first. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the screen, and left the glass on the coffee table. Her hands seemed to lose strength and she feared she might drop it somewhere. Her breathing became heavy as she analyzed the photo showing Silva next to Andreas, while quickly reading the caption below. 

"I bumped into this guy around here and we had an amazing chat about work and stuff. Excited about that!"

Before she could do anything, the unexpected ring of her cell phone showed the same number that had sent her the message in a call. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the middle of the room, holding the phone to her ear.

“Sweetheart,” Andreas's voice was no longer the most unexpected Farah could hear at that moment. It was him. Of course it was him . “Did you like the photo?”

She remained silent, unable to think of exactly what to say. She wanted to shout at him, but she wasn't sure if anything comprehensible would come out.

“I can hear you breathing, Farah," his tone changed, causing her to shiver. “I just called to congratulate you. You're making quite a mess of this guy's life. I'm glad our paths crossed. We talked about you for a long time. I gave him some great tips on how to watch out for people like you. You should lighten up, you know? The poor guy barely knows me and he's already said he's tired of you.” 

She swallowed. Incredible talk about work and other things. About her? Imagining what her ex-husband might have said made her stomach turn. How far had their conversation gone before Saul had felt comfortable telling someone he didn't even know that he was exhausted by her? You idiot. You've fallen into the same web again. You let yourself be fooled exactly because you wanted to.

“Fuck you,” her voice came out low, almost stuck in her throat. “You, your fucking ego, and if you want, take Saul Silva with you.”

“I miss you too.”

The muted sound of the call made her drop down hard on the sofa, and she felt a choked sob catch in her throat. She let her hand fall to the side of her lap as she searched for the last thread of control over her breathing. 

She wouldn't go through with it. Silva could have said whatever he wanted in front of her and she was sure he would just put on his best mask and finish what he had come all that way to do. But what did it all mean? What was she really? Some kind of trophy? What was his intention? To soften her up so much that he could go around telling people what had happened between them and then say that he was fed up with her? Why Andreas? Why and at what point had she become something they both shared?

She felt a hot tear run down her cheek and dried it quickly, holding back a sob in her chest again. She would put an end to it. She would go away and leave behind that damn country, those damn people, and the damn moment when she began to feel something again.

She brought out her cell phone again, opening the conversation with the director. She bit her lip hard, feeling the metallic taste of blood take over. Facing the messages wasn't making things any easier, they just served as a way of reinforcing what a great clown she had made of herself. She quickly closed them and dialed the number.

She inhaled sharply, bringing her hand up to her ear as she counted the seconds. One, two, three, four, five.

“Farah” he’s voice came before the sixth ring. She let out a sharp breath, wondering what she was thinking by considering calling as a better option. “Hello? Farah?”

“I'm out," she said at last.

Saul moved away from the people, reaching the exit of the hall and onto the sidewalk. The noise didn't seem to make him understand.

“I'm sorry," he said at last. “What did you say? Out? Out of what?”

“From the movie, Saul,” pronouncing his name seemed to bring out the taste of blood on her palate in an unpleasant way. “I'm out of The Lucky One. I'm out.”

“What?” his tone increased. “ What are you talking about? Farah?”

She hung up quickly, before she could hear anything else. She took a deep breath, still feeling the difficulty with which the air seemed to reach her lungs, and dried a new tear. 

That was it. 

°°°

He spent countless seconds standing exactly where he was, the sound of the music still muffled by the door he had just come out of. It even took him a moment to take out his cell phone, which he was still pressing to his ear, perhaps still hoping that he had misunderstood what he had heard.

Calm down. He pulled in a sharp breath. He needed to think. Above all, he had to try to do something. He needed to understand what had happened. They had been talking just a few minutes before everything happened, things seemed to be fine despite everything . 

“I wouldn't be surprised if one day your movie is no longer enough to feed her insatiable ego .”

Was that it? But how had things escalated like that in such a short space of time? It had been minutes, not hours or days. No, it hadn't. It had been months of sequential mistakes, idiotic actions, mistakes one worse than the other. His chest hurt, but from what? Offense? What right did he have to be offended? What right did he have to demand the slightest respect from her when apparently not even he respected himself? If he had any dignity left in him, he would have let it go years ago. His own pride had drowned him every day since he had lost what little control he had over his own life. He wouldn't blame Farah for thinking he was a complete incompetent. 

In just a few days, he had been foolish enough to ignore the certainty that had been with him since day one. He was a failure by a long shot and he had always known that he would pay a higher price than he could afford. He had thrown the last shovel of dirt on his own head the moment he got too involved in the whole thing. And he wasn't thinking about the movie. 

The person who had just spoken to him on the phone was not the same person he had spent the last few days with, not the same person he would be walking with through Central Park at night and definitely not the woman he had kissed the night before. He didn't recognize the Farah Dowling who had just hung up on him. But how well do you really know her? What guarantees that all this wasn't just a game of pawns? Pathetic. Certainly. 

He blinked a few times, feeling the discomfort of the contact lenses in his eyes, only to realize when he opened them again that he had lost one of them. 

“Shit,” he brought the slightly trembling hand that was still holding the cell phone up to his face, pressing the back of it against his lips for a few seconds. “Shit!”

Fuck if he was personally offended by that. He would have plenty of time to direct his own clown act later, but right now he needed to think like a professional. He needed to try to understand what had happened and sort it out. It wasn't just his neck at stake. He reached into his pocket for his car keys, finally feeling able to get out of his seat, and ran as fast as he could towards his car.

What would be one more scene of humiliation for his extensive record of embarrassment? 

He got into the car, removed his remaining contact lens without much care, and reached for his glasses in the glove compartment before starting it. He remembered very clearly the route along the avenue that would lead to her house, perhaps even more than he would have liked to remember at that moment. If he got lost on the streets, he would still have the chance to sort out any thoughts with the slightest sense that were squeezed between the jumble of ideas running through his mind. 

The traffic fines would surely arrive in the next few days, but the last thing he had to worry about at that moment was running lights or respecting traffic lights along the way. He needed to get there as quickly as possible, as if the delay would be the only possible way for her to disappear without any further explanation. And that he wouldn't admit.

He was sure it wouldn't be an easy conversation. His body warned him more than his conscience. His face felt hot and his hands even shakier, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles ached. When he finally stopped the car in front of the house, the only certainty he had was that he wouldn't leave without the slightest thing.

The front gate had been left open, through which he could already catch a brief glimpse of the room illuminated by the white curtain. He stopped halfway, taking a few deep breaths to try and find even a single thread of calm, and then made his way to the white wooden door to knock.

Farah could say that apathetic was the only word that could describe her at that moment. She felt so much anger in her chest that she couldn't even cry beyond the few tears that had fallen. The script on the coffee table was the ghost that seemed to drag chains around her for the minutes she just sat there, trying to understand what was really going on.

Her fate was to be alone, and she no longer doubted it. But in over fifteen years she seemed to understand that some people just weren't cut out for certain things. Perhaps that was the case with her. Every time she had thought about trying, her failure was almost announced, leaving her far from even taking the first step. But this time, she had skipped the first few steps, the ones that always reminded her of how things were going to end, straight to the middle of the ladder. 

The rule was clear. The higher you climbed, the higher you would fall. She should have learned that by now. Andreas' tone over the phone was the signature below the certainty that she had been wrong with her own eyes. It wasn't as if three days could change what twenty years had taught her. Her job was her only certainty, but perhaps not even that.

Her first marriage had taught her many things, but she seemed to have forgotten the main one. She didn't even trust herself, what about trusting anyone else? She had learned the hard way not to let things get that far, that perhaps not letting anyone in was easier than the mess that would be left behind.

So where was all this? Hadn't she already been hurt enough to go through all that for someone who had done nothing but get her down from the first moment?

The firm knocks on the door made her blink after a while, just staring at her reflection against the turned-off television screen. She didn't want to see anyone, not even Ben. She wanted to go upstairs, gather up what was left of her dignity and leave. But the person on the other side was insistent, and soon there were louder knocks. 

He got up from the sofa and straightened his clothes, before running one of his hands over his face to make sure there wasn't a trace of the crying he was trying to suppress. She breathed heavily, holding the air in her lungs for a few seconds as she made her way to the door. 

Saul was about to knock for the third time when he heard the keys jangling and the door opening. He stared at the woman on the other side for a few seconds, his fist still in the air before dropping it beside his body. 

Why is that? God, why can't things be easy just once? Farah pressed her fingers against the wood, staring back at him for a few seconds. They both seemed to have too many things to say to be able to formulate a complete sentence.

Finally, she shook her head negatively.

“No," she said at last. “I don't know what you're doing here, but no.” 

She threatened to push again, startled the moment he moved to hold her before closing the door. She quickly moved a few steps inside, avoiding him.

“We need to talk,” Saul took a step inside, keeping his voice contained in his throat. 

“If we had something to talk about, Silva, I certainly wouldn't have hung up the phone," she replied. “We have nothing more to discuss with each other.”

She turned around, walking back to the sofa where she was. The man stood there for a few seconds before walking calmly down towards her.

"I need to understand what's going on here, Farah," he said. “You can't just dump it all on me…”

“Oh,” she turned to him again. “Can't I? I don't remember that clause in my contract, just as I don't remember where it says that I must simply accept every action you take.”  

Saul almost took a step back. What attitude was she talking about? Was New York the whole point?

“I'm giving you a free pass,” she took a step closer. “Do what you want with your movie, I'm leaving the scene. Isn't that what you wanted all along? To get rid of me? Congratulations, director. You've done it.” 

“I don't understand where you're going with this," he said. “Things were going well until…”

“Until I realized what a fool I was making of myself," she interrupted him. “You can stop now, pretending that this is all about the movie. This has to do with your head, with securing it around your neck.”

“You… You… Ah!" he couldn't formulate the sentence as he would have liked. The calm had gone somewhere on the way into the house. Was she simply incapable of paying attention to what he was trying to say? He threw his car keys on the coffee table and ran his hands through his hair. “You drive me completely out of my mind, woman!”

Her humorless laughter echoed in the room as she crossed her arms in front of her body.

“What are you doing here then? Do you like torturing yourself?” 

“I'm here,” he took a step closer. "Because I need you ," he swallowed at the involuntary pause. Her face still looked unshaken, but he could see the anger in her eyes that he still didn't understand where it had come from. “I need you for this movie to work for fuck sakes!”

“You don't need me," came the dry reply. “Maybe you need my name, a nice poster with my picture on it. But don't make a scene by saying you need me.” 

“All the times you've done this here,” he looked around. “All those mood swings, changes in your attitude towards me, every single time you… that haughty look of yours turned towards me, every single time I swallowed the rest of my pride to try and make it work, Farah.”

“So that's what you're doing here? Humiliating yourself for the greater good?” 

“Is that what you want me to answer? Yes?”

She shrugged.

“I want you to be honest about your intentions. At least you'll make it even better for me to climb those stairs and pack my bags.”

She tried to pass him, but felt him grab one of her wrists, stopping her.

“I demand that you tell me why," he said quietly.

“That's how it works for you, isn't it? Coming in here and demanding something because you think you're doing more than enough,” she snapped, pulling her arm back. "Remember that it was you who knocked on my trailer door the first time, making sure that neither of us was here playing games, only you know that only one of us was taking things seriously. What's your point then? Using a ladder? Getting back to the top after your list of failed jobs?”

“You know what? Fuck this fucking movie, right?” Silva gestured to one side, slamming the back of his hand against the picture frame that occupied the corner table. The clatter of glass against the floor took the place of a breathless pause. “If even your Oscar doesn't seem to make a difference, why should someone as big as you care about the movie of a failed director like me? You're too much for all of this, aren't you? You're too high up on your castle to see everyone from above…”

Farah couldn't think very well until she realized what she had done. The slap had hit him square in the side of the face, hard enough to make him turn sideways and for the pair of prescription glasses to find themselves next to the rest of the picture frame. 

“You're a pathetic idiot," she gasped. He brought one hand up to his face, rubbing it over his stubble where the skin was red and looked at her. 

“Funny," he interrupted her, taking a step towards her. Farah held his gaze without moving a step. “I couldn't have chosen better words. A pathetic fucking idiot. What else?”

“Arrogant," she added. “A great asshole. You always think you know everything, don't you? You think you know everything about everyone. You think you can just come here…”

“Come on, Farah," he laughed humorlessly. “Wasn't that exactly our game? Imagining things about each other? Because I'm sorry, you were never the greatest example of humility between the two of us either.”

“You…” her voice was lost in a meaningless sound. She didn't try to formulate a new sentence, taking one last step towards him to strike him in the chest with her fists. “I should…”

Saul was briefly off balance, then regained his balance as he grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her close again.

“You know what? I agree with every word you said to me” his voice came out low, hoarse. “I really am a pathetic idiot, the biggest example of an asshole to ever set foot in this city.”

“Admitting it is a good step," she muttered angrily, wanting to slap him, but her hands were still firmly pressed by his hands. “Good luck if you're going to be behind the cameras like this. Watching anyone, because it won't be me.”

“If it's really going to end like this," he said quietly. “I'm starting to think that maybe I should do something about it.”

The tension seemed to crush within the silence, which was interrupted by the heavy breathing of both of them. The look of anger and defiance that one threw at the other never wavered. Silva unclenched one of her fists, feeling it slam against his chest, and moved closer, overcoming her resistance, who gradually seemed to be at a loss as to what to do. He slipped his fingers between her loose strands of hair, pinning them against the back of her neck and pulling her face towards his. Her ragged breathing beating against his face.

The next noise, announcing the arrival of a car in front of the house, followed by the slamming door brought her back from the place within his gaze where she had lost herself. She slammed her fist against his chest again.

“Get out of here," she muttered, turning her face away.

Silva didn't wait for her to ask again, releasing her at the same speed he had brought her to him. He took a step away, bending down to gather his glasses and car keys on the coffee table before turning on his heels towards the exit. 

Ben Harvey was entering the street when he saw the suv parked in front of Farah's house. He felt a shiver run up his spine as he got out. Of all the options he considered, none seemed good enough to reassure him. The moment he stopped the car, the figure of Saul Silva walked out of the front gate, with firm steps and a hardened expression on his face. 

“Wait in the car,” he looked at Sam through the window, who seemed completely oblivious to what he had seen, preoccupied with balancing the two pizza boxes on his lap.

“Dad…?” 

Before the questions arrived, he followed the path the other man had taken, without bothering to look back.

Farah felt like screaming, but swallowed it down with the tears forming in her throat again. Even she couldn't believe how many things she had heard and said, let alone how in a short space of time she had almost been completely disarmed in his arms. 

Despite everything, she insisted on persisting in her mistake. She lowered her eyes, feeling them sting with tears, and stared at the shards of glass that had once been her only picture frame in the house. She bent down, analyzing the best way to put the mess together, cursing herself for seeing a perfect metaphor for how she was feeling at that moment. She pulled out a few larger pieces, passing one of her hands to try and reach the photo below them.

The burning followed by the pain made her let go of what she was holding, turning her palm to see the line of cuts that ran almost from one end to the other. The cry finally felt the gap it needed to leave her throat, with a loud sob being followed by tears.

“Farah?" Ben's voice reached her before he even appeared through the open door.

He didn't quite know what to expect, but the uncontrollable sensation of deja vu was the worst feeling he could have. It was like traveling back in time to twenty years before. When he came in, she had stood up, holding her hand against her chest, staining her light blouse with the blood coming from the wound and her face marked by the tears running down her cheeks. 

He quickly approached her, looking around for any chaos that might be there, but the only thing that seemed out of place was the shattered picture frame on the living room carpet.

“Let me see,” he came up to her, holding out his hand to take hers.

Farah sniffled, holding out her hand to her friend, who took it calmly so as not to hurt her. Harvey took out the handkerchief he was carrying in his pocket, carefully wiping the spot to try and see what was going on. 

“It's not serious," he said. “It's okay, it won't leave a scar.”

The two exchanged a long look, as if they shared the same feeling. As if they were returning to the same place.

“Was it him who…?” the question died halfway through.

Farah nodded.

“No," she replied. “At least it wasn't his fault.”

Ben sighed with some relief. He pulled his friend close, cradling her head against his chest in a secure embrace.

“I've reached my limit, Ben," she muttered. 

°°°

When he walked through the door again, Silva felt as if every last drop of his energy had left his body. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, to somehow vent at least some of the anger he was feeling inside. How could he have been such an idiot?

It was the end. He had no doubt about it.

Sky got up from the sofa, turning off the television as soon as he heard the key rattle. It was still early, so his father's silent arrival had taken him by surprise. 

"Wow," he muttered, analyzing the haggard expression of the man approaching the room. Silva paused for a second, looking back at his son, before dropping his glasses with the broken stem on the sideboard where the drinks were kept. “Were you at a party or in a fight?” he tried to relax.

“Sky, please,” his voice came out low. “I need to be alone, go up to your room.”

He wanted to know what was going on, but he had never seen his father like that. The night he went to pick him up at the police station, Silva had certainly been very angry, but here he was completely different. His expression was one of exhaustion. She just nodded silently, realizing that this wasn't the best time to ask questions, and headed for the stairs.

Alone in the living room, Saul opened one of the bottles of whisky, poured himself a shot and headed for one of the sofas. He downed the drink in one gulp, leaving the glass on the coffee table as he leaned back, closing his eyes tightly to avoid the burning that was taking over them and his nose. By far because of the strong drink.

He let the air out with force between his lips. That was it. 

“I've reached my limit," he muttered to himself.

Chapter Text

Farah let her body fall heavily back onto the sofa, holding the scarf Ben had given her tightly against her bruised palm. It was still difficult to find a point where breathing didn't seem impossible, but she tried to disguise it as best she could by moving her shoulders as if the air really could pass freely through her lungs. 

“We worked out because you're not as unpredictable as you think you are, Hollywood.”

She closed her eyes briefly in the short time she was alone again. New York flooded her thoughts now with a weight that almost made her shoulders buckle. What was she thinking when she allowed the world to come crashing down on her like that? It wasn't as if she didn't know the way she was going again.

Her chest ached with too many feelings. She wanted to be packing her bags right now, seeing a bit of glory and honor in allowing herself to run away without looking back. There was too much damage along the way to have to think about if she looked. But Harvey had asked for a few minutes, some time for them to talk and for him to change her mind. He wanted to understand what had happened, but he never could. She wouldn't tell her friend the sordid details of her last days, even if he knew about all the others that had caused the scars she carried with her. 

The role of the fool had been completely her choice, and she would bear it alone as she had done for years. How she faced it every time she had to get into those damn elevators, every time her face appeared on screen - sixteen years younger - carrying the statuette for best actress, every time she saw some lost photo of how happy she was - in the eyes of others - and every time she was branded the Iron Lady. 

“Aunt Farah?”

The break in the silence made her jolt up from the sofa, opening her eyes quickly to stare at Sam's figure standing a few paces away. The boy's stunned gaze showed her more than any mirror could. Ben had entered just as alarmed, but in her friend's gaze she saw only the sad recognition of what he might find there. The young man had never seen what they had seen, unable to transport herself to the same place on the strength of an inevitable memory.

But the frightened way he stared at her, his wide eyes brimming with concern, told her that everything was much worse than she had imagined. Saul's passage through the house might have gone unnoticed if only the house could be seen, since the only sign of a heated moment was the shattered picture frame. However, as she looked away from the boy to try and pull herself together, she finally looked deeply at her own reflection without seeing through herself. 

Her hair was a bit disheveled from the nervous way he had run his fingers through it a few minutes earlier. Her white blouse was stained with her own blood from the time she had held her bruised hand against her chest. Her nose and eyes were reddened from the crying she had tried so hard to contain.

“What happened?” he finally came closer.

He had realized from the agitated way his father had left the car that something wasn't exactly right, and had thought he had let something escape his attention the moment they arrived in front of the house. Now there, even if there was the slightest sign that anything had happened, the downcast expression of the woman - whom he affectionately called and thought of as an aunt - said a lot about what he had missed.

Farah got up from the sofa, pressing the scarf against her palm and feeling her body protest in pain.

“It's okay, Sam,” she finally said. “It was just…”

The sentence died halfway through again, with her mind inevitably being flooded by an uncontrollable torrent of memories from years ago. Again traveling to the least place since opening that damn photo.

