The rain in London fell in a steady, miserable sheet, blurring the neon lights of the city streets into smeared streaks of color against the hotel windows.
Daniel stood near the glass, looking out over the gloomy afternoon traffic. He had rented the entire top floor of the Dorchester. Apex Security contractors in plain clothes were stationed at the elevator banks and the stairwells, ensuring absolute privacy. The massive suite was warm, smelling of fresh coffee and the expensive floral arrangements sitting on the mahogany tables.
Margot was stretched out on one of the plush velvet sofas, wearing a comfortable oversized sweater and a pair of leggings. She was flipping through a British fashion magazine, occasionally tearing out a page that caught her eye and tossing it onto the coffee table.
The heavy double doors of the suite clicked open.
Rupert Grint practically tumbled into the room, shaking the rainwater off his thick winter coat, tracking wet footprints onto the expensive carpet. Emma Watson walked in right behind him, dragging a massive, overstuffed backpack and looking thoroughly, intensely furious. Colin Morgan trailed in last, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, dragging his feet. Their parents followed them inside, offering polite waves to Daniel and shedding their wet outerwear in the foyer.
"I am starving," Rupert announced loudly, dropping his wet coat directly onto a pristine silk chair and making a beeline for the massive spread of pastries on the dining table. "It is absolutely mental out there. Mental!"
Daniel walked over, pulling a chair out and gesturing for the kids to sit down.
"Let me guess," Daniel said, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the ice bucket. "The paparazzi found the side exit at the train station."
"It's so stupid and completely unfair!" Emma practically shouted, dropping her heavy backpack onto the floor with a massive thud. She scrambled into a chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I went to Waterstones yesterday! Just to get a book for my Tudor history project. And this grown woman in the history aisle just started screeching. Like, actual high-pitched screeching! Right in my face!"
Emma threw her hands up, her cheeks flushed red with frustration. "And then all these people blocked the doors, and my mum had to call the actual police to get us to the car! And this bloke with a camera shoved a microphone at me and asked what brand of lip gloss I use! Lip gloss! I'm twelve! I don't even wear makeup, I was holding a book about Henry the Eighth!"
Margot laughed softly from the sofa, marking her page in the magazine and sitting up. "Welcome to the industry, Emma. The questions never get any smarter, I promise you."
"I think it's brilliant," Rupert argued, talking around a massive mouthful of a chocolate croissant. He swallowed heavily, wiping chocolate off his chin with his sleeve. "I went to school on Monday, right? And the Year 11 girls—the ones who usually tell us to bog off and shove us in the corridors—they were literally waiting by my locker. Like, three of them. Asking for my autograph!"
Rupert shook his head, a look of profound, terrified awe on his face. "I completely froze up. I forgot how to speak English. I dropped my maths book on the floor, mumbled something about the toilet, and literally legged it down the hall. I ran away."
"You are such a loser," Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"Shut up, they were fit!" Rupert shot back, grabbing another pastry.
Colin hadn't said a word. He was sitting at the end of the table, resting his chin in his hand, looking out the window at the rain. He looked pale, and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent.
Daniel walked over and pulled up a chair next to him.
"Talk to me, Colin," Daniel said quietly, keeping his voice relaxed. "How are things at home?"
Colin let out a heavy, miserable sigh. "I just wanted to play Time Crisis, Dan."
"The arcade game?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah," Colin nodded, picking at a napkin on the table. "Me and my brother went down to the arcade on Saturday, like we always do. And we couldn't even play one round. Everyone just stopped and stared. It was so weird. Grown-ups kept walking right up to me and staring at my forehead."
Colin looked up at Daniel, his eyes wide and frustrated. "This one old bloke actually tried to poke me in the head to find a scar! My dad had to physically shove him away and yell at him. I just wanted to shoot the zombies on the game. It sucks."
Daniel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at Colin, then over at Rupert and Emma. The massive box office numbers were fantastic for the studio, but this was the very real, very messy human cost. He had pulled these kids out of normal schools and dropped them into the center of a global hurricane.
"I know it's heavy right now," Daniel told them, making sure all three were listening. "The movie just came out. People are acting crazy because they forget you're actual people and not just faces on a screen. But it will settle down. You just have to ride out this first wave."
"I don't mind the wave," Rupert shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I just need to figure out how to talk to the Year 11s without sweating."
