Nacho Figueras Presents (11 page)

S
o,” said Kat as she watched Sebastian furiously shift his way through the gears in his car, “your brother seems cool.”

Sebastian whipped around to glare at her with a look of fury in his eyes.

“I'm kidding! I'm kidding!” she said. “Jeez, don't run us off the road.”

He turned back to the wheel, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. God, she thought, even anger looked good on him.

She touched her hand to his shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”

He shrugged her off. “Nothing to talk about. He's an asshole and a bully. Just like my father was.”

“Your father?”

“Never mind.” He was quiet for a moment and then bit out, “He thinks I am lazy, but maybe I am just bored.”

“Who?”

“Alejandro. He claims I don't work hard enough. Don't practice. I'm not committed to the team. He says I'm too old to be behaving this way. But he doesn't understand.”

Kat raised her eyebrows.

“I think I liked him better when his own life was a mess because then, at least, he didn't feel any need to try fix mine.”

“And is he right? Does your life need fixing?”

He flung his hand up. “My life is fine. My life is great.”

“So what's the problem?”

“He thinks I drink too much, party too much, too many one-night—” He paused for a moment. “Never mind. But he thinks I should get serious. Do more.”

“More?”

“He says I'm not living up to my potential.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he would actually hate it if I ever played at my full potential.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Forget it. It is not important.”

She sat back in her seat. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“I doubt I have a choice in the matter.”

She shot him a look, but went on. “I think maybe he's right.”

“Oh, excellent. Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

“But maybe polo isn't the place where you need to prove that.”

He rolled his eyes.

“And you know what else I think?” she went on.

“Please do tell.”

“I think that it's probably good you broke your wrist.”

He groaned. “Believe it or not, I have heard this before.”

“I mean, you've never not been a polo player. Maybe this is a chance for you to try something else.”

“Just like you are trying something else at the moment?”

“I didn't start making movies when I was two years old. I wasn't born into Hollywood.”

“But it's your passion.”

“And is polo yours?”

F
ueled by the game, Kat wrote for almost forty-eight hours straight. Only taking an occasional break to sleep a few hours before she found herself wide awake again and compelled to return to her laptop. Seeing the polo game had unlocked something in her, given her an understanding of Victoria that she hadn't had before. It brought her story to life.

She turned Sebastian away that first day. He showed up at his usual time, a cup of chai for her in hand, and a sheepish look of apology on his face.

“I was an ass, Katarina,” he said humbly, and though she did appreciate the sentiment, she was in the kind of creative flow that she hadn't felt in years and had no intention of letting anything get in its way.

She took the tea. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before shutting the door in his face.

She turned him away on the second day. This time he showed up with yellow roses and a box of chocolates, those sovereign symbols of apology, but she was now running on three hours of sleep, bleary and overcaffeinated, unshowered, and still not finished with the script.

She took the chocolates. She smelled the roses. She didn't kiss him this time because she hadn't brushed her teeth yet. “Tomorrow,” she said, and shut the door again.

On the third day he came, but this time it was she who handed over the gift. A printout of the finished screenplay for
Twenty-five Roses
. “Go,” she said breathlessly. “Go, read it.”

He smiled at her. A huge grin. “Really?” he said. “It's done?”

She nodded and smiled back, but resisted the urge to celebrate just yet. She honestly didn't know if it was any good. She was so tired. Much too exhausted to be able to judge all that had poured out over the past few weeks.

She swayed on her feet, barely able to keep her eyes open. “Call me as soon as you finish,” she said giddily.

Then she staggered off to her bed and fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.

She awoke with a start a few hours later. Her mother was sitting on the bed next to her, smoothing her hair back from her brow.

“Mama?”

“Hey, kitty kat, sorry to wake you. I'm going to see Daddy. I didn't know whether you wanted to come or not.”

Kat struggled up and blinked blearily. “I'll come with you. What time is it?”

“It's about six.”

“Oh, okay, just let me get dressed, and I'll be right down.”

Her mother stood up, and then hesitated for a moment. “Baby, I need to talk to you about something first, though.”

Kat felt a little jolt of panic. “What's wrong? Is it Daddy?”

Corinne shook her head. “No, no. He's fine. I just—I heard something at work today, is all.”

“At work?”

Her mother looked away and took a deep breath, and then looked back at Kat again and said, “Katy Ann, are you seeing Sebastian Del Campo?”

Kat blinked rapidly. “Who told you—”

“It doesn't matter. I run that house. I was going to hear eventually.”

Kat looked down, nervously pleating the sheets between her fingers. “It's nothing, Mama. I mean, yes, we've been sort of…seeing each other, but it's not serious.”

Corinne sighed. “Well, now, see, that is not what I wanted to hear.”

Kat looked back up. “What did you want to hear?”