“Miss Dowling?” the young make-up artist approached her. Farah stared at her own reflection in the dressing room mirror, rehearsing for the thousandth time, away from the lines in the movie, another story was playing out in her mind. 

Stairs? A bump due to inattention to a piece of furniture? 

She knew that at that moment the woman's eyes were on the purple marks on her arms, exposed by the costume. At least she was grateful that the force of the angry touch that had held her face the night before had not been enough to mark the pale skin of her face.

“Yes?”  she tried to look misunderstood for a second. “Oh, that?” she indicated her arms by reflex. “A little domestic accident. We've moved around so much recently that sometimes I just forget where things are.” 

“Miss…”

The phrase hung in the air. Farah didn't know how much people believed the stories she told, but there were no different versions. Everything about the two of them told the world the complete opposite of anything those marks could imply.

“You can fix that, I wonder?”

Sam waited in the seconds-long pause she took, crossing his arms tensely. Farah had always been an image of strength that always appeared imposing in places, which he and his sister had grown up with without ever thinking of seeing anything different. He felt bad that he almost didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him. 

“ A little domestic accident, " she replied at last, letting the air out heavily through her lips. “I accidentally broke the picture frame, cut myself trying to put it back together.”

“Ah ” he sighed with relief. She gave a half-smile, somewhat relieved that the questions wouldn't follow. Sam lowered his eyes to see the shards of glass on the carpet, one of them still stained red. 

Ben passed the entrance to the living room again, coming in through the side door that led to the guest bathroom, with some first aid supplies in his hands. He paused for a second, watching his son and then turning to his friend. He was so worried and scared when he got out of the car that he forgot for a few minutes that he had asked the young man to wait in the car. 

"Mom and Terra have told me they're coming," Sam said, looking over her shoulder at her father. “But I can go back with them if I think it's necessary.”

“No,” Farah stepped forward, turning her face over her shoulder to look at his friend. “I just need a few minutes to change and sort this out.” She held up her injured hand in a simple gesture.

“Dad?” he waited for a reaction.

As much as things really seemed to make sense, something in the preoccupied way the adults behaved told him that there was something more to it all. 

“I'm telling you it's okay,” the actress took a step towards him with a smile. “Just one second, okay?” she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to nod. “Perfect,” she touched her free hand to his shoulder, pulling him into a quick hug. “I missed you.”

Sam smiled, subtly squeezing her back and then pulling away.

“Me too," he replied. “I'll get the pizzas and fix it for you, don't worry.” he indicated the carpet.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Dowling turned on her heels, following the sofa until she reached where Ben was still standing, his brow furrowed and his shoulders tense. She put out her hand to ask for the things he was holding, seeing him hesitate for a few seconds before reaching for them. She thanked him with a nod, even though she couldn't face her friend's eyes for long.

Perhaps she was afraid of seeing her own reflection, perhaps she was afraid of seeing the things she knew he remembered too. He also considered the possibility of locking herself in her room and allowing herself to feel all the shame and anger that was suffocating her chest, before putting her things in a suitcase and going home. But she'd already dealt with worse things than that to simply let herself break down now. She would have time to feel self-pity, since her old companion had never really left her. She lived more of her life in the company of that feeling that for a long time was the only one she could name clearly out of everything she felt.

She climbed the first few steps of the staircase with clumsy steps, out of sight of the two people who were standing silently inside the room. She paused for a few seconds, regaining her posture before finally reaching the bedroom door. She picked up a new blouse from the closet, ignoring the mirror that seemed to be calling for her to turn around, and walked over to the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress and take a few deep breaths.

The movement at the end of the bed caused the object resting on her pillows to roll to the side, bumping almost without effect to make her uncomfortable, but enough to divert her eyes. The angry-looking plush seemed to stare at her with more meaning than it could have. She held it for a few seconds, fighting the urge to throw it away as intensely as she wanted to bring it to her chest.

The subtle knocks on the bedroom door came even though it was still open, and Ben watched it for a few seconds before entering. He knew Farah like the back of his hand, but there were disconnected points in what he imagined had happened that until that moment didn't seem to make sense. But her lost look as she turned to him clarified many things. He approached slowly, pushing the door closed a little, and sighed as he reached her.

Farah sniffled, returning the object to the pillows and swallowed dryly in an attempt to keep the sting of the tears from returning to her eyes. He thought he could postpone that moment for longer, that kind of conversation they hadn't had for so long. But apparently there was no way she could leave everything behind without Harvey knowing at least part of it.

“Let me take care of this ” he bent down in front of her and picked up the bandages. She just sighed, holding out her hand to him. 

“I'm going back to England," she said at last. Ben took a deep breath, pulling the scarf away from the wound. This wasn't the time for him to talk, it was the time to listen. He'd be able to get his points across to her later, but not now. “After today I can't go back to the studio.”

“And what happened today?” he didn't raise his face to her, he knew she'd run away from looking him in the eye. 

“Andreas,” her ex-husband's name came out brokenly between her lips. She paused for a second, laughing humorlessly. “That sounds like some kind of time travel.”  

“I asked you to stay away from social media” he finished securing the bandage, finally raising his face to look at her. 

“I was," she defended herself. “It's not like I was looking for that. I mean… Me and Sa-Silva” she swallowed. “We were messaging each other, it was the closest I got to a cell phone today. Then I took a break to reply to you, and then I got the photo by text. It was unbelievable. How likely is it, Ben, that it was a coincidence?”

“Is that why Silva was here? Because of the photo?” He put one knee on the floor.

She remained silent. She had too many things to say, even if she didn't want to get any of them out. The photo alone had been terrible, but everything that followed was the last straw. And, whether he wanted to or not, there were things he needed to tell, after all, as well as being a great friend, Ben was his agent. In other words, the person responsible for cleaning up the mess he had made.

Finally, he nodded briefly.

“Andreas called me,” she continued. “He said he wanted to congratulate me on the damage I've been doing to my life…” she cleared her throat. “He said that Silva barely knew him, but had already felt comfortable enough to say that he was completely exhausted by me. He had given him tips on how to deal with people like me .”

“Farah…” Ben sighed, moving to sit next to her on the bed. 

“You saw the photo before I did, you saw what was written,” he didn't allow her to continue. “Just imagining that I was a common topic between them. That Saul felt comfortable talking to Andreas about me. That he… that they somehow… divided me… I snapped out of it. I just can't believe I put myself in that situation again, Ben. That I wrapped the rope around my own neck like that.”  

She stopped talking for a second, drying her eyes with the back of her hand before new tears streamed down her face. 

“I picked up the phone and called Silva," he continued. “I told him I'm off the movie.”  

“What?” Harvey turned his face to her.

She got out of bed, leaving the other man behind with a shocked expression, and approached one of the open windows, trying to breathe better.

“You wanted to know what he was doing here,” Farah said. “He came to try to get me to tell him what changed my mind. As if he didn't know,” She laughed humorlessly again. “He said he needed me for things to work out. But then there it was, that look, making assumptions. Saying that I'd already climbed too high and that's why I could see everyone from above. It was like… like…”

She swallowed. As if he wasn't really there in New York. 

Ben thought for a few seconds before standing up and approaching her, crossing his arms in front of his body. There was the last point he needed to connect and now it all seemed to make sense. He had noticed something different the day he picked her up from the studio, before the trip, but now it all seemed terribly clear just from the heavy way her shoulders slumped forward. When she told him in the car that she couldn't let her guard down and allow herself to feel, it was already a clear warning that things were different.

“Farah,” Ben called her. “Does this have to do with the director of the movie you're asking Andreas for advice, or does it have to do with Saul Silva talking to your ex-husband about you?”

Her posture tensed. Damn the years of friendship that made him know her so well. 

“Does it matter?” she turned to look at him. She wouldn't admit what he wanted to hear out loud, saying it to herself hurt too much. “It all ends in the same shit, Ben. In the big role of idiot that I was unknowingly playing.”

“You really like him, don't you?” He took a step closer. Farah looked away. That was as far as the conversation would go. “It's fine. You don't have to tell me. You don't have to tell me. But listen,” he held her hands carefully. “Farah.”

She knew he wouldn't insist on that particular point, but the tone he used to call her name already showed that it was no longer his best friend who was talking. It was her agent. And he would certainly insist on that as much as he could. She looked at him again, her jaw tight enough to mark the fine features of her face.

“I'm not going to let you throw your career away because of a ghost from the past,” He said firmly. “Packing your bags is totally out of the question.”

“Ben, please don't make me…”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted her. “Take all the time you need to get your head together, but think, Farah. What would Andreas get out of it? What would he gain by calling you and saying these things? What guarantees that it wasn't one more time ?” he didn't need to specify. She understood perfectly well what he was talking about. “You're not going to put everything you've built up until now behind you, put aside everything you've been through, because of someone like him. Think about it, Farah. We can get on a plane the same day you finish recording, I can organize any break you want after that. But now, today, running away is out of the picture.” 

“I thought we could find a loophole in the contract," she tried. “It shouldn't be that difficult, Ben, there have been cast changes since we started…”

“You're the protagonist, I know I don't need to remind you of that," he replied. “If you really leave, you'll be putting a lot more than your career on the back burner. People depend on your work, and it doesn't matter how much you want Silva to blow himself up right now. I'm serious with you. Is that what you want? To bury the careers of so many talented young people? Because I'm sure you know that the moment we announce your departure to the studio it will be the end of the movie. And none of us started yesterday so I don't need to explain what's going to happen.”

She let go of his hands, crossing her arms in front of her body. The truths that had been spoken still seemed to be hitting her face one by one. He was right. Unfortunately, he was right. Running away at that moment wasn't really an option, even though it was exactly what she would have liked to do. 

“As your agent, I repeat, I will never allow you to ruin your brilliant career over something you don't even know how it happened” he softened his voice. “And as your friend, I would never let you run off like that, not without thinking carefully about what happened. Give him the benefit of the doubt, Farah. You may not know Silva that well, but you know everything Andreas is capable of,” He approached her, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head. “I asked Rose to take the children home, I think you need a bit of time alone. Take your time, I'll deal with FW. And call me when you're ready to come back.” 

He didn't wait for an answer, since he wasn't sure if she would reply. He gently squeezed one of her shoulders, silently saying what she knew by heart: that she could count on him for whatever she needed. 

°°°

Saul went downstairs feeling tired and his head throbbing from the hangover. Not even the bottle of whisky that now waited empty next to the bedside table had been enough to make him fall asleep. For the first time in a long time, he hadn't been able to escape his own thoughts.

He took a shower when he heard the alarm, seeming to play every melody directly into the echo of the migraine in his head. Getting ready to leave the house and go to work had never seemed so difficult. It was clear that it would be the last day of many, possibly at that moment Farah was also preparing to announce her departure from the production, which clearly drew two possible scenarios in his mind. In the first, it would be the obvious end of the whole production, they wouldn't have time to start again with a new leading actress, nor would they have the investment to do so. In the second, and in what he considered to be what he would find when he left home, Rosalind would make the choice between keeping her in the movie or going with his direction. 

It wasn't a difficult decision and he readily admitted that. Between him and Farah, it seemed pathetic to even think that the studio would have to choose. 

Perhaps if he had any dignity left, it would be best to resign, because it was easy for him to choose between the two. He needed her to make things work, but she could climb to heaven without his help if she wanted to.

The house was silent when he arrived downstairs, a far cry from the frequent noise his son's company brought. He thought he had been too rude the night before, but the last thing he wanted at that moment was to have to talk about what had happened. On the coffee table, he found a pair of glasses next to a folded note. He looked for a few seconds at the stem glued with a few twists of tape and adjusted it on his face.

" I tried to fix it for you. I don't know what happened yesterday, but I hope the other guy is worse.

I went home, but I'll see you at work"

Better that way, it would be one less thing to face that morning. His hand moved almost unconsciously to his face, running over his unshaven beard where he was sure her fingers had left a mark the night before.

He put Sky's note aside, picking up his cell phone one last time before leaving to check that there was nothing urgent. Inevitably, he found himself looking at the messages he had exchanged with Farah the night before.

“Does that stupid smile mean a girlfriend?” Sky's voice reverberated through the memory and seemed to echo inside the empty room. 

He ignored the maybe that he wished had appeared at that moment, but he hadn't even had time to really think about it. In fact, it would only be reinforcing how foolish he looked if he had done so. The silent notifications from the other social networks were still coming in non-stop from the night before and for the first time since the event his mind seemed to click to a different place.

Andreas Eraklyon. He knew only enough about their marriage to appear in old newspaper and magazine headlines, but he remembered just then what it had been like the day Rosalind had introduced Stella as the new cast member. He had also seemed to be on good terms with Farah that day, a shadow of truce and stability hanging over them both until then. Remembering this brought back the strange feeling he'd had during the cocktail party, when he didn't quite understand why the actor seemed to be hanging around him all night. Just as he didn't understand the friendly approach at the bar and all the advice he hadn't asked for.

It was as if the other person knew what to say to unsettle him. And it was as if the phone call that followed had been rehearsed to complete the chaos of the words. 

He shook his head, gathering up his car keys. He was just trying to find an excuse or someone to blame for or just to get rid of a bit of the mess that he had created.

He was still halfway to the studio when the phone rang, interrupting his flow of thoughts. He was still considering which was better: to let the day go on as if nothing was out of the ordinary, or to give things a small chance to continue without him and resign. He tried to identify the number from the car's dashboard without much success, using the button on the steering wheel to answer on the speakerphone.

“Silva” The voice came out hoarse, causing a certain discomfort in the person’s dry throat. It was the first time he had spoken in hours.

“Hello?” the male voice spoke on the other end of the line. “I t's me, Ben Harvey.” 

He heard some cars honking when he almost ran a red light. Of all the things he was looking forward to that morning, a call from the agent was the last.

“Can we talk for a minute?” he continued in his silence.

“Of course,” he replied. “But I'm already aware… of the decisions. If it's about that, I think I can save you some time.”

“Actually, that's exactly what it's about,” he said. “ I called to ask you to disregard it.”

“Disregard?” He felt like laughing. Disregard exactly what, of everything that had happened? The resignation? The half-hearted phone call? The pointless argument they'd had?

“I spoke to Farah last night. She asked me to let you know that she thought better of it, it was something that happened… in the heat of the moment. Leaving the movie is definitely not an option for her.”

In the heat of the moment? What moment? It wasn't as if they'd argued and then she'd left the movie, it had all happened before, at the moment when things were good between them. A moment after… he shook her head, again pushing away the thought that had arisen at home.

“She asked you to tell me that?” he repeated, bringing the focus back to the conversation.

“We know that the damage to the production would be enormous, and Farah values professionalism ," he explained. Saul could count the number of times he'd heard that word and how he felt more and more like banging his head against a wall as he saw it repeated. “ She needs a few days to sort things out, but she'll be back in the studio soon.” 

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Harvey?” He waited for confirmation. “Did she tell you why?”

Silence followed for a long time. Saul understood that he would speak neither as an agent nor as a friend. He let out a frustrated sigh. Doubt would surely be his inseparable companion for the rest of time.

“Tell Miss Dowling that I appreciate her consideration for the production," He said at the end. “And that we'll wait for her at the studio when she's feeling up to it.”

°°°

May 28th

She hadn't really left the house in the last few days, barely even her room, to tell the truth. She had to get her thoughts in order before anything else, but she missed being in a familiar place that would help her think more clearly, so she clung to the little bit of meaning she had already begun to give that room. This would be the first time in two days that she would leave the door of the house, and the first time she would walk through the back gate towards the beach since she had moved there.

Even within the white walls, the sound of the sea had been a faithful and honest companion during that time, giving her the time she needed within her silence, breaking it only with the reminder that she didn't have to be alone if she didn't want to. It was as if there was a companion ghost incapable of judging her flow of thoughts and the intensity of the feelings she kept imprisoned as tightly as she could keep them inside her chest.

She felt the cold wind beating against her bare arms and her feet receiving the cold dampness of the sand in the early hours of the morning. It was uncomfortable to the point of making her body shiver with the cold sensation, but at the same time it was good. It was the possibility of feeling something concrete and not just an abstract idea that made it so much more uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, feeling the salty air fill her lungs with ease, and walked a little way until she reached the water's edge. 

The chill spread more intensely through her body when her feet and the hem of her dress were drenched by a wave, making her shiver and hug herself tightly. 

She imagined that those days would provide answers to the dozens of questions that had been running through her mind since Monday night, but only another dozen or so came up. Every time she tried as hard as she could to make herself believe that everything had been a mistake from the start and that she should have expected it to happen one day or another, the same memory came back like a movie.

She closed his eyes, feeling the faint breeze against her face. And there it was again, dancing in her mind like a novel from the 60s. She could feel Saul's hand clasped tightly around hers, pulling her towards the park's games stalls. She could feel the warmth of his body keeping her warm in the night on the sofa. The taste of wine on his lips marked like iron. Each of these things seemed to refute and reinforce with equal intensity the idea that she had been wrong. 

What if the whole misunderstanding had happened after that? Ben's questions were also there all the time. What would Andreas get out of it? With the photo and the whole circus he'd set up on the phone call? She might not have thought she knew Silva that well, but her friend was right when he told her that he knew every face of her ex-husband. And that led to another question. Could Saul have known how much that small gesture could hurt her? He didn't know anything about her story after all.

The unexpected low noise in the water next to her made her open her eyes again. Next to her, the friendly figure of the dog was sitting, staring at her with his head tilted slightly to the side, his tongue sticking out to show his panting. She couldn't help smiling at him, looking around for anyone who might be there, but the beach was completely empty if it hadn't been for the two of them. 

“Hey, buddy," she said. “You look a bit lost, don't you?” she slowly bent down, finishing dipping the hem of her dress in the salt water. “No problem, I'm a bit lost too” she held out her hand to him, allowing him to sniff it before leaving a subtle caress on the top of his head. The animal moved closer, placing his paw on her knee. Farah looked at it for a few seconds, then laughed. “I'm sorry, you're a lady . I should have known.”  

She continued to cuddle for a few more minutes, then got up and looked in the direction of the house. She knew that Ben had told her to take her time, but she understood that she couldn't hide there for too long. She walked a few steps back, soon realizing she was being followed, and stopped to look around again. The beach was truly deserted, excluding her and her four-legged companion. She smiled again at the animal, opening the garden gate to let it in too.

Judging by its tiredness, the animal seemed to have been walking for a long time. Then, entering through the kitchen door, she took a jug of water and put it outside as she watched her sit down to drink. Was it crazy to think that this was the first right decision in days?

She picked up her cell phone to send a message to Ben in time to see the call pop up on the screen. Rosalind Hale. The caller ID brought a shiver down her spine; knowing the executive producer's reputation well, she knew there was definitely a reason why contact was being made directly with her. Ignoring the call seemed like a good course of action, waiting with the handset in hand until it stopped ringing, and then the icon indicating the message in her mailbox appeared. 

 “Farah, dear, I hope you're feeling better” the woman's voice echoed over the speakerphone. "We're counting on you in the studio today. We have an interview with E! being recorded today and we need the full cast. See you there. Without fail.

Now she understood what Silva meant: the studio representative's tone was rarely one of invitation or question. It was an order, and that left her little choice but to go up to her room and get ready to leave. 

She looked for a few seconds at her new companion, who was sleeping peacefully on the entrance mat, and sighed, heading for the stairs. She sorted out an outfit for the day, leaving the bag that had accompanied her to the studio on the bed with her belongings in it, and went into the bathroom.

She felt her anxiety starting to show at any moment and turned on the tap, intending to wash her face. She paused for a few seconds, staring at the palm of her hand still covered in the bandage. 

“It's not serious," Ben said. “It's okay, it won't leave a scar.”

She felt her stomach lurch, the characteristic tightness rising in her chest and getting stuck in her throat as if it were preventing the air from getting in. Farah turned slowly onto her back, pulling her hair forward and turning her face slightly to look at her reflection over her shoulder. How long had it been since she'd seen herself like this? How long had she been running away from her image?

The pale skin of her back, at shoulder height, had patterns of fine scratches drawn in scars scattered across it. The image hit her like a punch, bringing a sting to her eyes as her mind was flooded with memories from almost twenty years ago.

