Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I was satisfied with my work as well, but I knew I wouldn't relax until all was said and done. Until the audience had said its piece. Until Tennyson had gotten an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Maybe he was sensing how high-strung I was, 'cause Julian put a hand on my leg and stroked it soothingly as the final scene began on the screen.
Light poured into the window of the art studio where April painted. It gave off an oddly warm and romantic vibe, a contrast to the sad reality of her not being able to live her life.
April's son watched her, his discomfort as clear as his love for his mother. He missed her, hated her fate and that there was nothing he could do about it.
She began humming quietly, and Julian's piano followed, along with more sunlight as the camera zoomed out to include a better shot of both of them.
"Don't worry, dear boy… Mommy can shelter you well. Don't worry, dear boy, Mommy can catch you stars." A few violins joined Julian's piano, and it was enough to give me goose bumps. "Don't worry, dear boy, Mommy can keep you safe. Don't worry, dear boy, Mommy can catch you stars."
I grabbed Julian's hand.
Dust bunnies danced in the light.
As the camera went behind Brad, filming over his shoulder, he let out a breath. April never noticed him.
"I believe you, Mom," he whispered.
Then he slowly turned around and walked down the darkened corridor, and the music grew louder, including the recorded lyrics of April's lullaby.
"Directed by Noah Collins" appeared on the screen, which was a total mindfuck. I did this. I drew in a deep breath and waited. "A Tennyson Wright Picture" followed, and then I felt a ton of weight sliding off my shoulders as the audience gave us a standing ovation.
Oh, thank fuck.
The credits started rolling, and I stood up with my friends, never letting go of Julian's hand. Sweet mother of Christ, I was almost shaking.
"So fucking proud. I love you." He reached up and kissed my cheek. To hell with that, I thought, and gave him a hard kiss. He grinned. "I want to see that name at the top many times. But…in your passport…?"
I raised a brow, confused. And a bit too overwhelmed to decipher what he was saying.
"I think Hartley-Collins sounds good for us," he said.
Fuck me.
Unable to speak, I kissed him again, and I managed a firm nod before I had an audience to face. What a motherfucking release of emotion and stress. From the moment we'd started, when Tennyson gave me this script, to now. The most prestigious film festival in the world. And Julian had been there with me for every step of the way.
I shook hands with Tennyson, both of us relieved and excited, and I hugged Sophie and Brooklyn.
"I was right," Tennyson told me. "I knew you could do this."
"I had a great mentor." I shook his hand again, and then we were called up to the stage for a Q&A I couldn’t say I wanted to sit through. But it came with the job.
The applause grew louder, and we reached the front when Julian's name rolled past in the credits.
Fuck yeah, Hartley-Collins sounded perfect.