She laughed softly. “Well, I was really hoping to hear you weren't seeing him, but if you were, I guess I was thinking that maybe you two were madly in love. That you were you going to run off together and make me some green-eyed grandbabies.”

Kat shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”

Corinne nodded and sat back down on the bed. “You know, Katy Ann, Sebastian is a lovely boy, but sometimes…When you grow up with so much, you don't ever truly learn to value anything, you know? He means well, but I've never known him to be serious about any one thing—or person, for that matter—in all the time I've worked for his family. Do you understand me?”

Kat put her hand on her mother's arm. “Mama, it's okay. I know. I've got his number.”

“I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I can handle him, Mama.”

Corinne chewed her lip. “That's fine, but if this isn't serious, I'm just worried that after it's all over…Well, I do work for them, you know, baby.”

Kat suddenly felt sick. “You're worried about your job.”

“It's just with your daddy in the hospital, everything feels a little…precarious.”

“Mama, I'm sure Seb would never—”

Corinne nodded, “Of course he wouldn't. I'm just being silly. And the Del Campos are fine people. But I'm sure they're not our kind of people, you know what I mean? I worry about you getting in too deep.”

Kat put her arm around Corinne's shoulders. “I'm not, Mama, I swear. We're just having a little fun. It's all under control.”

“Well, if you're sure…”

“I am,” she said firmly. “Now, why don't you go pack up dinner for Daddy while I get dressed, okay?”

Her mother gave her one last searching look and left the room. Kat sat on the bed for a moment, thinking.

A series of images from the last month unspooled in her head. Sebastian laughing across the table from her at the restaurant, his hands flying as he told her a story about riding. Sebastian kissing her on the beach, the feel of the warm sand on her back as he lowered her to the ground. She and Sebastian standing in her mother's garden together, the basil dropping from her hands as he kissed her. Sebastian stealing a bite of her dessert from her plate. Sebastian hovering over her, licking his way down her naked body. The gentle way he took her hand on the pitch at the polo match. Sebastian reclining on her bed, occasionally glancing up at her through his long lashes as he read his grandmother's words to her in his deep, mischievous voice. Sebastian, his face flushed, his green eyes locked on hers, thrusting himself into her, sending her spiraling over the edge as she lost herself in the deep, pure pleasure of his beautiful body touching hers…

She shook her head.

They were just having fun.

Right?

S
ebastian stood outside Kat's bedroom window, a handful of gravel in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. He sent a rock pinging against the glass and then waited.

Nothing.

He tossed another stone. It was long past midnight on a moonless night, and he didn't want to wake Kat's mother, but Kat hadn't answered any of his calls or texts, and he simply couldn't wait any longer.

No answer.

The script was magnificent. Full of heart and fire and tension. Love infused every part of it—love between the main characters, yes, but also love for the game, for polo. He had been amazed that Kat had understood this part of his
abuela
so clearly.

Reading it had almost made him jealous. Kat's overwhelming talent and passion were apparent in every word. What would it feel like, he wondered, to truly be able to immerse yourself in the thing you were so clearly put on this earth to do?

He threw another stone, a little harder this time.

Ping.

“Come on,
linda
,” he muttered as he lost patience and threw several rocks at once, harder than he had intended. They clattered against her window and the side of her house.

Her window flew open. Her face gleamed pale in the night, the inky shadows of her hair spilling down over her shoulders as she leaned out and peered into the darkness.

“Camelia,” she hissed, “if that's you, I want you to remember that we are no longer sixteen years old and I have exactly zero interest in hearing about how you just went to third base with Joey Butkiewicz—”

“
Shh
, Katarina, it's me.”

She squinted. “Sebastian? What in the hell? It's one in the morning.”

“I finished the script.”

Her face lit up. “Ah! Hang on! Don't move!” And she slammed the window shut behind her.

She was beside him in a moment, wearing a torn T-shirt and sweatpants that were several inches too short at the ankles, her hair a wild cloud around her face.

“This is what you wear to bed?
Que
sexy.”

“Shut up. I need to do laundry. Now—tell me what you thought. Do not hold back. Do not worry about my feelings. I need to hear your honest opinion.”

She gazed up at him with a burning light in her eyes. He smiled and gathered her into his arms.

“It was fantastic,
mi corazón
,” he whispered. “I loved every page of it.
Mi abuelita
would have loved it, too.”

Her face broke into a dazzling grin. “Really? You're not being easy on me, are you? Because I can take criticism.”

He shrugged helplessly and pushed a lock of her hair off her face. “I wouldn't change a word.”

She smiled even wider. “Seriously?”

“Well, except for some bad Spanish. Who taught you your Spanish?”

