Sandy,
You're getting me in trouble, young lady. Well, not you, but my thoughts of you. Kinda hard to dive into a character falling in love when all I can do is think about you—
"You haven't heard a single word I've said, have you?"
"Uh-huh..." She studies the lined paper in her hands.
Peter and Bill exchange looks.
"I said, are you ready?" Peter repeats with a glint in his eyes.
Sandra's mouth shows the upward curve of secret knowing. She carefully folds his letter, stroking the soft edge of the crease before opening to read it for the third time? Fourth?
"Yeah..."
She contentedly traces the curves of his name with a finger. Suddenly the letters are covered by the silky, red petals of a rose Peter is drawing across the page. She swats the air above his hand in mild annoyance.
"What're you doing?"
Peter throws himself against her trailer wall with spread fingers and dramatic flair, as though an invisible orchestra has sounded. The stem of the rose is now clasped in between his teeth.
"Ith thaltha nigh!"
Her head flinches back slightly as droplets of spit are spewed from Peter's mouth around the thorns of the rose. Looking about the room, she lands on Bill.
*"Salsa night, remember?" his gentle voice is sure as he reminds her of their plans to go dancing with the cast.
She breaks from his gaze, carefully pressing the letter back into a bent position, then scanning the room before stashing it deep within her purse.
"Right. I did say I'd do that, didn't I?"
"You did," Peter verifies, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around in a circle before planting a quick peck on her cheek. "Hello again, gorgeous," he murmurs, his cheek still next to hers, "and a deal is a deal, so you can't back out!"
"Sorry, yes, my brain is —yes, I'm ready."
Bill takes three steps forward, his straight, softly-parted hair bouncing as he moves. "No biggie, we've had some long days." He offers the remaining eleven roses from the bouquet she only now notices he is holding, followed by his arm. "M'lady..."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
The sun shines bright through a thick blanket of grape leaves, surrounding everyone on set and laying a warm touch on the outskirts of a cool morning. Alfonso taps a clipboard as he stands between the romantic leads, preparing them for the grape stomping rehearsal.
"You'll lift her and set her into the vat with about sixteen other women," Alfonso begins.
"Will there be actual grapes in there?" Aitana interjects, wrinkling her nose.
Alfonso stares with a pinched expression.
"Uhm, I-I think that they're real. Which, hey, that's good, right?" Keanu talks fast, his voice jumping in key as he tries to get her on board.
Losing patience, Alfonso launches into the meaning of the grape stomping ritual, how it is true to the times, a necessary experience to thrust them into their surroundings.
Aitana nods along, but Keanu catches her eyes darting to the side, then down to the fingers of her hand as she picks at her nails, finally landing on the deep red color of her freshly manicured toes. He quiets, transported back to the day after the Speed premiere, when he'd shown up at Sandra's house, unannounced. Alfonso's voice fades away as he recalls the plum paint on her tanned toes when she walked across her kitchen floor to greet him.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
