Page 83 of The Road to You
I laugh, blushing. “That’s bold of you to admit.”
“It’s part of my job. I don’t just want an actress. I want a woman who can haunt the screen. And you—” He gestures toward me, eyes lighting up like a man seeing the solution to a riddle. “Youareher.”
Hearing something like that come out of Alain’s mouth is like a storm hitting your face. You don’t understand what’s happening, you’re disoriented, but you know deep in your gut that this is something massive that could change your life.
“Her?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the warm cup, trying to ground myself with the warmth radiating from the ceramic.
He leans forward slightly. “The protagonist. The center of the storm. The woman who has to confront the darkest corners of her mind after a brutal trauma. It’s a psychological thriller that delves deeply into the complexities of the human brain. Huge budget. Complex script. No open casting for her. I wrote this character with you in mind.”
I stop mid-sip and almost choke on my cappuccino. Vivian told me he wanted me specifically, but she didn’t mention that he wrote the scriptforme. What god did I please to be noticed by him?
I blink. “Seriously?”
He nods, and his eyes sparkle with excitement, leaving me breathless.
“I’ve seen what you can do,” he says, with absolute certainty. “And no one else can give her the edge and the fragility she needs. No one else makes me believe she’s real.”
My heart thunders in my chest, and my breath catches. I haven’t felt like this in so long. Wanted. Seen. Not in my job, at least. Because Michele makes me feel all those things together and even more. My heart makes a flip thinking about him, but I focus my attention on the man in front of me.
I’m not just a gossip headline in his eyes, but an artist. A woman with something to say, something to give. This is the most empowering compliment someone could give me, and I smile timidly, not sure if I can live up to his expectations.
“Send the script to my manager,” I say, a little breathless. “I’ll read it as soon as I get the chance.”
He nods, satisfied. “Take your time. But not too much,” he adds with a grin. “We want to shoot this fall.”
I nod, and I feel the knot in my stomach relax a bit.
We chat a bit longer about the production, the cast he’s assembling, and the composer he’s trying to lure in. Every word stokes the fire in my gut that I thought had gone out after everything that happened this year. When you’re focused on saving your reputation, everything else gets dragged through the mud that the magazines stir up. Michele and this journey across Italy did a good job of taking my mind off of my problems, but it also made me forget what I’m meant to be. An actress. An artist.
Something else slips into my chest, warming me from the inside out. Maybe everything that’s happened to me lately was meant to guide me in this place. Maybe it was fate guiding me through Italy with a man who made me discover myself, only to end up a mere five hours away from this hotel, from this life-changing moment.
Fate was just waiting for something like this to happen.
When we finally stand to say goodbye, Alain takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. “It’s good to see your eyes sparkling with excitement, Lena. That’s how I know I’ve found my lead.”
My legs buckle slightly, but I work to stand tall and smile. I thank him, not sure how I manage to walk out of the hotel without floating straight into the Roman sky.
Outside, the sun hits me full in the face. It’s warm and blinding and unapologetically bright. And I smile like an idiot, like a child, like someone who just remembered who she is.
I’m back, and whatever happens next, I’m ready.
30
MICHELE
The room smells like antiseptic and polished metal. It’s too clean, too cold, too quiet.
I sit on the edge of the examination table in a pair of gym shorts, my knee bouncing with nerves I can’t hide. Across from me, the specialist, the man everyone swears is the best in the country, clicks through images on a screen mounted to the wall. X-rays, scans, my history in shades of black and bone.
Marco and the orthopedist who followed my recovery helped me find this doctor and secure an appointment in just one day. They performed a miracle, considering it’s a two-year-long waiting list. I don’t know what they promised him, but at this point, I don’t care. I would do anything to fix this crippled leg. And the bonus is that he has a private office in Rome.
Being here helps me not think about the fact that Lena, right now, is meeting with the director, and she is probably changing our future completely. I don’t blame her for accepting this meeting. It’s her career, and I totally support this decision, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
We’ve reached the end of the line, and we both know it. We’ve always known that after the summer, we would returnto our normal lives. Just now, I’m realizing how much I’m not ready for this to happen.
The doctor doesn’t speak at first, just makes a low sound in the back of his throat as he studies the mess inside my leg.
“It looks almost clean from the outside,” he says eventually, turning toward me. “But inside, it’s a different story.”