Farah slammed the bedroom door behind her, turning the key quickly before going to the closet and taking out the travel bag. She placed it on the bed and threw in a few changes of clothes. She simply couldn't stand arguing any longer, she wasn't going to stand there waiting to see what would happen next. She knew that there was a lot between the offenses and her husband trying to drag her to bed to reconcile things for just one side. 

The man's heavy footsteps could be heard up the stairs and down the corridor. The door handle moved violently as he tried to open it.

“Farah, open that damn door!” he shouted. “We haven't finished talking yet.”

She remained silent, going over to the chest of drawers by the door to grab a few things and throw them into her bag as well. Ben was already on his way to pick her up; it would only take a few more minutes. 

“Do you really think you're going to make a fool of me in front of the others and then lock yourself away?” the sound of the hallway mirror shattering startled her, and she let out an inevitable sigh through her lips. “I can hear you breathing, Farah.”

She pulled in a sharp breath, filling herself with all the courage she still had, and turned the key, opening the door before her husband could do so. Her first contact with the corridor was her feet on the shards of mirror that were scattered around. One of his hands was clenched into a fist, the surface of his knuckles bleeding.

She tried to ignore it, tightening her grip on the handle of her bag to get past him.

“Where do you think you're going?” he held her firmly by the arm. 

“I'm going to Ben's until you calm down,” she replied. “Let's not talk like this, you're out of your mind, Andreas.” 

She disentangled her arm from his, trying to pass again. 

“You're not leaving here without my permission” he held her by the shoulders. Farah forced her way through, feeling him pushing against her with all his force.

She lost the balance that would have been impossible to maintain, with him being so much bigger and stronger than her. She fell back two steps, feeling her back hit what was left of the mirror on the wall. The sound of something breaking was repeated, as she felt the disconcerting pain of the edges cutting into her back through the opening of her blouse. Her body slid downwards as her feet slipped on the hallway carpet, bringing the pain even stronger. She held a scream tightly in her throat, feeling the cry rise uncontrollably in her chest. 

“Sweetheart, for God's sake” Andreas bent down in front of her, making her step backwards over the shards, feeling one of them pierce her palm. She could see how her husband's expression changed in seconds in those situations. He looked like two completely different people before and after hurting her. 

“Farah?” Ben's voice called out from downstairs.

Andreas gave her an enlightening look, which, even through the veil of tears blurring her eyes and the pain spreading through her body, made her nod. She could feel the warm blood trickling down her back, while the crying left her silent. 

Ben soon reached the top of the stairs, stopping to look at the couple crouched next to what was left of the mirror. 

“Ben!” Andreas looked over his shoulder. “She overbalanced and hit the mirror. Thank God, help me out here.”

Harvey struggled to move closer to the two of them. Andreas held her by the arms, while his friend helped her up by the waist. 

“I'll get some bandages” the actor turned towards the stairs.

The other two remained silent, while the agent stared at the cuts in lines that spread down her back at shoulder height through the opening in her blouse.

“Ben” her voice came out between sobs that she tried to hold in her chest.

“It's all right, darling” he felt his voice catch. “It's not serious. It's all right.” 

°°°

Five hours later she was entering the corridors of studio 16. A few people spoke briefly to her as she walked without pause. If she had to do it, she had to do it in one month. She couldn't stand another second of that expectation killing her inside. 

If things had to be this way, let it be her way, so that she could maintain just a little control over the situation. When she knocked on the wooden door at the end of the dressing room corridor, she had to wait a few seconds before she got an answer.

Silva stood with his elbows firmly on the table, staring at the sequence of new promotional posters he had been handed a few minutes earlier. At the top of them, Farah's photo stood out with the protagonist's name below it.

He removed his glasses, leaving them on the table to squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds. He had only been there a short time, but the week itself seemed to take forever to finish. The knock on the door snapped him out of his moment of distraction, making him straighten up in his chair to finally ask the person to come in.

Farah's figure passing through the door was the last thing he expected to see, startling him enough to make him suddenly rise from his chair as she closed the door behind her and turned back to him. He had thought of saying so many things over the last few days that the words simply seemed to have vanished from his mind the moment he saw her standing there.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to become dense, hard to breathe, as they stared at each other in silence. Saul looked longingly at her, noticing how the woman's posture seemed completely different from what he had been used to the last few times they had been together at work. One of her hands, briefly bandaged, made his body shiver. This is all your fault, you idiot. 

“Dowling” finally felt able to say something. 

“I've just come to present myself to work again, Director,” Farah stood a few steps away from his desk. “At least you don't have to discard your material.” she indicated the posters on his desk with a brief nod. 

Hers, a photo of her holding a glass of wine, taken from one of the scenes in the movie, came with the name of the character and the movie. A poster, as she had told him the day of the argument.

“You don't need me," came the dry reply. “Maybe you need my name, a nice poster with my picture on it. But don't make a scene by saying you need me.

She turned on her heels, leaving him still with his hands firmly on the table, his head raised looking at her, and headed for the door.

“Wait," he asked the moment he saw her reach for the door handle. “Please, just a second. Just a second.”

Farah hesitated, taking a deep breath before turning towards him again. Silva stepped out from behind the table, turning around to walk towards her. He seemed to think for a few seconds about the right distance to take at that moment.

“I need to prepare for the interview," she said quietly.

“I'll be quick," he assured her. 

“All right," she nodded. “I'm waiting.”

Saul took a step towards her again, making her move away in an almost mirror-like motion. In any case, he reached her just as the actress's back hit the door. He took a deep breath, reaching for her hand still wrapped in a simpler bandage with his own.

“This," he swallowed dryly, looking up at her. Farah looked him in the eye without much reaction, but let out a sigh at the way he stared at her. “It was my fault, wasn't it?”

He remembered the picture frame being broken, unintentionally, in the living room of her house that night. Never, in all his thoughts, did the idea of hurting her seem remotely acceptable, in any form, even if it was unintentional. 

Farah wanted to take her hand, but felt her own conscience sabotaging her, lost in the way his blue eyes seemed to pass through her.

“It was an accident," she finally managed to say. 

“I… I'm sorry” his tone was low.

“I told you," she tried to ignore the subtle caress his thumb left on the extension of her wrist. “It was an accident.”

“I'm not just talking about that," he said. “I know I've done something, even if you won't tell me what it is. And I know that it hurt you in some way…”

“Silva” Farah tried to interrupt him.

“Just listen,” he asked. “We can never talk about it again if you want. I'll respect the space that needs to exist between the two of us. But I want you to listen. I'm really sorry, if this was about New York, I should have understood…”

“Saul,” his name slipped out, but it was enough to make him stop. He really had no idea what had happened. Nor would he. That part of herself she would never open up to him and maybe that was it. Letting him take over the distance they needed to put between them. “I just want to do my job” she pulled her hand away from his touch.

The silence stretched on for as long as they could hold each other's gaze. Saul moved towards her, causing the woman to hold her breath in her chest. His hand reached for the handle, opening the door before he took a step back and bowed his head in agreement. Enough was said. 

“See you in the studio, Miss Dowling.”

Chapter Text

Saul left the door open, watching as she walked away down the corridor and disappeared through one of the dressing room doors. A heavy sigh left his body and it seemed as if his mind went completely blank for a few seconds. He was exhausted, to say the least. Completely exhausted, if he had to be honest. But there was still so much to do and so many things to deal with that sometimes that week his thoughts would just drift away. 

But breaking down now was definitely out of the question. So, as much as he could almost physically feel the weight of guilt piling up on his shoulders, he straightened his posture and put his hands in his pockets to return to his desk. He had used the week to put a lot of his thoughts in order, even if he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate as he should on the movie when the unresolved issue with Farah loomed over his head like a storm cloud. Part of him needed to make him believe that, after Harvey's phone call telling him that she had reconsidered leaving the movie while it was still his business, things would return to as normal as possible, at least inside Studio 16. But seeing her there, after almost five days, with the same hardened, accusing look that she had given him on Monday night, had made sure to silence every positive thought.

Farah didn't want to hear it, after all, but he wasn't even sure what he could say if she decided to wait for it. Perhaps in her place, he wouldn't have expected much either. He was angry about something, and it was clear in every line marked on the delicate features of her face. That something danced between who he was and what he had done, even if he didn't yet know where his biggest mistake lay. The only thing he could do was exactly what he had managed to put into the few words he had said to her minutes before. He had done something, that's for sure. And now she really hated him for it, and perhaps it didn't even matter whether or not she told him what it was. Although not understanding didn't diminish the guilt she was feeling for simply knowing that he had somehow been responsible for hurting her in some way. 

He rested his hands on the wooden desk top, looking for a few seconds at the new posters that were still scattered around. His head hung briefly forward as he let himself close his eyes for a few seconds. He felt too much - too much - on edge to throw everything up and give up in the chaos. Perhaps all that confusion had at least served to take his professional self by the shoulders and shake him until he woke up. 

The two spaced-out knocks on the door followed and again he sighed, discouraged just imagining what would come next. 

 "Come in," he asked, opening his eyes to look at his wristwatch before putting his glasses back on. 

Beatrix stood in the doorway for a few seconds, arms crossed and leaning on the threshold. She watched the tense figure of the men for a while, his shoulders hunched and his attention fixed on the papers on the table. Something was happening, even if she didn't yet know why, and it made her snort in frustration most of the time. Firstly, because her job there as Rosalind's representative was to know everything that was going on, and secondly because the director seemed to have returned from his trip to New York even more oblivious to her presence there, no matter how much he did his best to remain cordial and helpful most of the time.

When Silva finally turned around, she finally disengaged herself from the threshold, taking a few steps towards him with a half-smile on her face. She held out her hand, which was holding the hanger with the blazer and shirt hanging on it.

“I swear I looked everywhere," Sky burst through the door before she could say anything. 

Saul looked away from the young woman and lifted his son onto her shoulder. Beatrix had to keep her smile in check against the urge to roll her eyes.

“Ah,” the boy scratched the back of his head. “There you go.”

“Is that it?,” Beatrix looked at the hanger. “I asked Riven to let you know I'd be bringing it.”

“Riven?” Sky raised an eyebrow. “I spoke to him and…”

“Well, it's here," Saul interrupted them, holding out his hand to take the clothes. 

Sky walked in, leaving the door a little less open than it had been when he passed, turning around his father's desk to sit down in the office chair. He put his feet up, turning his shoes away from the photographs, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He was due to get a raise for the amount of stuff he had carried in such a short time, so knowing that wouldn't happen, he was going to take the small opportunity to do nothing for a few seconds.

The director left the hanger on the sofa and removed his jacket. He took the white shirt that was underneath the blazer and put it over the same color top, putting the jacket on before worrying about the buttons. Bea approached him, pulling him closer by the sides of his clothes, before adjusting the collars and beginning the process of calmly closing the sequence of buttons.

Saul sighed a little uncomfortably, turning his face slightly to the side and checking the time on his wristwatch. He would never be used to receiving that kind of attention, he felt like a big idiot who couldn't get ready well enough to go out and record. As if he didn't do it alone at home every day.

°°°

Farah adjusted the dropped shoulders of the midriff-baring blouse she was wearing, aligning it with her chest and creating just the right contrast with the way her collarbone and sternum bones were perfectly drawn. She had just finished her make-up and was still waiting for Musa to tell her she was ready to go out.

At some point the girl had disappeared through one of the doors and she could hear some things falling into the cupboard she was moving. The girl was quiet, but effusive in a curious kind of way. She usually wore large headphones in her ears, and for the first few days she ignored anything that was said to her in the dressing room, but over time she had learned to feel at ease in the presence of most of the cast, especially Farah and Bloom, which allowed her to hang the headphones around her neck and talk about certain subjects in an animated way.

“I found it, ” she came back inside excitedly, with a hair clip in her hands. “I swore this was somewhere else.”

She positioned herself behind the actress's chair again, picking up the brush from the dressing table to run it through the already tousled strands. Dowling paid attention to what was being done through her own reflection in the mirror and almost irrationally moved her hand to stop the young woman when she saw her lift the wavy strands into a ponytail.

"I think," Farah searched for words, trying to get rid of the shiver that ran down her spine at the sight of her back and shoulders exposed by her clothes and the lack of hair that usually covered them. “I'd rather leave them loose, what do you think?”

Musa smiled, releasing the strands again and smoothing them free down her back. 

“Perfect," she nodded. “You're ready, Miss Dowling.”

Farah nodded, finally getting up from her chair and putting on the heels that were waiting next to her. She thanked the young woman with a hug on the side and a friendly kiss at the temple. As much as she still didn't feel at ease, or at all convinced that going back there had been the best of ideas, especially after her quick encounter with Saul in his office, being welcomed by people who seemed to care was comforting.

When she finally reached the corridor, her mind betrayed her, calling her almost irremediably towards the end of it, where she had come minutes earlier. It was as if the door to Silva's office had a large neon sign that drew her gaze. She felt her bruised palm tingle, as if his touch from earlier had materialized there and brought back the reflection of his guilty, worried gaze. She drew in her breath sharply, doing the usual exercise of holding it in her lungs while calmly counting the seconds that passed. One. Two. Three. Four.

She turned her face slowly, hoping to find the wooden door closed. Which would undoubtedly be ideal for listening to the reason why she was going the other way. 

Five. She let the air out through her lips with a heavy sigh. Through the crack in the door, she saw Beatrix standing in front of the director, lining up the collar of the blazer and shirt he was wearing and then standing on tiptoe, saying something close to one of his ears and moving her hand to the director pair of glasses, removing them with a smile on her face before leaving them in one of his hands.

When she saw the assistant turn towards the exit, she quickly spun on her heels in the direction she had been heading all along. Her mind constantly betraying her with the image of herself doing the same thing, slowly removing his glasses so that she could look deep into his eyes before they met...

 “Miss D.” the youngest called out to her before she could start walking.

Farah paused, rehearsing to herself the smile above the thoughts that troubled her before turning to her.

Beatrix smiled.

 “Will you come with me? Saul will be joining us soon," she smiled back.

She just nodded silently, indicating the corridor so that they could go together to the flight of stairs that would take them to the studio.

°°°

Saul stared for a few seconds at the frame of the glasses in his hand, seeing that the repair Sky had made with tape was still performing very well that day. He had reminded himself several times that he should either fix them and buy new ones, or simply get used to contact lenses once and for all, but something in him didn't want to do either of those things. The sound of the cell phone on the table, emitting insistent notifications, broke the silence of the room as he finished applying the second lens in front of the mirror. 

“Holy shit!” Sky felt the chair unbalance on his back and had to put his feet on the floor to avoid falling backwards.

“Sky,” Silva gave him a scolding look. “Please?”

“No” the young man stood up, a disbelieving smile forming on his lips. “I mean. Oh, boy. Now I get it.”

“Can I ask what the hell you're talking about?” He put his hands on his waist.

“Well” he finally looked away from the phone to look at his father. “I knew you were seeing someone, but I didn't know it was serious until I saw you with the Queen of England.”

Saul closed his eyes for two seconds, processing the information that had arrived. Going out with someone? The Queen of England? It took longer than it should have for the realization to finally sink in and for a moment he felt all the blood leave his body. He moved towards the table, taking the cell phone from his son's hand.

On the screen, on one of the news pages, a photo of him and Farah in Central Park walking arm in arm under the half-light made the device seem to weigh fifty pounds more. He slowly lowered the screen to run his eyes quickly over the caption. 

"While the world watched the exclusive interview that aired on CBS, Farah Dowling and Saul Silva were seen together on the streets of New York City"

It was no big deal. A photo of a moment when they had actually gone for a walk together. He had to repeat it to himself a million times, and each time he heard his own voice in his head, it sounded even more stupid.

He threw the cell phone at Sky, clenching his teeth with the growing irritation in his chest. Was it impossible that this damn weekend would stay buried and things could finally stop going wrong?

 “I'm not seeing anyone," he said seriously. “And even less dating... dating her.”

 “It's not what it looks like,” Sky laughed. “What is it? Old man can tell the truth, are you... Having sex or something?”

 “Listen here, kid” he took a step towards the table. “There's nothing going on here, do you hear me? That said, don't forget that you owe me respect. And you owe Miss Dowling respect” Sky's smile gradually died, as he saw how his father's expression had changed. “Finally, this is a workplace, not a nursery, so stop acting like a child.”

 He turned on his heels and walked out of the office with long, firm strides towards the corridor. The only thing he could do was hope that the news would take longer to reach the floor below, or that recording would be the worst hell he would ever go through. 

When he finally arrived, he stepped out of the elevator doors into the studio's internal area, and sighed with relief when he saw that everyone seemed to be too focused on their own tasks to know what was going on online about them at the moment. The best thing to do was to pretend that he shared the same ignorance on the subject. He noticed Farah approaching one of the producers in the distance, stopping next to Daniel. The man said something, pointing to the chairs arranged in a strategic spot.

The actress looked around, as if searching for something, until her eyes finally stopped on him. The atmosphere in the studio seemed overwhelming for a few seconds, as the woman moved gracefully closer to her castmate, hooking her arm in his and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled, still staring at him across the distance, before turning back to those accompanying her.

Saul felt his face heat up. What an asshole. He pulled his blazer off his shoulders and threw it angrily over one of the chairs, then headed towards the production. The producer was still talking to the cast when he came closer, deciding to stop where he was. Farah followed the conversation normally, ignoring perfectly well the presence of the director now just a few steps away, as if he hadn't managed to cross his gaze seconds before. 

“Silva” Riven came towards him with one of the production tablets in his hands. The timing was just right to get him out of a possible wave of embarrassment. He was feeling out of place in his own studio, and it was unbelievable. “Do you have some time?”

The director shrugged, then nodded.

“Planet sent us the covers of the next cover of the magazine to evaluate” the young man held out the device to him. “I think they're great, but I wanted to show them to you before Rosalind arrives.”

Saul tapped the screen twice, relighting the images to analyze. The first cover was his own, one of the infinite thousands of photos he had taken. As he read the accompanying texts, with the headlines positioned millimetres above the photo, he saw the assistant move away for a few seconds out of the corner of his eye. He moved on to the next image, Farah's picture on the cover more naturally than he ever would have. He had no doubt in his mind that she was born for it, and that there would be no other place for her than in front of the cameras.

“May I?,” the sudden voice of the woman next to him almost startled him. He looked up from the screen at her, Riven standing next to them with a smile at the initiative. “I think Ben has already received them, but he's probably sorting out something else I asked him to do.”

 "Make yourself at home," he handed her the tablet, putting his hands in his pockets, knowing that he would have to stay close to see the rest of the files. 

Farah pushed back one of the locks of hair that had fallen over her face, looking at the photo without much interest for a few seconds. The concentration that should have been devoted to checking things was completely devoted to keeping her breathing in order. Riven had come to her, asking her to check the magazine before they passed it on to Rosalind, putting an end to the plans she had made to keep as far away as possible, at least until they had to share space in front of the cameras.

The director watched her movement carefully, before turning his eyes back to the same place she was looking at. His mind made a point of recalling the photo of the two of them together in New York, making him wonder if that was the problem Harvey was solving at her request. Even if he couldn't imagine that Farah would maintain that kind of impartiality if she already knew. 

“The next one,” Riven stepped forward anxiously during the long pause the couple were taking. “It's the official one.”

The next cover made both of them hold their breath for a few seconds as their eyes wandered over the image on the screen. "Stars of the Year", the headline announced. In the photograph, Saul was occupying the chair that had been placed on the set. Farah, sitting on the guard, had one of her arms over his shoulder, her fingers almost touching the strands of his hair. He had one of his arms firmly around her, his hand resting on the curve of her waist, and they looked into each other's eyes. Seeing from the outside made everything much more intense than it seemed even to them.

“You won't die if you touch me," she said quietly.

The words echoed just as loudly through both of their minds. Their eyes, still fixed on the screen, saw much more than what was there, completely ignoring the anxiety of the young man who accompanied them to find out if things were all right. The photo was perfect, as were the others, the headlines were all they needed to be. But things were far from okay. 

“Silva and Dowling, five minutes!” a voice shouted from the studio.

It seemed too far for someone who was as close as they knew how to be. But for a few seconds it was as if they had entered a dome, trapped inside it with things that only the two of them knew had happened before and after they had been printing those issues. He wouldn't die if he touched her, but at that moment the possibility of never being able to touch her again seemed to crush them both into silence.