“
Señora
Paviola, ninth grade. But it wasn't her fault. I had a crush on the guy who sat in front of me and spent all my time doodling pictures of the back of his head in my notebook instead of conjugating verbs. But never mind that—you really liked it?”

He stepped back and presented her with the bottle of champagne. “I loved it. Let's celebrate.”

Kat ducked back into the cottage to change out of her pajamas and gather up some wineglasses and a blanket. They took the little path down to the beach and spread the blanket upon the sand. Sebastian sent the champagne cork flying into the starry night sky, then he poured the wine and toasted her.

“To Katarina. I knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, and sexy as all hell, but I had no idea that your talent ran so deep. Here's to the amazing words you have put on the page, and to seeing those words come to life on the screen.
¡Salud!
”

Kat felt that she might burst from happiness as he leaned over and kissed her, his lips still damp from the champagne. “I couldn't have done it without you,” she whispered to him, and he kissed her again, deeper this time, and then they settled back on the blanket.

“So,” he said, “now that the script is done, what next?”

She laughed. “Now comes the hard part. Getting it made. Believe it or not, a period love story about the history of polo isn't going to be the easiest sell.”

“Don't be silly,” he said. “I'm sure that once they read it, the studios will be lining up.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I'll send it to my manager first, and she'll probably have notes.”

“Notes on what? It's perfect as is.”

Kat smiled. “I'm glad you think so, but there are always notes. And then my manager will probably slip it to a few people—let them see it before it goes wide, you know? If we can get a big-name actress attached up front, or a really powerful producer, that will help. And as much as it pains me to say this, even if we can sell the script, I don't know if I can get a guarantee that I'll be the one to direct—”

Sebastian sat back up. “Wait, what? This is your project. Of course you'll direct.”

She shook her head. “My name has been a liability ever since
Red Hawk
. If we really want to see this movie made, we should be open to all sorts of avenues. You have to be willing to compromise.”

He stared at her. “How can you talk like that? You sound like a businessman, not an artist.”

She felt a little pang of exasperation. “Hollywood is a business, Sebastian, and you have to approach it that way if you want to get anything done.”

“But the business side is for the agents and managers and executives to figure out. That's their job. You are the artist. You should be protected from all that.”

She laughed. “That sounds great, but that's not how it works.”

He looked at her. “Well, then, we will make it work that way. I will be the producer.”

She laughed. “What?”

He shrugged. “How hard can it be? I know movies. I have money. I have contacts. I will put together the business end of things so that you can be the artist.”

She blinked in astonishment. “That's—that's like me saying I've ridden a horse on a merry-go-round so now I should be a professional polo player.”

He grabbed her hand, excited. “No, don't you see? This is perfect! We'll go to L.A., and we can stay at your place while we film. Then we'll probably have to go to Argentina at some point, but there's plenty of room at
el campo
—”

She shook her head. “Wait, slow down—”

“You will need horses, of course. And people who know polo. I can supply both.”

“This is crazy. You can't just—”

“I have all this time on my hands, and you're the one who told me I should try something else, Katarina. You said I should stop being a polo player for a while. So why not a producer?”

She pulled her hand away from him, angry. “Sebastian, I don't think you understand just how important this movie is to me. I can't just let you pretend to be a producer because you're bored. This is my last chance. If this movie doesn't get made and made right, I won't work in Hollywood again.”

He looked at her, a stubborn set to his jaw. “And that is precisely what I will do—make sure this movie is made right.”

“You don't know anything about the industry.”

“I can learn.”

“You think this is a game, Sebastian? I have no money, no future, no other skills. I'll be cleaning houses for good if I can't make this film work out.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen,
mi corazón
, I understand—”

She shrugged him off and stood up. “You cannot possibly understand. You've had everything just handed to you on a silver platter from the day you were born. Maybe you can do things on a whim because you have the means to simply start all over again if something goes wrong, but I don't have that luxury. I have to be careful. And thoughtful. And not take risks. This film is everything to me, Sebastian, everything!”

He stared at her. “Is that really what you think my life is like? So easy?”

“I don't think it, I know it.”

“And you really think that I would ever do anything to harm you?”

She paused for a moment. Her mother's words about him echoed in her head. “Not on purpose, no. But I think—I think you would be careless.” She met his eyes. “I think you would start the work and then get bored. I think I would be left to pick up the pieces.”

He nodded slowly, not breaking the gaze between them. “So that's how you see me. As some child who simply pushes aside his toys when he tires of them.”

She looked away. “I'm sorry. I just can't risk it.”

He stood up. “Perhaps you're right then,” he said quietly. “Perhaps working together would be a mistake. In fact, perhaps this whole thing was a mistake from the beginning.”

She turned to him. “That's not what I meant.”

He held up a hand. “I know what you meant, Katarina. You were very clear.”

They walked back to the house in silence.