Farah was the first to come to her senses, freeing herself from the eternity that the two seconds seemed to last. She handed the tablet back to Riven, turning away from the idea of even raising her eyes to the man next to her, and said something low enough so that neither of them could hear well. Saul clenched his hands in his pockets as she walked away towards the recording set.

 "Great, Riv," he said at last, forcing his lips to fold into a smile. “Thank you, Riv.”

Finally, he walked over to her, taking the empty seat in the chair next to her and resting one of his arms on the back of the chair. It would only be a few minutes, he needed to keep as much attention as possible on this so that afterwards he could at least try to sort out everything else.

The reporter approached with a warm greeting and sat down opposite them. The cameras were already set up, and the sound system had been through every possible test. Farah sat down next to him, crossing her legs to try and relax the tense posture that made her shoulders ache.

What else could go wrong, right?

“In three, two…” the voice came from behind them.

“Today we're in one of the most talked-about places in the world, ” the reporter started. “The phenomenon that The Lucky One has become is an event that deserves to be talked about, after all, the film hasn't even released its first trailer yet and it's already considered one of the big hits of the year. So, in order to understand this announced success, there's nothing better than bringing you inside Studio 16, in FW, to see where it comes from and what awaits us in this movie.”

Saul sighed, shifting his shoulders in his chair. At least he didn't mention New York. Even though it was quick, the man's palpable discomfort didn't go unnoticed by Farah, who for the first time was filled with the same courage that had brought her out of the house hours before to look at him. 

She briefly wished that the last week hadn't happened, and that somehow things could still be as they were when she got out of his car in front of his house. 

“Farah Dowling,” her name brought her back from a quick trip through in her thoughts, and she smiled at the interviewer as if this was the first greeting between them. “Saul Silva. I know you're probably tired of hearing it, but it's inevitable. You two are an unusual pair, to say the least. You have completely different stories, opposite trajectories to say the least.”

Saul twitched. That was the way things were going to go, he could already feel it just from those short words. What would he say? He had to agree. Yes, above all they were unusual. And yes, they certainly had completely opposite trajectories. She was at the top, shining like a diamond from the crown, and he was struggling to climb the slippery walls of the pit he had dug.

“I think it's a challenging job, we've already seen you say a few things about the movie," he continued. "So at what point did you look at what you were doing and think "yes, this partnership is going to work? Was there a specific scene?”

The silence between the two lasted for a few seconds, during which they actually looked at each other, trying to see the answer. 

“The scene where,” they started at the same time, then fell silent. The interviewer laughed excitedly while they still stared into each other's eyes.

Farah smiled, lowering her eyes. For a split second, she cursed herself for smiling sincerely, and for being sure that he would understand it as such.

“Ladies first," Saul nudged her with his shoulder. 

“I'd say the scene in which Emily wakes up to the things that have been happening," she replied. “It's an impactful course of events, and the scene itself is a delicate sequence shot. There are no lines, but it's strong and says a lot to the viewer.”

Silva smiled. He felt like a complete idiot for managing to almost ignore the chaos things were in.

“My answer is the same," he laughed. “I imagined from reading the script that this scene would be enlightening in many ways, but I didn't realize how much until I saw it happen. I think it was certainly there that I realized it would work. Farah managed to say a lot more than any text could, and I think the job we did in capturing all the emotion in that sequence was just right.”

“Should we expect much from this moment, then?” He asked and they both nodded at the same time. The way they seemed to be rehearsed to work in the same way, moving and talking at the same time was disturbing to both of their minds. “Silva, of course a Golden Globe on the shelf always carries its weight, but after that, let's just say things were out of balance, even more so for a promising director like you were…”

Saul swallowed during the pause. There it was, however long it took, it would come at some point. Farah sensed his discomfort by the way he shifted in his chair again, his shoulder lightly touching hers.

“Doesn't this history of things not working out leave some kind of pressure and insecurity for this work? How do you plan to live up to the high expectations, which now come not just from the studio but from the general public?”

The director gave a yellow smile, committing to memory the answer he had been rehearsing ever since he knew he would have to go through moments like that. 

“I wouldn't say it's a history that didn't work out," he began. “They're completely different productions, but in one way or another they've brought a lot of experience to the way I work today. I think that's fundamentally what matters most. I believe that pressure and insecurity are natural in any big job that anyone sets out to do, but I have a lot of confidence in what we're developing here,” he took a deep breath, involuntarily looking at Farah. Her eyes were on him as she absorbed what he was saying. "And well, someone told me a few days ago that my face is capable of convincing almost anyone," he looked away. “I'm not sure I convinced her, but I think it's a good start with expectations.”

Farah wanted to look away from him, but something in her just couldn't do it. Of all the things he had said, she wanted to understand why he had mentioned the conversation they had had when she read the first news about the interview in NY. Of all the people who had already returned to applaud the work he was doing, the director's concern still danced around the approval he hoped would come from her. 

“Well, let's give this person some credit then” The other smiled. “And you, Farah, how have you been? Could The Lucky One become the new Cruel Summer on your CV? Do you see the movie as having great enough potential to take the place of that other important production in your life?”

It was her turn to be uncomfortable in her chair. That interview was what? The complete opposite of what CBS had been for them? All the opportunity they'd had to look forward to, letting go of the crosses they'd carried in the past the first time around, was being completely buried at that moment. Farah didn't even know how to begin to respond. 

The last thing she expected was for anything in her life to even come close to being what Cruel Summer had been. She'd rather put her life aside and never act again than even think about stepping foot in something like the movie she'd been in, but people only saw the laurels. They only knew the story the media told. 

Saul felt her discomfort spreading in the silence, and settling his arm on the back of the chair, his hand covered the woman's in an almost involuntary gesture. That was another of the thousands of things he didn't understand about her, but he had watched her talk about the old movie enough times to understand where the sudden discomfort in her breathing came from.

“They're different times," she finally replied. “And if I could bet, The Lucky One is going to be bigger than anything I've ever worked on.”

It was a rehearsed answer, even if it was said as naturally as possible, and it didn't even fully answer what had been asked, but at that moment it was the best she could say. 

“Working on something this big must be consuming the time and energy you have to make it work. We can clearly see your dedication to keeping things as they are," he continued. “So what about personal life?”

The director had to moisten his suddenly dry lips. He hoped to the first god that heard him that the photo and article about them was still an unknown topic within the studio walls. 

“So, how are things going, director? Aren't you with anyone at the right time?,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Or have all those therapy sessions made you forget our favorite Frenchie and the page has been turned?” 

He almost felt his palm burn where it touched the woman's warm skin, but at no point did he think about moving. In the end, the assumptions weren't about her, and as long as only her name carried the weight of sensationalism for him, everything was fine.

Farah turned her face towards him again, wondering if she should walk away from the unexpected touch she had received. It was clear that he had sensed, just like the day he had stood next to her in the elevator, that something about the question had touched her. But unfortunately it was comfortable, comfortable in some way, to know that - even in completely different ways - he was supporting her by identifying with her feelings of discomfort. When, once again betrayed by her own conscience, she turned her hand over and placed his in her palm, even without holding it, she almost felt able to ignore the anger that still pounded in her chest at everything that had happened over the last few days.

“I think 16 years is more than enough time to turn the page on my former marriage, but I appreciate your concern” Saul tried to sound relaxed. She glanced at the way his fingertips touched the length of her palm. “But no, I'm not with anyone at the moment. As you said yourself, the movie has been very demanding.”

“I heard that your son has been helping with the production," he said and the director just nodded. “Does Sky know if he's going to follow in his mother's footsteps in front of the cameras or his own behind them?”

“It's an experiment, I'd say," he replied.

“And you,” he turned to Farah. “After your break-up with Andreas, we never heard you talk about building a family, having a little iron lady to accompany you at tea time," the actress's hand closed almost in a reflection around Saul's, making him look at the gesture and then at her, who kept her shoulders straight with perfect posture, but something had clearly changed in her, in the reflection in her eyes. "Or do you find it easier that way? I know you end up traveling a lot for work, so is it easier not to have someone waiting at home full of demands?”

“Come on, Farah,” Rose knocked on the door. “It can't take that long, you just have to pee.”

Farah rested her hands on the marble top of the sink, tapping her fingers nervously on the surface, while her eyes remained fixed on the pregnancy test. She knew that the ideal thing would have been to go to the doctor, have a blood test and thus eliminate all possibilities, even those that didn't involve being pregnant. But that would have ended up generating gossip that was perhaps unnecessary.

What's more, ever since her friend had looked at her with wide eyes, bringing to her awareness that everything she had been feeling differently over the last few days could in fact be her body warning her that something was different. It took her a while to really convince herself of the possibility, it wasn't as if she and Andreas weren't trying, but she didn't think things would happen so quickly. They were still halfway through shooting the movie. But Rose's argument had been almost irrefutable, after all, she was at the end of her second pregnancy, she knew what those signs meant. 

When she finally opened the bathroom door, her hands were shaking as much as her legs, the tip of her nose stinging from the crying that was taking over her chest. Rose came as quickly as her eight-month belly would allow, stopping in front of her with an anxious look on her face.

 “I'm pregnant” Farah's smile came out embarrassed. 

“You're pregnant!” Rose pulled her into a tight hug. 

“I'm going to be a mother,” the emotional tone gave away all the feelings that overflowed in tears. “I'm going to be a mother!”

“Go on,” she held her tighter in her arms, feeling her face wet with tears too.

She knew how much her friend had dreamed of that moment, and how many times she had put off plans to have a family because her husband didn't think it was time for a child to come between them and the successful career they were building. As they walked away, Farah's eyes were shining, still staring in disbelief at the test in hand. 

She needed to tell her husband, part of her wanted to think of a nice surprise, but the other part wanted to open the door to the hallway and run downstairs. It was happening, they were going to be parents. They had built the family she had been dreaming of for so long and which she was now beginning to feel that Andreas shared with her. Their tentative conversation had come after a long time without touching on the subject, since until then the agreement had been that their time was dedicated to their growing careers. But that day Andreas had said that he felt ready to be a father, something she had been waiting to hear for a long time. 

Being a mother frightened her, the idea of someone growing inside her, but she had barely been aware that her son was there and she already felt capable of giving her life for him.

“Right, right,” she heard her husband's voice in the hallway. “What are the girls doing?”

Rose took a step back, bringing her hand to her belly in a subtle protective caress. It had been a long time since Andreas had let Farah be alone with anyone, not even her or Ben. Perhaps he was afraid that the stories they tried to tell would stop making sense, but the couple of friends had stopped pressing the truth. They saw things happening in front of their eyes, but their hands were tied every time their friend talked about accidental knocks or falls down the stairs. 

Now, as he approached the room, Rose felt a new fear. She already knew that the idea of trying for a child this time had come from him, but even so, the man's reactions were unpredictable, even for them who had known each other for so long. Farah deserved to be happy, she deserved to be cared for, to feel all the best that a child could be, but she was afraid that perhaps things would be different with Andreas.

“He needs to know” Farah turned excitedly to her friend, drying her face with the back of her hand.

Rose smiled, unable to say anything that would make her joy a fraction less than it should be.

 “I'll let you talk," she pulled Farah into a hug again. “I love you and I'm here for you. Count on me always, both of you” she left a light caress on her belly.

The door opened as Farah watched her friend walk away and Andreas entered before the other woman had even left. He paused for a few seconds watching until they were alone and pushed the door behind him.

“What's wrong?,” he asked, noticing the tearful expression on her face. “What were you talking about?”

Farah denied it with her head, sniffling before giving him one of her most genuine smiles and approaching him slowly. She held up the pregnancy test between the two of them, waiting a few seconds while her husband's eyes processed the information contained in the drawn lines.

“What's that?” he looked at her.

“I'm pregnant,” her face became wet with tears again. - “We're going to be parents.”

The man stepped forward, and Farah waited for the moment when he would take her in his arms, her chest throbbing with anticipation. Her arms opened slightly to nothing the moment her husband took the test from her hand in a sudden movement, even though his eyes showed how positive the news had been. 

“I'm going to be a father," he laughed. Farah was still waiting in place, but for a moment it seemed as if he was alone in the room. “That's great. Perfect! I mean, I was hoping it would take you longer to do it” he gestured towards her while still staring at the tape in his hands. - “But, damn it, it couldn't have been better!”

“We, Andreas,” she crossed her arms in front of her body, feeling awkward at the moment of the monologue he had entered. “ We did it.”

“Of course, whatever,“ he laughed. “We can announce it on the day of the movie's release. I hope your belly doesn't get in the way of recording or anything, but it'll be perfect.” 

“What are you talking about?” she frowned. He ignored her for a few seconds, reaching into his jacket pockets for his cell phone. “Andreas? Hey! I'm here.”

 “What?” He looked at her for the first time since he had entered the room to find out what was going on. 

“What are you talking about?” she repeated.

“Farah, this will boost our career, sweetheart," he explained as if it were obvious.

She felt her mouth go dry, having to moisten her lips as she swallowed. Career? He hadn't even hugged her, or said anything about the fact that she was expecting his child. He wasn't even treating the pregnancy like a child.

“Stop calling our son "it", as if it were a thing," she asked. “It's our son. I mean... Can I at least get a hug?”

Andreas paused for a second before approaching her. Farah gave a weak smile, feeling as if everything was a misunderstanding because of the moment of euphoria her husband had entered, but the smile died on her lips the moment he just touched her shoulder, as if talking to a stranger in the street.

“Good work," he said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to talk to my agent.”

She was left behind, alone in the room in a few seconds, as his heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. That had hurt more than anything he could have done and she felt her eyes sting again with the urge to cry, but she dried her tears before they fell. She walked over to the mirror in the bedroom, looking at her body still without any change in the reflection and brought her trembling hands to her belly, lowering her face as if she could feel all the love she already had for that little being to cover the pain that persisted in her heart.

“I already love you with my life," she whispered. “And don't worry, Mom will take care of you.”

 “Farah?" Saul's whispered voice pulled her back, almost as if to rescue her with the subtle caress he left on her knuckles.

She blinked a few times. How long had she been silent? She simply couldn't say, but the look of concern in the man's eyes was perhaps more than it should have been. He let go of her hand in a sudden movement, then stood up.

“I... I'm sorry, but I think my... indisposition has returned," he said at last.

“Oh” the interviewer looked at them. “I think we've got the material.”

She didn't wait for permission to leave, she just headed out of the set towards the side doors leading to the stairs. The quick steps made her lungs need to pull in air even more.

She was already in the dressing room corridor when she heard the iron door slam behind her. She didn't want to turn around to see who it was - she simply didn't care enough - as she had to keep what was left of her composure to avoid collapsing at that moment. Farah just couldn't believe it was happening again, not so soon.

Her marriage wasn't an easy subject, but it had been years since she had felt things with such intensity. Perhaps because it had been years since she had encountered them in this way. She stopped walking abruptly when she felt a hand pulling her by the wrist, turning almost unsteadily in her heels.

“What was that?” Silva asked as soon as her eyes were on him.

 "Nothing," she replied. 

 "I thought you told me you'd come to do your job, so I'm sorry if I didn't understand what happened upstairs," he said. “Maybe it's time to start talking.”

“Say what?” she frowned. Saul pulled her again, making her take another step towards him.

"What's going on here," he replied. 

 “I don't have anything to say,” her voice came out low and she had to sniffle to fix her tone. “You don't seem to understand anything very often.”

"Well, I'm trying," Saul said quietly because of their sudden proximity. 

“Was that the distance you told me you would respect?” she murmured, releasing her arm from his hand.

Silva held his breath for a few seconds, taking a step back. 

“Are we going to walk this tightrope again?” He crossed his arms. “When I don't know what to do because you freak out?”

Farah swallowed dryly, the anger from days before had returned, and she could calmly hit him again. She knew he wasn't to blame for what had happened at the interview, but what was the point of just leaving her? He wouldn't understand anyway, so why not just do what he'd agreed to an hour earlier and leave her alone? 

“You, Saul Silva…” she approached with her finger cocked. “Bloody bastard!”

“Here we are again," he snorted.

The woman was about to reply when she was interrupted by the sound of something breaking inside the director's office at the end of the corridor. Inevitably they exchanged a glance, with the discussion taking a break, even though they were both ready to continue.

“No, no,” they heard Sky. “Don't go up there, please.”

“Sky?” Silva called out loudly.

What the hell was going on? 

Before the boy could reply, the sound of barking spread through the corridor. Oh, shit. Farah turned on her heels.

“What the hell?” the director walked past her towards the door and was promptly followed.

The scene inside the room was war-worthy. Things were out of place, scattered all over the floor, things on the table completely overturned and papers scattered all over the place. Sky was crouched on one side of the sofa, holding the large puppy by the collar he had improvised with a handkerchief. Silva felt his face heat up as he noticed the new promotional materials torn up on the floor and being happily chewed by the animal. 

“This has got to be a joke," he shouted. “Whose animal is this?”

”Animal?” Farah passed him at the door, entering the room. “I see only one animal here, Silva, and it's not her.”

“Her?” he looked at her angrily. 

He approached where his son was holding the puppy and bent down to pick up the papers from the floor, reaching out to pick up the ones she still had in her mouth. A low growl was heard as he withdrew his hand, standing up angrily.

 “She doesn't seem to like you," Sky said laughing. “Is her name Nathalie?” he looked at Farah.

“It's not funny, Sky," Saul scolded him.

Farah crossed her arms, too irritated to question the name, even though she knew the boy was talking about his mother. 

“That… animal has ruined everything,” his voice came out loud, overpowering the footsteps approaching in the corridor. Farah tried to open her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand with the torn posters. “And don't come correcting me. Yes, it's an animal, it must have escaped from the Jurassic World studios straight to my office. To end it all.”

“Incredible,” she turned her around, bending down with Sky to remove the papers the puppy still had in her mouth. “Less than three hours here and she's already learned a lot from you.”

Ben and Beatrix were coming down the corridor and stopped at the door when they heard the loud talking, silently analyzing the complete mess that was inside the room. Harvey had gone out to fetch some things Farah had asked for, leaving the dog in the care of the director's son. He could see that it had been a bad choice.

Saul tried to approach again, but stopped when he heard the new growl.

“Yeah, Dad, I think Blue's problem is with you” Sky tried not to laugh again.

“Blue?” Farah frowned. She liked how the name sounded.

“Yes, the dinosaur” the young man nodded.

Silva watched the woman get up and put the pile of chewed paper in the trash, still looking at the pair with a certain look of approval. She let out a humorless laugh.

“Don't give him that look of approval," Saul told her, putting his hands on his waist. “Oh, of course. I'm an idiot. It's obvious that she's yours.”

Farah smiled at him, crossing her arms as well. 

“Look at that, two hits in one sentence," She replied.

“It was obvious that she was yours. After all, who else would come in here messing things up like this and then look like this… like that.”

Too many things to comprehend in one sentence. Silence fell heavily in the room as the unannounced company watched them from the doorway. Sky looked at the puppy, knowing that it was no longer about her, shifting his eyes to the couple in front of him.

“You know what? I'm not going to stand here arguing with you about how to raise my dog," Farah said at last. “Thanks, Sky” she turned to the boy. “Come on, Blue.”

She tossed back her hair, calling the dog to her and then walked to the door. Sky finally got up from where he was, wiping his hands on his pants and then looking at his father.

“Not my busyness," he said. Saul was still looking down the corridor through the open door, seeing where Farah was going with Ben and Beatrix. The circus wasn't enough, of course people had to have heard everything. “But I think you should talk and sort it out privately, you know?”

“What are you talking about?” he finally turned to the boy.

“Well, there was the photo… and then this," he said. “Clearly something's going on. You know, I wouldn't doubt it if you told me it was her who broke your glasses.”

Silva closed his eyes for a few seconds before giving his son a stern look. Was he serious? Was Sky giving him advice?

“I don't want you to say another word," Saul said at last. “Get your things and go home.”

“Dad, I…”

“No more words, Sky," the voice went up a notch. “And then home. Your house. That's enough for today.”

The boy waited a few seconds, just long enough to realize that it was as serious as the day his father took away his car keys. It was best not to argue.

Silva watched his son pick up his backpack from the sofa and leave the room, closing the door behind him. He let out a sharp breath, mumbling loudly as he threw the papers he was still holding back onto the floor.

Hell. 

Chapter Text

Silva let his body fall heavily onto the sofa, holding the rest of the shredded papers in his hands. His face was hot with irritation and he could still feel his hands shaking a little from the fit of rage seconds before, when he was alone in the stuffy office. He didn't even know where to begin to list the number of things that were pushing his shoulders down at that moment.

As if he wasn't already overwhelmed enough thinking about all the things that had been happening since New York, with the guilt of something he didn't even know what it was eating away at his stomach. He imagined that Farah's return to the studio would end up stirring things up even more, even if he wasn't sure exactly how or with what. Crowning the feeling that was suffocating him, he could say with peace of mind that the day's interview had been the most faithful sketch of everything he had imagined it would be when he started working. And that was far from a good thing.

One more thing that made his head hurt at that moment. 

He knew things were bad for himself when the first question about the movie was asked, and he could sense in the tone of the interviewer the kind of thing he wanted to accumulate in the interview announcement. Nothing sold more than gossip and discomfort, he had learned that with absolute certainty in his early years in the industry. But his discomfort was always there, along with the criticism and heavy comments about his work over the last sixteen years. He wouldn't lie that he didn't mind that kind of thing, but he had learned to deal with it at least in front of people. Even if, when he was alone at the end of the day, he probably drowned the words stuck in his throat in a few glasses of whiskey before going to sleep thinking how right they could be about him. But at that moment it wasn't about him that really bothered him. 

He knew that Farah had restrictions when it came to talking about her most successful film, and he had realized this on their first day together when he saw her with the remains of what had once been the Cruel Summer posters on the walls of the trailer. Things must have been delicate somehow, at least enough for her to threaten to leave the movie when he himself tried to use a comparison between the works. He sensed her discomfort above his own, acting almost on impulse to have one of her hands in his, because he knew things would go exactly the way he expected. 

Impulse. 

It was pathetic to the point of being funny. He knew very well what he was doing, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself. He wanted to understand her, to know where those triggers came from that made her change her attitude out of the blue, almost turning her into someone else. But their quick encounter in the corridors, when he thought about trying, made it clear that if there was one person in the world she would tell anything to, it wasn't him. He would have to learn to deal with it, since he himself was building up triggers that made him lose his mind every time the course between the two of them got out of control. It would just be one more thing to put in the box, with all the other feelings he had been burying over the last few days, and leave there.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, leaning his head against the hard surface of the wall behind the sofa. His thoughts betrayed him too often, more than he would have liked. The image of the actress standing next to Daniel immediately flashed into his mind, with her smug smile and the way she pushed her hair away from her face before hooking her arm in the other's. 

“You don't have enough problems, Saul Silva, to be left with…" he muttered aloud to himself, preventing him from finishing the sentence. One more thing to put in the box. 

“Talking to yourself, Silva?” the amused tone in his companion's unexpected voice brought him back in a brief jolt.

Rosalind stood in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her body and looked at him with narrowed eyes. There were many things hanging in the air. Firstly, the photo of New York that had been reported in almost every possible media outlet, even though the studio hadn't had to make any kind of move to make it happen. People, for some reason , had seen something in him and Farah to like. And loving them as the public was, only reflected in the movie the success that lay ahead. For them, for now, it was the kind of gossip they didn't mind seeing happen. Secondly, and definitely enough to fuel the producer's imagination even more, there was Beatrix's brief account of the little tension that had formed between them minutes before. 

Oh, and then there were the photos for the magazine cover. 

Her smile was radiant and Saul couldn't help but worry about her enthusiasm. 

At least she had arrived after he had managed to clean up the war scene that Sky and Blue - the thought alone was enough to make his face twist - had left in place. He finally stood up, threw the papers he was holding into the almost full garbage can, and turned to her with his hands in his pockets.

“I hope I'm not disturbing your moment of reflection," Rosalind said into his silence, “I stopped by to see how things were going up there. I missed seeing you by our star. Where is Farah?”

He must have looked more like an idiot than he thought he did. Because the other option told him that the old producer really believed that he didn't know that someone - Beatrix probably - had already given him a full report of everything that had happened there. He removed his hands from his pockets, shrugging as he gestured towards the living room.

“She's not here," he finally replied.

“Then I suppose I'll just have to hear your version of the facts," she smiled, taking another step inside to push the door behind her.

“Which one are you talking about?” Saul took a few steps towards the table to lean on it. It was exactly that. Which of them, not which one. The second part he was sure of: the two of them. “You know what? I think I'll give you a full report. I think the photo of New York speaks for itself. We went for a walk after the interview because, by God, maybe there was too much for two people's heads. The way back? Complete chaos, but nothing new, right? What, since we started here, hasn't been? I've been having to shoot the movie without my leading lady for a week now, which has been hell. The Planet covers look great, congratulations, they're exactly what you and the studio wanted,” he took a breath, fully aware that his tone had risen the moment he leaned back from the table. “I thought things would start moving today, but my recordings are another day behind schedule because of the circus we had to put on up there. The new promotional images were great, I'd show them to you if a little dinosaur, with the same personality as the owner, hadn't turned my living room into a war scene,” Rosalind tried to speak, but he interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “And the interview with E! was shit .” 

The silence in the room lasted a second before it was interrupted by the woman's shrill laughter, carried by the same tone of debauchery that pervaded her features. Saul clenched his jaw, even more irritated.

“Silva, I thought you had a better handle on the crises in your movie," she said.

“Dealing with crises?” he laughed in disbelief. “You know what? To hell with you, Rosalind. If you'd at least given me a chance to deal with things in my movie, I guarantee you it wouldn't be half the mess it is here.”  

“Watch your tone, kid” her smile closed, and she took a step forward. “Put away your indignation, frustration or whatever you want to call this little scene of yours, put a smile on that pretty little face and pull yourself together. We have a studio event today that needs you at your best…”

“What?” he interrupted her. 

He ran his hand over his face for a second before taking a step towards her.

“That's what you heard," he shrugged. “I'd say take Farah with you, but I think you might still have to learn how to handle something as big as her.”

Saul picked up his coat from the sofa, putting it on in silence as he reached for his car keys.

“No," he finally answered, turning to face her. “For me, we've reached the end of the line, Rosalind. The limit. The last straw. I'm not going to any more events, I'm the director of this hell of a movie, I'm not a poster boy. And I'm not going to let you, or whoever gives the orders, interfere in my work anymore. I came here to direct a movie, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“If you keep talking like that, maybe not even that,” the threatening tone danced freely through her words, but the director's gaze remained the same. He was sure of what he was doing and what it might mean.

“Go ahead," he replied. “Fire me. Put someone in my place. Let's see who the poor guy will be and how long he can last in the middle of this. You have my conditions, and if you want me here tomorrow morning, and if you want to have a movie to release, above all, now things will be my way.”

He walked past her with firm steps, reaching the door without bothering to wait for an answer. He'd had enough, and he was being honest. Perhaps he had passed his limit a long time ago. When he reached the dressing room corridor, Rosalind was still standing in place in the center of the room, completely immobile from the shock of the man's reaction. 

When he finally left the walls of studio 16, Saul felt as if the cold night air was finding it hard to get into his lungs. The walk to the parking lot took less time than it normally would, due to the haste and strength in his steps that made the soles of his feet tingle the moment he sat behind the wheel. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he put his forehead against it to control his breathing. 

If that were the case, it would be a better end than he thought. If it wasn't, perhaps it would be a great fresh start. 

°°°

“Get in, Blue,” Farah opened the back door of the car for the puppy to get in.

Ben looked at the two of them from outside the car, his arms resting on the top of the bodywork. He had a lot of questions to ask, which began quietly with where this new company had come from and ended with the line that ran between the scene he had seen in the director's office and the photo of them that was still open on the agent's cell phone. 

When Blue was properly settled, Farah closed the door and made her way to the back of the car to sit down, watching her friend through the open door as she waited for him to get in too. She knew that Ben had heard at least part of the discussion, and his silence on the way out of the studio was a warning that he had many things to say, but that he would wait for the right moment.

She didn't want to talk, even though she was sure she wouldn't be able to talk herself out of it, after spending almost five days at home giving him or Rose hardly any news. They had agreed that those days would be the time she should take to think about things and calm her thoughts, but they had definitely helped her confusion much more than they had actually helped anything. She couldn't run away from the studio or the movie forever, but at least she hoped for a less troubled return.

Her heart was still racing in her chest from the amount of things that had happened in such a short time she had been there. The interview alone would have been enough to make her uncomfortable for a while, but since the event with Andreas a few days earlier, her mind had been even more likely to recall increasingly difficult sequences about things she tried never to think about. The pain that usually came with the memories expanded to the point of becoming physical. 

That's how she felt at the moment, having to deal with all the things that had been happening over the last week, with a feeling that was too strong for her to cope with squeezing at the back of her throat. If she had been alone, she would certainly have screamed until her throat hurt. 

Farah knew what people imagined about her, because for years she fought to build the fortress around her that prevented them from seeing much of who she really was. But usually the assumptions stayed in the same places, about her career, her awards and Cruel Summer, shining golden as Farah’s biggest hit. But today it had gone beyond that. They had touched on a subject she couldn't even talk about to herself: her family. The plans she had about being a mother and really building something that would mean to her what her movies could mean to others. They had talked about truths they would never know and for a moment she had lost control of her own thoughts. 

Saul's subtle touch on her hand had been the only anchor to hold her before she drifted into waters she had avoided navigating for more than fifteen years. She looked down at her hands in her lap, as if she could feel his caress still burning her knuckles. She was betraying herself once again, possibly letting herself be carried away by the feeling of fragility that flooded her senses and which, even so, she would never allow herself to feel.

Why the hell was there a part of him that still insisted on telling her that things worked infinitely better when they let their guard down with each other? They were on a war footing like they hadn't been since the recordings began, and yet she could feel the way he was genuinely concerned about her just in the way her name was whispered, pulling her out of the chaos her own mind had put her in. 

And she couldn't ignore for herself what came before that. The way his hand had reached for hers, in the most natural way possible, while he answered the questions directed at him, with the discomfort of the subject almost crushing him to the chair, as if he knew that she would also hold him there the way he held her minutes later. She should hate him, not for the things he did, but perhaps for the things he made her feel. She had always been in complete control of her steps and her emotions, but Saul blurred her thoughts to the point where she felt s he needed him just as much as she wanted him gone. 

Her stomach burned, reminding her how pathetic she must have been to even contemplate such a thought. The clear scene of Beatrix so close to him sent shivers down her spine. Now was not the time to get carried away by feelings like that. Not futility like that. Even if, somehow, this kind of irritation was very welcome, at least now, to take the place of feelings she didn't want to deal with.

Harvey looked at her for a while in his silence, realizing that her friend's flow of thoughts was too intense for her to even notice that they had been standing there for several minutes. He knew she wanted to go home, and the impatience of the puppy in the back seat, biting the edge of the blanket, told him she wasn't the only one. Even so, he knew that the moment he stopped the car for her to get out, Farah would disappear through the door with some excuse and it would be days before he finally had the cue to talk to her.

“Can we talk about this?” Ben broke the silence in the car while she put on her seat belt.

“About what?” she pushed her hair behind her ear and turned to him.

“You've got us worried, Farah,” he used the gentlest tone he could. Ben was irritated by the lack of news, which was broken only days later with a message telling him that Farah was at the studio and that she needed him to buy some dog food. “And today… I'll be honest with you, of all the things I expected…” 

“You know better than anyone that I didn't want to go back," she cut him off, even though her tone was still neutral. Ben knew she was angry, and he knew he had given reasons for it. But Ben was the only one who really knew what had happened, or at least part of it. He couldn't judge her. “Rosalind insisted. And you too. So I'm here.”

“You know I'm not talking about that ," he sighed. “You had agreed to be professional, so I had no doubt that you would. I want to know if we can talk about the rest.”

“For God's sake, Harvey," she snorted. “You're terrible with half words.” 

"What happened there, Farah?" he said. "What was that about between you and Silva? And if you tell me that it was in fact because of your dog, I'm going to assume that you definitely think I'm an idiot.”

“She has a name now," she muttered quietly, staring at her hands in her lap. “What do you expect me to say, Ben?”

“I want you to be honest with me” he looked at her even though she wasn't looking at him. “I could sense from outside the room, Farah, that something was going on.”

“The interview with E! sucked, I left, he came after me to find out what it was about,” he shrugged with a much more simplified version of what had happened. “Satisfied?”

“No," Ben said simply, making her snort. “This is bigger than the interview, I know it is. You two…” 

“If you know Ben, then please stop asking me," she cut him off again. “I don't want to talk about it. And I won't .”

“All right," he raised his hands in surrender. Farah breathed more relieved for a few seconds before he continued. “So tell me about New York.” 

Her body seemed to freeze, as if the comforting warmth inside the car had given way to a complete lack of temperature.

“New York?” she pretended not to understand. 

Why bring it up again? She thought that everything she had said about the trip had been enough for them not to have to bring it up again.

The man remained silent, reaching into his tweed pocket and pulling out his cell phone. She looked at it for a few seconds before turning it towards him. The photo of her and Saul walking through Central Park seemed to shine too brightly in her eyes and she struggled between closing them and picking up the phone to get a better look. The second option won without much of a fight, as she took it from her friend's hands to stare at the image.

Her face felt hot and she couldn't tell exactly what it was. She didn't know if she was pale from seeing that now everyone knew at least part of what had happened, or if she had turned red from the strange tightness that gripped her chest. She couldn't afford to think that maybe she wanted things to still be the way they were. The woman in that photo wasn't her, just as the man hugging her shoulders wasn't Saul. 

They were just versions of each other that had appeared when they couldn't have.

“Is this the moment to talk about how much that teddy bear means to you?” Ben's voice was low, echoing inside the car.

She knew that perhaps at some point he would connect the dots, even if he didn't know everything that had happened. The little stuffed octopus was still on her bed, ever since she had arrived, and the way she had held it the night after the argument might have said enough for her friend. He didn't need much to know what was going on with her, they had known each other for almost thirty years. Perhaps Harvey knew her better than she knew herself.

Farah swallowed, blocking the cell phone screen and handing it back to him. She faced the dark street of the studios and rested her back against the back of the seat. 

How much did it mean to her? She couldn't answer that. Or if she did, she wouldn't say it out loud, even to herself.

“I'm not going to talk about it," she finally replied. 

Her silence that followed told him much more than any words he tried to say. It was enough for Ben to know that the matter was closed.

“Farah…” 

“Could we please go home?” 

He nodded. Perhaps that issue still needed to be resolved with himself before he could talk to her openly about what was going on. He knew where she was going, but he would give herself the time she needed to find out.

°°°

He placed the fifth empty bottle of beer on the counter. Incredible as it may seem, he was feeling much less drunk than he would have liked. His mind still worked perfectly, perhaps even better than it should have, with the help of the alcohol that danced freely through his system. When he left the studio hours before, the last place it seemed like a good idea to go was home. He was pretty sure that his company as the only one was the one he would least like to enjoy at that moment.

He wanted to get away from the thoughts that were aching in his head before he even ordered his first drink, but they had all gladly accompanied him to sit by the bar, without allowing him to forget even a small part of what was going on. On the one hand, losing his job was the least of his worries at that moment, after all, when he thought Dowling would leave the movie, he had already convinced himself that he would most likely end up being kicked out by the producer before he even entered Rosalind's office. But even so, the very thought of falling back into the pit he had been climbing with difficulty over the last few months made him, to say the least, completely frustrated with himself.

By far, it wasn't success that he was working for, but rather to be able to be proud of his own name again, and - for the first time, perhaps - to make his son really proud of something he had done. He didn't even know if things had ever worked out so that he could lament in peace that they had started to go wrong.  His old problems were old acquaintances, enough so that he wasn't even bothered by the way they seemed to cradle his shoulders in a friendly touch. They had been there for so long that they were part of him. 

What was really bothering him was now. He had always been in complete control of the things he did, the things he said and the actions he took. Now, he could fully see the day and the moment when things began to slip completely out of his hands. Every time he closed his eyes, it was as if the image of Farah Dowling materialized in front of his eyes, the first time he had seen her, sitting with her legs crossed and her nose snubbed at the end of the reading table. 

The reason was still a mystery, but he knew it was lost in her hazel eyes. In the way she managed to put him off every time she turned up her nose in his direction, or pressed her lips together in a smug smile. Maybe it was the alcohol doing its own thing, but for the first time in months he was able to open his eyes to what he was feeling. Pathetic like a miner finding a perfect diamond, too enchanted by its beauty to betray his conscience by imagining what it would be like to have it, even though he knew it would never be his. The big problem was knowing that, at some point, things had crossed the line of temptation and curiosity about the woman. After waking up with her sleeping on his chest. After kissing her. 

The beep of the cell phone on the counter snapped him out of the endless wave of daydreams he had been in for who knows how long. He tilted the screen slightly towards himself, looking at the notification on the screen.

Rosalind - 10:32pm

"Beatrix will give you all the support you need with your movie"

"It's in your hands, Silva, don't ruin everything"

He wanted to laugh humorlessly at himself, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He hadn't lost his job after all, maybe just the rest of his sanity. Below the message from the producer, he ran his eyes over his son's two missed calls from almost two hours earlier. Sky. He felt his head lurch forward, his elbows resting on the wood. He had been stupid for no reason with the boy, something he had never been in all those years, no matter how tough he had to be with his son at times. If there was anyone in the middle of that catastrophic day who wasn't to blame for what had happened, it was him, and yet he had been treated like a child. 

He couldn't allow himself to regress everything he had managed to improve in their relationship, just because he was having serious difficulties dealing with his own feelings. He straightened his posture, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and leaving a fifty-silver note next to the bottle before putting his things away again and getting up.

He felt his body sway slightly, perhaps now feeling the effect that he had sworn he hadn't had from the alcohol in his system. He should go home, but he couldn't sleep without at least trying to apologize to his son.

The drive to Nathalie's house was slower than usual. He hated driving after drinking, and he knew he shouldn't do it, but his senses were too slow and the traffic lights bothered his eyes. But what mattered was that he had made it, after at least one missed red light and maybe one or two lights that were out of time.

When he stopped the car by the curb, the only light he could see inside the house was the one coming through the white curtains in the living room. He got out, leaving his things on the driver's seat so that he could only take his cell phone with him as a matter of course; he had no intention of staying there for long. Perhaps, if he hadn't been a complete idiot, he could have been home with his son at that hour, avoiding the huge speech he knew he would hear after he knocked on the door. 

Nathalie opened the door just after he knocked for the second time, her blue satin robe with a few feathers on the sleeves and collar contrasting in a rehearsed way with the red color of her hair. The woman crossed her arms in front of her body, looking at him with one of her eyebrows slightly arched and a smile in the corner that showed her complete surprise at seeing him there.

“Unexpected," she said. “But just like you.”

He huffed, walking past her through the door into the house. He looked around, noticing that the living room was empty, the only occupant still looking at him from near the door with the same expression as before.

“I need to talk to Sky,” he turned to her.

“Good evening to you too, Saul," Nathalie smiled, taking a step closer to him. “Can I get you a drink? Or have you had enough for today?” She raised her hand to his face, squeezing his slightly flushed cheekbone. He deflected her touch. “What's the matter, darling?”

“I need to talk to Sky," he repeated. “Can I?”

“He's not here," she shrugged. “ As you dismissed him from the studio earlier, he took the opportunity to go and see some friends.” 

Saul took a deep breath and put his hands in his pockets. All right, maybe that was what his son had wanted to tell him in the two calls he hadn't answered. Once again he found himself being watched by his ex-wife, the look of glory on her face at having noticed the little slip he had made into drinking. 

“I'll see him tomorrow,” he turned away from her to head for the door. “Good night, Nathalie.”

As he reached for the door handle, he felt her hand reach for him again, sliding her body slowly between him and the entrance, lifting the warm touch of her palm up his arm until it rested on his shoulder. Silva was indeed drunk, but not that drunk.

“What's the matter?” his voice came out after he cleared his throat.

“I know you don't like driving when you drink,” she shrugged again. “Why don't you stay?”

“Stay?” he laughed. “I think you're the one who drank too much.”

“Come on, Saul," she laughed. She moved closer to him, having to pull the man's face down slightly because she was so much shorter. “It wouldn't be the first time since we split up.”

Indeed it wouldn't, he had to agree. But it would be the first time in over 17 years, since he had come to his senses and never let go. Saul lowered his face a little, looking her in the eye.

“I'd rather throw my car off the Hollywood Sign," I said quietly. 

Sky was just finishing putting his things in order for bed, after taking a shower and doing some study for the movie. He had to be at the studio early the next day and, as much as his father was short of patience, he had begun to understand on his own that perhaps things weren't as good as he had imagined them to be. Silva had always been a calm person, even when he had made the mistake of disappearing for days and ended up at the police station, everything had been taken calmly. So it really could be something serious, which might be better shared, but for now he understood that it was better to leave it at that, taking care with the jokes and things he said so as not to make things worse.

He had inevitably drifted away from his father in the final years of high school, and his mother's presence was almost suffocating every time he considered trying to return. He had always heard a lot about how Saul had many other priorities in life, and that now that he was grown up and it was no longer an obligation, there was no longer any point in weekends together or late afternoon drives to watch some baseball team practice in the park. He could look at himself better now, and he also understood that a lot of the way he had acted in recent years had something to do with it. Somehow his father would be there, if only to ground him.

A dumb decision, he admitted now, but in his young mind it was the only thing he could think of. But over the last few months things had been going well. He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he'd spent so much time with his father, even more so without Nathalie leaning over his shoulder all the time and saying so many things. He was happy about that, and actually taking on the responsibilities of the studio job seemed like the right way to go. He wanted old Silva to be proud of him.

He heard his mother talking downstairs after a long time with the house silent, and was already on his way to the hall to get a bottle of water when he realized that his father was there too. Sky had called him earlier to find out how things had gone after he left, but thought he would just get a call back.

“Dad?” he called from halfway up the stairs.

Silva was leaning towards the door, one hand on the handle again, and Nathalie was between him and the exit, holding him firmly by the shoulder. Sky felt a chill, he had no real memories of his parents together - apart from photos from when he was very young - and seeing them close like this was strange to say the least. The director turned over his shoulder to face the boy who was just coming down the corridor towards him.

“You told me he wasn't here,” he turned to the woman.

One of Nathalie's greatest personality traits was right there. She didn't hesitate even when people found out she was lying. She made a slight movement with her head, brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen on her face and let it go, leaving where she was to walk towards the stairs, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I thought he'd be too tired to talk," she shrugged. “And I knew you wouldn't leave without talking to him.”

Saul laughed humorlessly.

“It's not as if you weren't inviting me to stay," he used the tone of mockery he saw projected in her eyebrows. 

“Not to say anything,” Sky scratched the back of his head. “But I'm here, just to let you know in case you want to carry on talking as if I'm not here.”

“I came to talk to you for a while,” Silva looked at him. 

“Sure, let's go up to my room,” he nodded.

“I thought you were too tired to talk, Sky, at least that's what you told me when you got home,” Nathalie looked at him too. “Or does tiredness only apply to your mother?”

“Your drama answers your question,” he smiled in discomfort. “Come on, Dad.”

Saul moved from where he was, heading towards his son who was already making his way back up the stairs.

“If you can stand on your own two feet," Nathalie murmured as he passed by her.

The man turned his gaze from the steps to her, slowing his pace.

“Go to hell," he replied in the same tone.

The smile formed again on her face.

“Are you offering to drive me?” she laughed. “I thought you weren't staying.”

He even considered answering, pursing his lips, but opted for silence when his son called again from upstairs. He turned on his heels, taking his hand to hold onto the banister as he felt the alcohol make his head spin more than the movement itself. He skipped a few steps, reaching Sky's room in seconds. The young man was answering something on his cell phone with his back against the headboard. 

Silva noticed that he had thrown the pile of clothes on the floor, freeing the chair for him to sit down. He was thankful for this above the urge to draw his attention to the disorganization. At least sitting down, things seemed to spin less. 

Sky put his cell phone aside, looking at his father, who was slumped in his chair and resting his elbows on his legs. 

“Don't fight with me," he said. Silva raised an eyebrow.

“And why would I do that?” he asked.

The boy gave a smile, scratching the back of his head.

“I was going to tell you today, but a lot of things happened, you know?” he explained. “You were stressed, and then you sent me home, so I called…”

“Sky” interrupted him. Saul was starting to get a headache.

“I'm going out with Bloom," he sighed.

Saul laughed. 

The reaction was unexpected even for him. Perhaps he attributed it to the beers earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that he was relieved that this was the kind of problem he had to worry about. Things hadn't been easy in recent years, and between fights and police stations, the fact that his son had got a girlfriend and saw it as a delicate matter was comical, to say the least.

“What's wrong?” Sky crossed his arms.

“I'm sorry," he said quickly. “Look, I really hope you're taking this seriously so you don't do anything stupid. Bloom is a good girl, you know that, don't you? She's not the kind of person you used to be with.”

“She's nice," he smiled. Silva saw a glint in the way the young man's gaze changed when he spoke of her and almost signed. Things were easier at that age, really. Or at least when things weren't so complicated. “I want things to work out.”

“Good, I'm keeping an eye on you. Besides, don't let it get in the way of either of your work, okay? Bloom works with Dane, and I don't need jealous scenes in my movie. Don't make me fire you,” the warning was serious, even if it was joking. Sky was 18, and this was the first time they had sat down to talk about this kind of thing. “I also hope you're taking care of yourselves.”

“Dad!” he took on an almost scarlet hue to his cheeks. “For heaven’s sake.”

“What?” He laughed again. “I'm just taking on my role here.”

Sky shook his head, laughing, as he stared at his hands in his lap for a few seconds. He'd been looking forward to this conversation ever since he'd asked Bloom out, and now that he could see that things were taking a serious turn, he wanted even more to share it with his father. He thought it was a good cue, as a way of helping to break the tension of the day. Apart from the fact that it would be a rare opportunity to take advantage of his father being a little out of sorts, since even though he spoke well, the blush on his cheeks showed that he had been drinking.

“Can we talk about it earlier today?” Saul said at last, bringing the other man's attention back to him as he nodded. “Things aren't going too well with the studio, Sky, some things happened a few days ago and I'm pretty stressed about it. But nothing justifies me taking it out on you like that. So I'm sorry about that.”

“It's okay," he shrugged. “I know I've been a brat, I've put you off. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Saul nodded, giving him a half-smile.

“And can I ask you a question?” he tried. “You can only answer me with yes or no.”

He sketched between the lines what he was going to talk about. He had been consumed with curiosity since the day his father had left for the company cocktail party and returned home with his glasses in pieces. He knew something was going on, and after the little show of temper between him and Farah Dowling in the studio earlier, he was beginning to get a brief sense of where things stood. He could have taken the chance to talk, but the other man's expression hardened for a few seconds, highlighting his jawline as he clenched his teeth. 

That wouldn't be the time. But that was fine, Sky would wait while he concentrated on observing until he had enough facts in his favor so that he had nowhere to run.

“Say it," Saul cleared his throat.

He wouldn't spoil their good moments. 

“Were you going to kiss my mother?” Sky feigned a shiver.

Silva's expression softened as he reached for a pair of socks rolled up on the desk to throw at his son.

"No," he finally answered. - "And I think I'll be going before your imagination comes up with any more crazy theories.”

He stood up quickly, hearing his son laugh, and again felt the room spin. He staggered back a step, cursing to himself at the thought. When he opened his eyes after a second to regain his balance, Sky was standing next to him, his expression ranging from shock to amusement.

“You are drunk," he said, holding back his laughter. 

It wasn't a question, and Saul knew it. He knew exactly what his son was thinking too. He had put himself in a tight spot that he wouldn't have had to get out of if only he had waited to talk to him the next day.

“And you're a little genius,” he tapped his son on the temple with his index finger.

“You drank and drove all the way here," he raised an eyebrow. “Curiously, I remember someone who did something very similar… and who has been grounded for over a month…”

“Sky,” he looked at him seriously. “I'm still your father. If you want to claim rights over someone grounding me, I suggest a ouija board.” 

Sky laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. The attempt was always valid, even though he knew it would lead nowhere but to the opportunity to annoy his father.

“Are you okay to go home?” he asked seriously. 

For the first time, he thought seriously about it. He had to drive more than half an hour home, on a Friday night, close to midnight. Where all the people who could have been walking around at night would be. The answer was no, but he also thought about how much it would ruin his responsible image in front of his son.

The young man noticed his hesitation, then laughed and went over to the bed to pick up one of the pillows.

“You can stay here," he smiled. “I'll sleep in the living room, no problem. And I can still get a ride to work tomorrow.” 

He patted his father on the shoulder and pulled up one of the covers to leave the room. Saul would say something, but staying was probably the best idea at the moment. He could also say something about what it would be like the next morning, although Rosalind had texted him that she would be waiting for him the next day to continue with the production, he wasn't really sure for how long. You don't get a director for a big production overnight, so until he was sure, he would consider his position temporary. But that wasn't the kind of concern his son should have for him. 

He opened the closet doors, taking out a pair of shorts and a team shirt from when Sky was still finishing high school. It wasn't the most comfortable, his son's physical frame was smaller, even if he was almost a head taller, but it was better than his own sleeping clothes. He changed quickly, going out into the corridor with his shirt slung over his shoulder to use the bathroom in the corridor. It had been many years since he had actually stayed in that house, even though he had lived there all his life in California. It was strange, but I didn't want to think about it too much. It would just be one more thing, and on his list of problems, that one would definitely be the most insignificant. 

When he came out into the corridor again, Nathalie was leaning against the bedroom door, her arms crossed in front of her chest again, and she tilted her head slightly to one side when she saw him. Silva snorted, pulling his shirt over his head and tucking it in.

“Then you're staying," she said.

“Sky asked,” he shrugged. “Maybe that's a good idea.”  

She shrugged, thrusting her body forward towards him.

“You know he doesn't have to sleep in the living room," she said. 

“I would have offered," he replied.

“Come on, Silva,” she stopped in front of the man, her hands once again running up his arms, now uncovered by the short sleeves. “Stop playing the fool.”

“Look closely at our roles, Nathalie," he narrowed his eyes. “And see who's really playing this role.”

The woman paused for a few seconds, thinking strategically about her next move. She was privy to the news, and knew Saul like the back of her hand to know much more than what the headlines said. It didn't take a genius to see the frustration that oozed from his pores. He had always been an insecure, small-minded man. It was hilarious to see where this had led him in his professional life and now in his personal life.

“What's the problem?” she raised an eyebrow at him. “I know I still fit your type. Actress, a great career in the movies, now in my forties. So tell me? Is it the lack of an English accent or the brown hair?”

Like a punch in the stomach. He grabbed her firmly by the arms, spinning her around in one swift movement. Nathalie let a sound of surprise escape her chest. Of course she was going to use that kind of trick. She couldn't accept the fact that not all the men in the world wanted her the way she wanted to be wanted. But just the way she drew in front of his face the clear mention of Farah made her lose what little sense she had. 

“You're pathetic, and certainly our divorce is at the top of the list of things that have worked out for me in the last 16 years,” he let her go abruptly, now with the passage to the bedroom clear. “Good night.”

°°°

“Be careful with that," Riven shouted to one of the assistants.

There had been a lot of activity in the studio since the early hours of the morning, and they had already managed to record a few things, but what was really taking up everyone's time was setting up the scenes that would need rain simulation. The structure itself had been organized for quite some time, but the initial idea was that they would be able to use it for the external recordings. The delay in filming due to the last few busy weeks had caused them to completely change the main idea.

Saul knew that there was still a chance for them to rearrange the schedule to make it, but he could no longer count on possible unforeseen events along the way. They were just over a month away from the deadline for delivering the film for the post-production stages, and now that they had to be extremely on track with their deadlines and responsibilities, they couldn't risk a delay.

His head was aching from the excessive noise things seemed to be making inside the walls. Sky had come with him early on, to get on with things, and as soon as he'd arrived he'd almost managed to get news of his children in the mess. They had almost run out of the house in the morning, ignoring the coffee table that one of the maids had set with three places, to eat something on the way while still in the car. Saul knew that the best thing to do was to avoid another confrontation, especially when he felt his body protesting from the hangover. 

It was almost ridiculous to think that just a few beers had managed to bring him down like that. But he really wasn't that young anymore, to think of being completely inconsequential like that. He hadn't even had time to stop by the house, thankful for the backpack with some clothes and his toiletries that was in the trailer in the FW parking lot.

He had already been directing for a few minutes when the final adjustments were finished. Farah and Stella were still to join them, and he checked the watch on his wrist once more only to find that the two of them were still on schedule, probably still fixing something in their costumes and make-up. Although he hadn't seen them since he arrived, Riven had made sure that everyone was already in the studio getting ready to start. 

Farah had left a few things in the trailer before heading to the dressing room. But the extreme mess inside the studio was starting to give her a headache, which was bad considering the long day of recording ahead of her.

She'd slept badly, after the week at home hadn't had the slightest effect on clearing her thoughts, and after the incident with Saul and the interview the day before, lying down to unwind seemed like the last thing she'd be able to do. And then there was Rosalind and the phone call from the night before. If she could be honest with herself, she would say that she hadn't had a clue what she was doing for a long time.

She tried to organize things, tidying up the house, putting the clothes back in the closet in a different order, and putting the things she had asked Ben to buy for Blue in one place in the living room. Everything seemed to be done too quickly, even though she knew she had taken almost all the time she should have when she saw the sun start to rise through the glass windows. So as not to say that the night would be completely sleepless, she had managed to sleep for about an hour with Blue on the sofa in the living room, until she felt uncomfortable on the cushions.

Musa would have quite a job to do with her dark circles, and was completely grateful when the young woman agreed to finish tidying her up in the silence of the trailer. She was ready about half an hour before they started recording, already seeing Riven's messages pop up in notifications on her phone to let her know that everything was ready and waiting for her. At least she would have some peace on the way.

As she descended the metal stairs to reach the paved street, she felt a certain tightness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't received any more news about it, so she figured things were as they should be. But what if they weren't? She didn't want to worry so much about something that shouldn't even be her concern, but she was already up to her neck in it anyway.

“Farah, dear,” the female voice called out just before she reached the entrance doors. It took the actress a few seconds to recognize her owner, and when she did, she deeply considered just walking on. “I've come to drop Stella off and wanted to have a word with you.”

She finally turned around, rehearsing the best smile she could give at that moment in her character's costume. Luna was walking calmly towards her, with her hair in a neat bun, not a single strand out of place, and her handbag hanging from one arm. Luna smiled at her, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I wonder what you could possibly want with me," she said. She didn't care how aggressive it sounded, she didn't have the slightest patience for having to deal with it. 

“The same thing you might want with my husband," the other replied in the same tone. Farah almost choked on her breath.

“What are you talking about?” she looked at her.

“I saw your call on his phone," she shrugged. “So I came here for a chat as friends, as we were many years ago. To give you some advice.” 

“First of all, I'd rather go to hell than call after your husband,” her voice sounded low. The last thing she needed was for someone passing by to hear. “Besides, the two of us have never been friends, and advice from you is at the top of the list of things I don't want.”

She turned to leave without further ado, feeling the other woman's hand firmly grasp her wrist and she turned to her again, pulling her arm close to her body in an abrupt moment.

“I just wanted to say that, even though the years between the two of you may have been unforgettable,” she smiled. “I'm not like you, and I'm not used to being like you and sharing my husband.”

Farah involuntarily felt the air catch in her chest. By the time she realized what she had done, Luna's face was already turned to the side from the force of the slap. The actress put her hand back to her chest, her hardened gaze unable to show even a hint of remorse for what she had done. 

“I'm sorry that Stella is in a family with you two," she said at last.

She turned again to leave, seeing out of the corner of her eye the other woman bring her hand up to her reddened face. Luna couldn't help but smile, despite the pain and the desire to fight back in some way. She knew that there were things that could hurt much more than physically returning the slap.

“Dramatic, Farah," she raised her voice over the distance that had formed between them. “Even more so when you know that I'm a better mother than you would be, starting with the fact that I managed to become one.”

Her steps halted in place, the tightness in her chest returning. She had been hit hard, much harder than she would have been if the two of them had been wrestling on the floor. Andreas was a bastard and she had no doubt about that, but she hadn't imagined it to this extent. 

The door to the studio opened loudly, startling her, and Riven threw his body out.

“We're waiting for you. Silva asked me to pick you up," he smiled excitedly.

Farah just nodded, really thankful that it hadn't happened long enough for him to hear. Four people only knew about it. Or five now. She took a deep breath, trying to smile at the boy, and went in right behind him.

She didn't look back. Farah didn't know what she would have done if she had. 

When they arrived on set , everyone was already in position waiting to go in. Dane and Stella waiting off-camera, and Bloom on the marker on the floor, still holding the script while waiting for her. 

Saul turned his face over his shoulder to look at her as she approached in silence. She wanted to feel relieved to see him there, even though the assistant had already mentioned the director's name seconds before. But there were so many things going on in her mind that she didn't know where exactly to put that feeling. She didn't say anything to anyone, just left her things on the chair with her name on it and headed off in front of the cameras, stopping at her own appointment.

Bloom smiled at her, reaching the script sheets to one of the assistants who was straightening the strands of red hair that had escaped from the high ponytail. 

“Let's get started,” Silva said loudly. “In your seats, please.”

He gave the younger girl time to take a few steps back, near one of the edges of the scene, and nod at him. Farah followed where she was supposed to be, closing her eyes for a few seconds to try to clear her head.

“Light, cameras,” he checked. “In three, two… Silence in the studio” he projected his voice even more as everyone fell silent. “Action!”

The lights adjusted as they were supposed to darken in anticipation of the rain. Kate - Bloom's character - slung her backpack over her shoulder, with the image following her, and stopped, raising her eyes to the woman standing a few steps ahead.

“Mrs. Kernam?” she raised her voice. “Hello?”

Before Farah could even speak, and the programmed drops of cinematic rain began to fall, the loud clatter of heels on the floor of the place invaded the silence everyone was in. 

Nathalie let the access door slam without worry. She knew she'd be in the way, the illuminated sign above the door said so, yet she did it. There was still a lot from the night before to put right, and she would do it her own way.

Those inside the studio turned at the interruption and Silva stood up to turn towards the noise. The scene was still going on, even if no one else was really paying attention. Farah raised her eyes for the first time, stretching her neck a little to see over the cameras that obstructed her view. It was the first time she had seen the director's ex-wife in person, but she had seen her on magazine covers and television screens enough times to recognize her even before she took off her sunglasses in a dramatic move and smiled at them.

“Nathalie,” Saul tried to use a low, scolding tone of voice as she approached.

Sky stopped in the distance, looking in the direction everyone was looking. He cringed at the sight of his mother and at how the whole thing seemed to be getting worse and worse.

“Good morning, dear," she smiled. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He pulled her closer by the arm. The silence in the studio was still overwhelming, making him try to control his voice even more.

“I came to drop off your sweater,” she slung the garment she was holding over his shoulder. “You left it at home when you left this morning.”

Nathalie raised her hand, adjusting his glasses on his face with a smile. Farah sighed when she was watching the scene, she couldn't hear what the director was saying, but the woman's voice was loud and clear inside the place.

“Have you finished your little show?” his mutter showed his irritation. “Can you stop getting in the way of my work now?”

“Not without my grand finale ," she smiled.

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to steal a kiss in a quick kiss. Silva quickly turned his face away the moment he felt her lips on his, not having much room to turn because of the chair behind him.

The woman took a step back, smiling victoriously at him, before putting her sunglasses back on and turning on her heels towards the exit. The door slammed loudly again, making the atmosphere inside the studio even heavier than it had been when she entered. Saul wished the floor would open up and swallow him inside. For a second he didn't want to turn around, knowing exactly what he would find on the other side of the cameras. Who he would meet. But he couldn't ignore it like he ignored everything else.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking off his glasses to put them back on after running his hand over his face. He finally turned around, realizing that Farah's gaze was exactly where he had feared it would be. Staring at him over the steering island. 

She swallowed dryly, shoved more down her throat and turned back towards Bloom, ignoring the way the whole thing had crowned the confusion of feelings that made her chest ache. She wouldn't look at him again for as long as she could. She needed to concentrate, or at least do her best to do so.

“I'm sorry about that," he finally said. “Let's go from where we were, please," he asked. “Bloom, follow up. In three, two… recording!”

Bloom needed a second to go back to being Kate. Neither of them had been expecting the little moment that had happened and she had to make a mental note to talk to Sky about it later, to at least try to understand the great wave of heavy weather that had come in like a tsunami inside the studio. Another light went on inside her when she saw the way Farah looked completely lost. 

The first drops of water against her face brought her back to work, getting her moving again. 

“Are you all right?" she looked at the woman. “You shouldn't be here, you'll catch a cold. Why didn't you come in?”

Emilly looked up at her, just when she should have been pondering why she was still standing in front of the university façade. Her loose hair was sticking to her shoulders over her blouse because of the rain, the two strands almost coming loose from the clips.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Farah stopped her. Her mind seemed completely blank and she faltered back a step. For the first time in her more than 20-year career, she didn't know what to say.

"My God," she muttered to herself, putting one hand over her mouth to take a deep breath. “I'm so sorry…” she was nervous, trying not to let the air in her lungs get out of rhythm. 

Silva stood up from where he was, almost walking between the cameras, but only stopping to watch her. She looked like someone else, and he couldn't understand why, until Farah raised her eyes to him, going against what she had told herself she wouldn't do.

“I'm sorry," she repeated, regaining her posture. “I've forgotten. Can we… Can we start again?”

°°°

The trailer door slammed with a low click as the lock clicked into place. Silva turned the key and made sure it was securely locked before slipping it into his pocket. He felt a headache starting to bother his temples from all the things he had done throughout the day.

He couldn't deny that the studio without Rosalind hovering over them had a different atmosphere, but as he had learned the hard way, nothing worked for more than a few hours. They were at the end of one of the sequences that required the most attention from everyone when Nathalie arrived, stealing the attention of every single person there.

He knew how his ex-wife reacted to the word "no", in much the same way as he had taken care to teach Sky how to react. He just hadn't imagined that the previous night's rejection would have such repercussions, even more so in his work environment. He could count on his fingers, and certainly not on one hand, if he stopped to think about how many times she had visited the studio of any of his jobs when they were married, but she knew exactly how to annoy when she wanted to. God it hadn't happened to Rosalind there, because the interruption would certainly have been a full plate for them to collectively ask for her head on a platter.

Something between what had happened at the beginning and the end of the shoot had left a strange atmosphere inside the locations. Although he imagined it was something that only he was feeling, since only he was observing the other visibly annoyed figure inside Studio 16. Farah wasn't on her best day, as she herself had made clear when they had finished recording, with an apology he never imagined he would hear, because even though she said she wasn't concentrating as well as she should, all the scenes they had recorded throughout the day had been modestly perfect. 

He wanted the opportunity to understand what was going on, considering talking to her and offering some help as far as possible, but he put the idea out of his mind just by thinking about her more calmly. What kind of face did he think he had to come up to her and offer that kind of thing? He just watched from afar, trying to pick up on any signs just from the way she acted on her own and with others. They were getting ready to collect their work materials when he noticed Luna coming into the studio. Farah's posture changed again at that moment, as if all the calm she still had to keep working had gone with the other brown-haired actress. 

He had no idea what they had said, but he realized it was enough for his protagonist to leave the studio without even looking back. It didn't take much more than a few minutes alone in the trailer, gathering her belongings to leave, to start connecting some dots in his mind.

The first time the two of them had had a serious fight had been over a silly conversation about Cruel Summer. And then, when everything was fine again, there was the meeting with Andreas. Then the interview with E! about it and Luna's visit. 

He didn't know what or why, and he knew that she wouldn't answer any questions he asked about it. But he managed to understand - cursing himself for taking so long - that there was something there. The night they had argued at her house, everything had gone to plan with the warnings Andreas had given him at the reception. Right after posting the photo of the two of them. He had tried to ignore the possibility that had already arisen in his mind about that subject, taking the blame for having done something wrong even though he didn't know what it was. But now it seemed to make sense.

That didn't redeem him from being wrong, but it did put someone as wrong as him in the situation. Albeit for reasons totally beyond his comprehension.

He thought about talking to her again. Not to press her to say something, but at least to ask her to hear that he was sorry. He was about to dismiss the idea again when he looked up towards her trailer and saw her sitting on the second step of the iron staircase, staring at the cup of coffee in her joined hands. 

He decided to change his route, already a little tired of the strange feeling that was spreading inside his chest, and walked over to her. His hands were still firmly in his pockets, one of them leaving the place for just a second to push his glasses back into place.

“Dowling,” his voice interrupted the silence of the night.

Farah seemed to come out of a trance, taken completely by surprise by the unexpected voice within the complete silence in which she had been enveloped for long minutes. She let out a sigh as she looked up at him, a few steps away.

“Silva,” finally answered.

“Long day?” he moved closer. 

He moved slowly, as if to make it clear that she could just get up and leave the moment she wanted to. He wouldn't try to hold her back, no matter how much he wanted to. 

A despondent half-smile appeared in her eyes, illuminated by the half-light of the street. For a few moments she analyzed his expression, cursing herself for thinking how handsome the director looked in the half-light of the streetlamps, the blue sweater almost reaffirming the color of his eyes, which watched her intently from behind his glasses. It was amazing how the more she tried to hate him and want to stay away, the less she could do it when she saw how crystal clear his emotions seemed in that damn way he looked at her.

“It's a hell of a day, I'd say," she finally replied.

The director's thoughts were lost in a place very similar to where hers were. Analyzing the way the well-defined waves of her hair framed her face and her eyes looked more golden with the yellow street lights reflecting off them. 

“And yours?” Farah tilted her face slightly to the side, brushing back a lock of her hair.

It was the closest they had come to actually talking in days. Silva shrugged, asking to be excused so that he could pass her and sit on the step above her. It seemed easier that way, for both of them, to follow the direction of the conversation.

“Complete shit, if I may say so,” he sighed. “But I still have a job.”

Saul watched as she shifted her shoulders in an uncomfortable way. Farah took the last sip of her now cold tea, staring at the bottom of the glass for a few seconds. Rosalind had contacted Ben the night before, while they were still halfway to her house. She had told him about the little "mood incident", as she had called it, with the director and asked for some suggestions of names the actress would consider working with on a good movie. She felt her bones freeze in the car, wondering to what extent the producer's attitude was due to what had happened and, for the first time, she really faced up to how much her moments of instability were affecting people other than herself.

Despite everything, Farah knew how much the man was doing his best for the movie, and she really appreciated the good work he was doing. She knew how leaving the production at that moment would be completely negative for his career and the reputation he deserved . That's when she plucked up the courage to mute the call for a few seconds, letting go of all the negative feelings she was still forcing herself to feel towards him, and turned to the agent.

“Tell her that if he's out, so am I,” it took more courage than she had imagined to say it. But Ben understood without her needing to, and nodded. 

And apparently Rosalind had understood too. She wouldn't deny that it was a relief to see him in the morning when he walked through the doors of Studio 16.

“I know,” her voice came out low after a few seconds. “Rosalind spoke to my agent last night.”

His eyes widened a little in surprise. He parted his lips to reply, without much time to formulate anything before she spoke again.

“I'm relieved that firing both of us didn't seem like such a good idea," he added with a humorless laugh. 

“Did you tell her that?”  

He was in shock. 

Farah could sense it only in the tone of his voice. She thought it best not to answer. Saul had fully understood what she meant, and how things had turned out after that. Saying anything more would open up the opportunity for him to ask why, and the reason was too well stored away in some forgotten place inside his chest to talk about. 

The silence fell heavily on them for a few minutes. A perfect cue for either of them to leave. But there was still other unfinished business hanging in the air, along with the cool night breeze that relieved the heat of the sunny day. 

“I'm sorry,” his low tone broke the silence. “I think I understood some things that perhaps I was being too foolish to see, or to realize how they worked.”

“Silva,” she tried to interrupt him, throwing the empty paper cup into the garbage can by the stairs.

"No, just listen for a second, please," he asked. 

He imagined that she would get up and leave without looking back, just as she had tried to do when she returned to the studio. He would let her, he had promised himself. But to their surprise, Farah stayed.

“On the night of the cocktail party I went to, everything was fine between the two of us," he continued. “Until Andreas showed up.”

The woman held her breath, feeling her shoulders ache with the sudden tension. Of all the things she had hoped would come, this was far from what she had expected. He waited, once again giving her the opportunity to leave him there, but again she stayed. The slightly ragged breathing, the perfectly aligned posture almost affected by the name, only reinforced the certainty he had. In an almost thoughtless move, Saul moved one of his hands, reaching for a lock of her hair and curling it around one of his fingers in a subtle caress.

Farah closed her eyes at the touch, then swallowed. There he was, even without knowing it, serving as an anchor.

“What are you doing?” her voice was just a low whisper.

He stopped when he realized that he was probably crossing the safety line that had been placed between them, but he couldn't pull his hand back.

“I… I don't know," he replied, with more sincerity than he expected. “If you want, I'll… I'm sorry…”

“No!” the word escaped quickly, almost like a betrayal of her reason. She took a deep breath, tilting her head back slightly. “Go on. What were you saying?”

A half-smile appeared on his face as he separated the soft strands into a few parts.

“Andreas found me that night, saying nonsensical things about the movie and how you would soon disappear from it," he continued. “It all seemed too perfect to be just a coincidence, and now I can see that I made the biggest fool of myself. I don't know why. And you have every right not to want me to know. But what I do know is that something about him and something,” he thought about it for a few seconds. “In your other movie hurted you somehow. Something I did that night in relation to that hurts you too. So I just want you to know that I'm sorry.”

“Was it the movie they talked about?” The question came out low. Farah couldn't deny that she had made a lot of assumptions about that night.

“What else could it be about?” he threw back.

“It's stupid," she muttered, drawing in air to fill her chest. Her tone didn't waver, even though she spoke quietly. “I thought you might have talked about me. ”

“I would never talk about you, especially with someone like him,” his tone seemed to give her all the reassurance she needed to let out another breath.

She hesitated for a moment in silence. Saul was apologizing for something that wasn't even his fault, but he had thought enough to make connections that had almost led him to the real reason everything had happened. 

“He was completely wrong in the things he said to me," he continued in her silence. “And I should have had the courage to say so at the time. But he knew how to play with something that I might not be able to handle. Precisely because I know it's true.”

Andreas was like that, she knew better than anyone. He had always been a very perceptive person, able to perfectly understand the weaknesses of each of the people around him. He had certainly played with his career, just as he had played with her feelings minutes later on the phone call.

“And what is it?” she asked at last, feeling his touch loosen a little in her hair.

"I know that nothing here is even close to being enough for you," he replied quietly.

It was a hard truth, he knew that. Nothing Hollywood could offer would ever come close to being enough for her.

And painfully he knew that he fell into that category, professionally or otherwise. 

Farah didn't answer again, and this time he also thought it best to keep the silence between the two of them. The actress stared at the stars that shone in the dark night, somewhat dimmed by the city lights. If only he knew how terribly wrong he was in his thinking. She let a heavy sigh relax her shoulders slightly, still carried away by the quiet way he kept fiddling with her hair. In a few months it would all be over, and she would no longer have to choose which feelings were easiest to direct at the man sitting behind her.

She didn't say she accepted the apology, even though she knew the best thing to do was to say that he shouldn't blame himself for anything. Farah understood what had happened. But she would be taking another step against everything he was trying to keep under control.

“I don't want to fight anymore, Farah," he muttered. 

She pulled her newly made braid forward, feeling her fingertips lightly touch his hands. She felt a shiver run through her body and turned to look at him over her shoulder for the first time since they had sat there together. His eyes were overflowing, just as she imagined her own gaze would be, all the things they had said and all the others that had thought it best to die in the way of silence.

"Me neither," she replied. She had never had her guard down as much in front of someone as it was now, and she could sense in the way he looked at her that there was no defense between the two of them. The final few words oozed sincerity on both sides. “Good night, Saul.”

He took another deep breath before getting up to leave. He watched her in silence for a few seconds, feeling his fingertips tingle where she had touched him seconds before. He didn't believe himself when he jumped to his feet, not even when he walked towards her in quick strides.

He felt his chest fill with a courage he hadn't felt for a long time, as if a wave of adrenaline was surging through every muscle in his body. The night wind whipped against his face, as if reminding him that he'd walked along that edge not so long ago. 

When he reached her a few steps later, calling her name, he pulled her by the hand towards himself. Farah felt her body twist, slamming into his chest with the sound of surprise leaving her lips. He looked deep into her eyes, as if he could pass through her. As if he could see in her mind all the things she hadn't said, but couldn't pretend she didn't feel anymore.

One of his arms passed firmly around her waist, while he released her hand to cradle her face in his palm. The second he hesitated, feeling his nose lightly touch hers, was the cue for her to push him away if necessary. But the low moan of anticipation she gave when she felt his warm breath against her cheek was the trigger for the two of them to fire at the same moment. Their lips collided hard, closing the little space that still existed between them.

Farah felt him trace the line of her lips with his tongue, and slowly parted them to allow his tongue to slide along hers. She felt her body heat up, as if she could melt at his touch, and her legs wobbled for a second. Her hands ran up his arms until they strayed over his shoulders, tangling in the strands of his short hair and pulling him closer. They explored every corner of each other's mouths with almost desperate haste, as their lips moved hard against each other.

Silva squeezed her waist between his fingers, feeling the fabric of her blouse lift a little with the friction of her breasts against his, and drew circles on her skin with his thumb. She sucked lightly on his tongue, tilting her head back in search of air. It was his turn to let a low sound escape his throat, as he lowered his face to kiss a spot on her neck before leaning in again, tilting her body back, and capturing her lips once more.

When the air ran out again, they pulled apart, gasping to leave their foreheads together. Their panting breaths pushed the air against each other's faces. Farah opened her eyes, finding his gaze already searching hers. 

“That's it," she whispered, trying to control her breathing. “This can't happen again.”  

Saul smiled through his ragged breathing. She was too stunned to understand the smug way he looked at her.

"Then why are you still holding me, Farah?" his voice came out hoarse, causing her body to shiver.

She gripped the strands of hair at the back of his neck tighter, pulling them back slightly. Silva gasped, watching her bite her lip slightly.

“I hate you," she said.

“I know," he replied.

Farah moved towards him again, and he greeted her with a strong kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth again. She felt dizzy, his touch burning the skin of her waist under the fabric of her blouse. She moved her hand down to the director's chest, wanting to pull him even closer if she could. The kiss broke in a pop, as she took a step back. 

They looked at each other for a few seconds, their clothes crumpled and their hair completely disheveled. Their red, swollen lips invited each other back. She had to straighten her posture, adjusting her clothes and holding her nose.

“It won't happen again," she said at last.

She turned quickly on her heels, knowing that she would lose herself in her own words if she stood there for another second, and left him behind, as stunned as she was.

Chapter Text

Going back to the studio this time was definitely different from the others. Farah was beginning to convince herself that perhaps the only thing that was really separating her from a breakdown was knowing that she still had a job to do. She had always been able to separate what was happening between a character and herself very well, managing to detach herself perfectly from the story she was telling after hearing a "cut" at the end of the scene. But Emily was being a perfect escape from reality itself. 

She still wasn't sure how she was managing to cope with the absurd amount of things in her head, nor with the almost unbearable amount of feelings that were appearing more and more out of her control. She often felt like laughing at herself every time she thought about how, weeks before, she had told Ben that she would never allow herself to feel again. She should have had enough life experience to understand that it wasn't exactly the kind of thing she really had control over, but for years she had developed the role of trapping anything that disturbed her in an isolated place inside her chest. A mistake, perhaps, she couldn't deny. But she still knew that it was the only way she could get up and move on after everything that had happened.

She wasn't afraid of being disappointed, she was old enough to know that this was part of life. Not everything would always go according to plan or how she wanted it to, whether in her personal or professional life. The big question went beyond that and rang like a bell right where her greatest fear lay. The biggest problem would never be disappointment, but how much he would be hurt afterwards. She hadn't even managed to put together all the pieces she had broken herself into sixteen years ago, which made her perfectly incapable of trusting anyone. Let Ben and Rose not listen to her. She loved them as family, because that's what they were. However, even they couldn't understand that the problem wasn't the others, but herself.

And now she was there, having to deal with a tsunami of things, unable to escape to safety. Farah felt like she should have stopped, denied her participation in the movie with all her might. If she had never embarked from the peace she had painstakingly built within the walls of her own home, into the midst of the chaos in the city of angels, she wouldn't have had such a long list of things to think about. Worrying about the repercussions of the movie had long ceased to be her top priority, after all, she had seen for herself how well things were working out. 

Andreas, even with the distance, had always been the present figure of the monster that lived inside her closet. It had never been easy, from the beginning of their relationship or during the years they had been married, so there was no way they could have hoped for a good ending. The separation had always been drawn between them, the reasons clearer than sunlight, but she was too dreamy to understand. Fuck it. That wasn't the problem, it was the absolute control he had always exerted over her. Farah had to rediscover herself as herself when she found herself alone in that room, sixteen years earlier. But there he was, after all that time, taking absolute pleasure in trying to spoil everything she got involved in. She was still coming to terms with the shock of meeting Luna the day before.

Now she wondered how long the other woman had known and how long she had waited to throw that kind of thing in her face. Perhaps that was why, even though she hated losing control of the situation - and even though it had become more frequent than she would have liked - she couldn't feel a shred of remorse for the slap. I knew it would be the end if anyone had seen. If Riven had opened the door behind her seconds before. Calmly, and with time to think now, she saw that she was giving her ex-husband everything he wanted by trying: she was, faster than anyone else, digging her own grave without him having to put in more than a few words.

She would not give him a taste of victory, no matter how much it hurt her physically every time she heard those things. He hadn't managed to break her with years of trying, and he wouldn't be able to now.

She wanted to put those thoughts aside, but then other questions came up. She couldn't tell if they were better, even if they didn't cause her any pain. She was considering another completely insistent disturbance deep in her chest. A clear face that made a point of not letting her sleep at night. And if things had been going this way before, with so little going on, the night before had multiplied the intensity of everything. The day had been a complete bitch, with the conversation with Luna, the little scene that Nathalie had made a point of presenting during the recordings, the fact that she had simply forgotten everything she had to record. But the night...

She knew Saul wouldn't give up on making her listen, even if he took a much less aggressive approach than she imagined he might. He had given her countless opportunities to go, but there was that unsettling feeling asking her to stay. So the conversation, which was only supposed to be enlightening, had put a lot more doubt in her mind. She cursed herself for minutes after she got home, talking to herself out loud as if the last drops of sanity had been lost somewhere between his kiss and her hands. Every time she closed her eyes, she could almost magically feel the sensation - or sensations - of what they had done. Her mind replayed perfectly well his gentle touch on her hair escalating at frightening speed to the rough, desperate way his hands wrapped around her waist and touched the skin under her blouse. The image of Saul panting, his lips red from the kiss, his forehead against hers and his dilated pupils staring at her was almost a tattoo in her thoughts.

If after the chaste, simple kiss they had exchanged in New York it had already been terribly difficult to look at the director normally, Farah didn't even want to imagine what it would be like after the intensity of what they had exchanged in the parking lot. It wouldn't happen again, it couldn 't happen again. No matter how much he drove her completely out of her mind, she needed to regain control of the situation.

That was the difference in returning that morning. They had denied it the first time, even if they didn't believe in the alcohol amnesia they claimed to each other. But now they had no way of denying what had happened. Just as she didn't know what it would be like to look at him that morning when she left the trailer behind and walked onto the set, she wanted to know what he would do. Part of her said she wanted to know how far things would go, the other said they shouldn't go anywhere. 

Farah left the glass of water on the counter, settling her body on the high stool as she stared at the open laptop screen. And then there was her. Never in her life had she imagined doing that, but there it was. After the kiss with Saul, she couldn't deny that a big question mark had grown over her head. Inevitably, she remembered the situation with Nathalie that had happened hours before. The actress had arrived with something of his, making sure that everyone heard that they had been together the night before and had kissed him . The worst thing was that she hadn't been able to hear, from where she was, the things the director had said to his ex-wife. 

It had been a few minutes since she had put aside her study, opening random articles about the redhead to read some of them. In the one Farah was reading now, like all the others, she could see her solid career in television series and her strong temper, which was almost a signature. Every now and then there were a few mentions of her and the director's marriage, challenged in detail by the tabloids. The next thing she knew, she was reading some interviews retrieved from magazines of the time. Their divorce had been a much bigger circus than she'd imagined when she heard about it, and for a few seconds she thought about poor Sky and the way he'd been caught in the middle of his parents' war for almost two years. 

"Am I in the way?" the unexpected voice invaded her personal space.

Farah was startled, lowering the lid of the computer so quickly that the glass rattled on the worktop. She turned back to find Ben a few steps away, his long eyes over her shoulder. The almost overbearing smile on her friend's face made it clear that she had been caught red-handed. She wasn't doing anything wrong, but of course it would serve to fuel the other man's various theories about what was going on.

“Field research?” he laughed.

“Don't you know how to knock anymore, Harvey?” she snorted, reaching for her glass to take a dramatic sip of water. 

“I knocked," he shrugged. “But you looked busy. Who is it?” he indicated the computer with a nod and went over to the small white sofa to sit down.

“Make yourself at home," she mumbled in an attempt to deflect the subject. 

“Farah," he hummed, laughing.

“Benjamin," she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Aren't you going to tell me who it is?” the amused tone in his voice didn't even shake at the use of his full name. 

“Do you get any pleasure from asking me what you already know the answer to?” she turned her body on the seat to face him.

“I'll change my question,” he held up his hands. “What made you research Nathalie Renault?”

“Wow, with a surname and everything,” she mocked. “I was curious, why the hell else would anyone do research?”

“If I tell you, you'll throw something at me," he laughed.

“Perfect, then keep quiet," she returned with a smile. “What do I owe the visit to?”

“Since you didn't call me to pick you up yesterday, I came to see if things were okay,” the change in tone was clear. Farah felt her irritation at her friend's provocation give way to guilt. He had been worried. 

“I'm not so mentally unstable that I can't take a cab home,” she let her shoulders slump in a sigh. “I didn't want to bother you.”

Fifty percent of it was true. The other fifty was the fact that she had left the studio so dazed that I didn't even know how I had got home.

“I didn't mean it like that, Farah,” he stood up. And there went the relaxed, if irritating, atmosphere. “It's just that you know you can always call, it's not a problem…”

"I know, Ben," she interrupted him. “Both things.”  

He nodded with a smile and removed his glasses to wipe them on the hem of his shirt. The woman sensed the intention of a new question in the air, just by the way he tried to do anything to hold back the urge to speak. He took a deep breath and thought about everything that had happened the day before. There were things he had already made clear about not wanting to talk about, and perhaps that was what made him hesitate to say anything. But over and above what he wanted to talk about, there was one subject that he could only talk about with him.

“Yesterday morning," she began, returning the glass to the counter. “Luna was here, she came to leave Stella and looked for me.”

“About?” he was as surprised as she was at first.

“Andreas,” she stood up too, letting his waist bounce and leaning against the counter. "She thinks I'm stalking him," Ben didn't say anything, his eyes widening slightly. It was one of the most absurd things he'd heard in days, even though he had two teenagers at home. “I know, I know. Absurd. She implied a list of things about it.”

“And?” Farah couldn't define his expression as worried or anxious. A bit of both perhaps, after all, he knew her like the back of his hand.

Farah bit her lip, a little embarrassed that she was giving him that kind of trouble. She thought it best not to speak, just to raise her hand and make the subtle sign in the air that replicated the slap she had landed on the other. Ben cringed, a little satisfaction still showing in the expression marks beside his eyes.

“But?” he asked again. It went beyond that, he knew. He felt it only in the way she began to speak.

“But then…” she took a deep breath. “She talked about that .” 

The subject hung heavy in the air. Harvey lost any sign of good humor on his face, and his worried eyes stared back at her. 

“Andreas told her,” it wasn't a deduction, it was just stating the obvious. Apart from the actor, only the two of them and Rose knew. “I'm sorry, Farah. I…”

The sentence was lost in frustration. Harvey had always covered her messes, solved her problems, used both hands to lift her up when she needed support. But when it came to that, specifically, there was nothing anyone could really do. 

“I want you to talk to FW," she asked. “Do everything you can to make sure Andreas and Luna don't attend any event where my name is on the list. Use all your wiles if you have to. Play it down. I'm tired of not giving back.” 

Ben nodded silently. She approached him with a smile and pulled him into a hug, resting her chin on his shoulder for a few seconds as she felt him kiss her temple. 

“Thank you, Ben," she murmured.

“I haven't even done it yet," he tried to joke. Farah laughed weakly, feeling her eyes sting.

“I'm talking about everything else," she replied. “I wouldn't be here if you and Rose hadn't been there when I woke up.”

The man sniffled, gently pulling her away by the shoulders to look her in the face.

“I forbid you to say that," he said seriously, even as he smiled at her.

“You know it's true," she replied. 

“You'll owe me a weekend of babysitting if you carry on like this," he threatened. 

Her laughter echoed freely through the trailer as they both wiped their eyes. The ringtone on her cell phone drew Farah back, making her move away from the counter and reach for it to turn it off. She had to go so as not to be late, but first she left her friend with one more hug.

The way to the studio was quick, even more so after the thin drops of rain made it necessary to pick up the pace. The weather was definitely changing for the week, I just hoped it wouldn't end up delaying things even more now that they'd finally managed to get back on schedule.

She went into the dressing room first, where Musa was already waiting for her with his usual cheerful smile on his face to get her ready. It would be the first of three costumes for the day and they couldn't afford to waste too much time with make-up and hair adjustments. Hair. She analyzed her reflection in the mirror for a few seconds, before pulling the strands together and starting to braid them into a loose plait. It was a step in the dark, too risky to allow herself to take, but she still wouldn't be happy if she didn't do it. Especially when she realized what the first scene of the day would be. 

He didn't expect to get anything out of it, but if at least a drop of annoyance marked the director's expression, he'd be happy to give it back in the same way. It was an almost debauched coincidence on the part of fate. So he would make a point of playing the cards he was dealt. If Saul Silva made a point of being in her unconscious, disturbing her at all times, she would make a point of being in his too.

For the first time since he had started shooting the film, he looked for the director's gaze at the very moment he crossed the threshold into the set . Silva was sitting behind the director's island, next to Riven, and was scratching something on one of the clipboards while analyzing the monitors. The set seemed all set to begin and Daniel was already standing in the frame, having his costume fitted and reading the script in his hands. 

“Full cast!” Riven muttered to the director.

Saul looked up from what he was doing and turned his face slightly over his shoulder. Farah was still standing by the door, at least for the next second, before they held each other's gaze for a long time. He knew that, right from the start, they had shied away from moments like this, when they allowed themselves to be seen for too long. But there was something in her posture that was calling to him, almost inviting him to unveil the air of defiance that escaped from her slightly raised eyebrow.

The actress moved forward, only diverting her attention when she was close enough to her designated seat to leave her belongings. She didn't feel the need to search for the script, knowing full well what she was going to do, secure in the knowledge that at that moment the scene was indeed clear in her mind. The director followed her attentively, almost managing to ignore the presence of the assistant chattering away, until she was also in front of the cameras talking quietly to Daniel.

He snapped his fingers, checking his wristwatch to confirm the time before settling back in his chair. When he looked up again, passing over the return monitors, he found her further ahead, twirling the end of her braid carelessly between her fingers. She wouldn't be, would she? Doubt crept into his mind for a few seconds, only for Farah to raise her face towards him again, with the same defiant expression. Saul felt the irritation rise to his face, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tilting his face slightly to the side, returning the expression of defiance to her.

If Farah Dowling intended to drive him completely mad, fine. It would be an interesting game to play. After all, there was no denying that he had completely screwed up the night before. But now he was sure that it wasn't just him who felt that damn trigger every time she did something extremely annoying. He couldn't say what had made him kiss her, but sometimes it seemed to be the only way his thoughts could cope with her stressful posture.

“Take your seats,” he stood up after a minute or two. “Quiet in the studio, let's get started. Lights, cameras,” he waited a second for things to adjust. “And action!”

He let his body fall back into his chair, watching the monitor as things unfolded. Farah's clear security on stage seemed to have completely returned after the previous day. She knew that the brief forgetfulness, even though it was an extremely common occurrence in the world they lived in, had seriously destabilized her to the point where she didn't put much credence in the outcome of the scene, even though everyone assured her that everything was fine. 

He adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair. The lines came out spontaneously from both Farah and Daniel, the characters' discussion taking on a heated tone on stage, while she paced nervously back and forth on the set, uneasy as Emilly must have been about the situation. 

And then the moment came, William stopped trying to say anything, pulling his wife by one of her wrists as she passed him. Emilly let her body twist in surprise, almost slamming into the man's chest. He ran his hands up her arms, holding her by the shoulders as he sought her lips with his own. She ran her hands up his shoulders, letting her fingers get a firm grip on the strands of hair near the nape of his neck.

Silva could hear her gasp through the sound propagated by the headphones and almost at the same moment his mouth went dry. He quickly put the headphone down, letting it hang around his neck, and then crossed his arms. He had just finished joining up the dots of the little assumption he had made when he saw her walk in. What was that? A taste of revenge for her? It was as if she was trying to make it clear that it wouldn't happen again , at least not with him.

He felt like laughing, even though he was strangely irritated by what he was seeing. Daniel wasn't even holding her like she deserved. When the couple separated on stage, Silva filled his lungs before standing up again.

"Cut," he said loudly. He picked up the spreadsheet that Riven was still holding next to him and made a note. “Fifteen minutes, guys. And on to the next one.”

The scene had been good, I wouldn't deny that, no matter how much I was still feeling it . So he wouldn't have needed to go back to it anyway, thankful that the dialog rehearsals had been enough. The crew were already moving around the set, changing the things they needed to start the new sequence, while the cast gathered off to the side for a quick read-through of the script.

Farah straightened her costume blouse, speaking briefly to Daniel before leaving the space between the cameras. She walked with firm steps towards the director, finally seeing him raise his eyes towards her, attracted by the sound of her high heels against the wooden floor. 

“Miss Dowling," he raised an eyebrow at her.

She descended the step onto the concrete floor, slowly running her thumb over the corner of her lips in an attempt to get rid of any remnants of the lipstick she was wearing. Saul followed her movement with his gaze, keeping his expression impassive.

“Are we really done here?” she asked. “If you think it's necessary, Dan and I can…” she paused dramatically, watching him cross his arms in front of his body. “Redo.”

The silence lasted a few seconds, while a debauched smile appeared on the director's face. He laughed weakly at last, causing her to tilt her face slightly to the side.

"Your performance is always perfect, Dowling," he replied. "Although, in any case, I have some criticisms of your scene partner's performance," Farah felt her body shiver as he leaned towards her briefly, turning his face towards her ear. “But I can show you where his hands should be.”

She had understood then. The air escaped her lungs for a few seconds. She imagined an answer, but not like that. How could someone be as insecure and completely conceited and overbearing as he was? 

That was almost top of the list of things about him that put her off.

She turned her face slightly to the side too, allowing herself to be as close as he was.

“In your dreams perhaps, Hollywood," she said quietly.

Silva laughed low again, making her feel his breath against her shoulder, and took a step back, looking her in the face again.

“Maybe you should try here,” he indicated the corner of his own lips with his thumb and took a step backwards, back towards the director's chair.

She watched him put his headphones back in his ears, turning to the monitors where new images of the new set were beginning to appear. He seemed to be able to ignore her presence completely well, at least in a way that didn't reveal anything outwardly. So Farah turned on her heels, heading for one of the side doors towards the dressing room. 

°°°

She was angry at best. At worst, felt like could set something on fire. 

She had her schedule very well organized with the jobs she was doing, so always kept the week's scenes within easy reach so that she could study and perform as he would like when they started shooting. And the sudden change in repertoire had definitely come as a surprise, even now that she had begun to expect something.

She knew that, whether he gave a damn about it or not, Saul was very organized with the schedules and sequences agreed with the cast. So she simply couldn't understand why, at the last minute, he had decided to shoot something next week, leaving the scene she had prepared for completely aside.

She knew the lines, because she had read the script so many times that she sometimes felt able to recite the text backwards and forwards. But even so, when they got the result, she wasn't satisfied.

Then, as the icing on her cake of irritation, he had said that it wouldn't be necessary to re-record anything. Petulant, overbearing. And so many other adjectives that her mind threw at the man as the actress made her way down the dressing room corridor to his office at the end of the day. 

“Why did you change the order of the scenes without telling me?” The office door burst in behind him, pushing it shut. “We weren't going to shoot this one until next week.”

Silva turned to her with his hands in his pockets. Was she serious? It was true that he had changed his mind at short notice, but he had already had enough teasing for one day and he knew how well she would take advantage of the next few lines. Even if it was out of the ordinary, having anticipated what would be done next week hadn't made any difference. Everything had gone perfectly well, the sequence recorded in one take as the standard they were achieving. Bloom had done well, and Farah didn't even need to talk about it. 

Clearly she had been unhappy with the sudden change, but she had kept it to herself until the last moment. When she asked to re-record a part, because she wasn 't satisfied with her performance, and he had refused, for the clear reasons that everything was fine, the last straw had fallen for the glass to overflow.

“Maybe because it's my movie?” he shrugged. Her expression became even angrier at the possibility that he was mocking her. “And don't worry, Your Majesty, it turned out great.”

“Oh, to hell with it," she retorted.

“You asked a question, I just answered it," he laughed humorlessly. “What did you expect?”  

“I don't know, maybe you'd be a little more professional and understand how much this affects my work!” her voice rose. “I wasn't ready to record it today, I barely had time to study the scene properly. It could have been better.”

“Professionalism and your work, we've entered our favorite subjects,” he raised his hands in false surrender. “For God's sake, woman, it was no big deal. It was a simple scene. Bloom did very well and so did you,” he took a step towards her. “Is it too complicated to get the damn compliment?”

“You're an idiot,” she took a step towards him. “Is it too complicated to get a damn suggestion? I know what I'm doing and I'm not happy about it.”

“You're insufferable," he said. Where were the two people who had guaranteed they didn't want to fight the night before?

“Silva,” she began.

“No," he interrupted her, taking one last step in front of her. “Do you want big reasons for today's change? Perfect. We had three complex scenes to shoot, we shot two. The guys were tired, I still need the rest of the cast for another shoot today, so…”

“Silva,” snorted. 

“…we could do the scheduled work and have to extend the recording because we need to redo obvious parts, delaying what I have left for today. Or we could simply change insignificant things, rest the staff and…”

“Saul,” she tried for the third time. Damn annoying man . 

“ …let’s not delay everything again for a…”

He finally shut up when he felt her lips overlap his in a firm impact. Farah held on tightly to the shirt he was wearing, knowing the force that would follow the clash of bodies as she closed the space between them. 

Saul took two steps back, trying to find his balance, his hands automatically going to her waist. He felt his back hit one of the walls next to the sofa and his head hit the shelf above. The objects rattled, some rolling with the impact. She let go of him with one hand, reaching up to grasp the bottle of booze on its end in a movement blinded by her closed eyes. His tongue pressed against her lips, making her open her mouth at the same moment. 

He raised one of his hands to hers, pulling her by the wrist to make her let go of the object already balanced in place. He guided the woman's hand over his shoulder, losing it somewhere in the curve of his neck as he lowered his own down her bare arm. He lost his fingers in the strands of her hair - now loose - pulling her even closer. Farah let a low moan escape against the kiss as she felt the pressure of his tongue against hers, running her nails hard against the exposed skin at the nape of his neck.

Silva gasped, holding her tighter as he pushed his body forward. She felt herself fumble her feet as they walked a few steps back together and soon felt the edge of the table hit her upper thighs. 

They broke the kiss when they felt their lungs complain from lack of air. She pulled one of his lips between her teeth, feeling him leave the kisses on her jaw and move down to her neck. He removed his hand from around her waist, undid the top button of her dress shirt, leaving the way open for him to explore her lap. One of his legs reached the space between her knees and he pressed himself harder against her, kissing a sensitive spot on her neck.

Farah closed her fingers against the strands of his hair, letting her head fall back and rest against the palm of hit hand. He let out a low sound, grimacing at the force she pulled his head higher.

“Bloody difficult woman," he said against her skin.

The woman felt her body shiver at the warm breath, pulling him close so that she could look him in the eye.

“Bloody annoying man," she returned.

Saul moved his face towards hers again, picking up the kiss where they had left off, without too much ceremony to start slowly. He leaned his body closer to her, pushing her up a little so that she was sitting on the table. The pen holder fell, scattering the objects over the top in a sound muffled by their breathing. He pulled her closer, making her slide towards him, while her hands wandered inside the collar of his shirt and scratched his neck.

“Silva,” the knock of firm fists on the door was followed by Rosalind's voice.

Farah moved her face back, resting on his hand again. They stopped for a second, dancing between the possibility of moving away or ignoring the call.

“Silva,” Rosalind knocked again.

They let go at the same moment. Saul took a step back, watching her get down from the table and raise her hands to line up the open button again. They were lost for a few seconds looking at the chaotic way they had left each other in a few minutes, breaking eye contact soon after. He pulled his shirt back into place, running a hand through his hair to regain at least some of his posture.

Farah straightened her clothes, pulling her hair forward to cover the reddened skin on her neck, and looked at him again.

“I thought you said it wouldn't happen again,” his voice came out hoarse as he tried to keep his tone down.

The actress snorted. Could she regret it already?

“It seems to be the only way to make you shut up," she crossed her arms. The silence lasted just long enough for her to realign her posture. “Tomorrow we're going to re-record my scene," she said at last.”

Saul snorted. Bloody hell . But he didn't bother to reply as he watched her head for the door. He turned to the table, trying to get some air while he put his pens back. 

°°°

June 6th

Saul took more than one deep breath in the silence that had stretched on for a few seconds already. They were in one of the recording breaks, the last one before they could finish what they had planned for the day, and the cast were gathering in noisy groups in a few areas around the set while the technical team finished making adjustments. 

They had one of the last scenes of the movie to shoot the other day, which was generating a collective anxiety in almost everyone. It was a little bizarre to start imagining that in just over a month, if everything went according to plan, they would be entering the first phase of post-production and that then, in a little more time, the movie would already be showing out there. He knew that Rosalind was intending to place some high stakes bets on the name of The Lucky One, but nothing had officially come to him yet, which in a way only made the speculation grow even more.

He came back from his little daydream when Farah's hand entered his field of vision, tracing a small line on the page of the script she was holding open and scribbling something next to a word. He looked up at her, noticing the small line of dissatisfaction forming between her eyebrows.

“I'm not convinced by that," she grumbled. “I don't know, it doesn't seem to fit with what we did on the 26th.”

He shook his head, deflecting the different wave of thoughts that came his way. He disagreed almost completely, but it was part of the agreement he had made with himself to at least try to be civil.

“Actually, I think it does," he disagreed calmly.

Farah snorted and looked up at him. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“No, it does not!," she retorted. Saul raised an eyebrow at her tantrum and made her cross her arms. “I'm trying to be serious here, Director Silva.”

"Me too, Miss Dowling," he returned. “So what's your idea, since you find the script disjointed?”

“Are you giving me this freedom?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I can't criticize your idea without hearing it first," he smiled smugly. 

“You're a…” she began, only to be interrupted by someone calling her name. The director’s posture seemed to change as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and took a step back.

Daniel had left the group where it was and approached the couple without caring in the slightest that he was interrupting anything. He had finished what he had to do there for the day, and from what he knew of his scene partner's recording schedule, he knew that she had too. He definitely didn't understand the younger people's enthusiasm for sticking around even after it was all over, just to support those who stayed or to keep up with other work. For him, the first opportunity to leave was always the perfect one.

“Farah,” he came to her side. Sliding his hand down the woman's back until it wrapped around her waist.

"Hi," she forced a smile, her eyes still on the director, who was looking at the notifications on his wristwatch.