"I'm putting a complete block on the press," Daniel promised, looking directly at Emma. "I am blacklisting any magazine or newspaper that tries to ambush you in public. You aren't doing any interviews unless I personally read the questions first. If they ask about lip gloss, I'll throw them out. You just worry about your history project."
Emma let out a massive sigh of relief, her shoulders finally dropping. "Thank you. Truly. I just want to finish my poster board in peace."
Daniel turned his attention back to Colin. "And as for you. Give me your new home address. Didn't you guys move recently?"
Colin blinked, totally confused. "Why?"
"Because if you can't go to the arcade, I'm bringing the arcade to you," Daniel said. "I'll have a full-size Time Crisis cabinet delivered to your living room by Friday. Complete with the light guns. You and your brother can play it on free-play until your eyes bleed."
Colin's jaw actually dropped. The exhaustion vanished entirely, replaced by pure, unadulterated, wide-eyed joy. "Wait, are you serious? The real machine? The big one?"
"The real machine," Daniel confirmed, clapping him on the shoulder. He looked over at Colin's parents, who were sitting near the foyer, looking a bit helpless. "I'll cover the electricity bill."
Colin's dad laughed out loud, nodding his head in deep appreciation.
They spent the next two hours just hanging out in the hotel suite. Margot came over and sat on the floor with them, teaching Emma a complicated card game she had learned on a modeling shoot, while Emma aggressively tried to memorize the rules so she could beat Rupert. Daniel listened to Rupert recount, in excruciating detail, a movie he had watched on the telly the night before involving a giant shark.
Daniel actively maintained the space for them to just be kids, shielded completely from the terrifying machine of Hollywood fame waiting outside the hotel walls.
By late afternoon, the parents gathered the kids up. Coats were zipped, backpacks were shouldered, and they piled out into the hallway, escorted by the security team down to the private garage.
The suite went completely quiet.
Daniel walked over to the massive window, watching the rain continue to wash over the city. The traffic below was a slow, red crawl of brake lights.
Margot walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin between his shoulder blades.
"You're good with them," Margot murmured softly. "You really care about what happens to them."
"I broke their normal lives," Daniel said, turning around within her embrace to face her. He rested his hands on her hips. "The least I can do is buy them a video game and keep the reporters away."
He looked at Margot. The grey light from the window caught the subtle green specks in her eyes. She had been flying across the globe for the last year, juggling her own massive modeling campaigns in Paris and New York, while constantly rearranging her schedule to meet him in London or Los Angeles. She shared his time with Florence, with the studio, with the kids, and she never complained about the absolute chaos of his life.
Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number.
Margot tilted her head, watching him. "Who are you calling? We just got rid of everyone."
"Florence," Daniel said as the phone rang.
Florence picked up on the third ring. She was breathing heavily, the sound of metal clanking echoing in the background.
"Hey," Florence panted, her voice bright but strained. "Give me a second. I'm hanging upside down."
"Wire training?" Daniel asked, smiling.
"Yeah, the stunt coordinators on the Valley lot are trying to kill me," Florence groaned, the sound of a heavy harness shifting coming through the speaker. "They have me doing these massive pendulum swings into a foam pit for the Endor speeder bike crash. My ribs are covered in bruises. How are the kids?"
"They're good," Daniel told her. "Emma is fighting with the paparazzi. Rupert is discovering girls. Colin is getting an arcade machine."
"Standard Tuesday, then," Florence laughed, finally sounding right-side up. "Are you guys flying back tomorrow? Tom wants to do a walkthrough of the Emperor's throne room set on Thursday."
Daniel looked down at Margot. She was leaning against his chest, tracing a lazy circle on his shirt with her finger, perfectly content.
"Actually," Daniel said into the phone. "I'm looking at the London rain right now, and it's miserable. I'm thinking about pushing the flight back a few days. The Star Wars sets are built. The prep is running smoothly. Tom can handle the walkthrough."
There was a brief pause on the line. Then, Florence let out a loud, highly approving cheer.
"Do it," Florence demanded instantly. "You have been grinding your gears into dust for a solid year. Go somewhere warm. Go somewhere with a beach. Take Margot and disappear for a few days."
"You sure you don't need me on the lot to yell at the stunt coordinators?" Daniel asked.
"I can yell at them myself, I'm doing it right now," Florence shot back, her voice echoing in the massive training facility. "Seriously, Dan. Go. Spoil her. Turn your phone off. If you come back to Los Angeles before Monday, I will lock you out of the house."
"Understood," Daniel laughed. "Don't break your neck in the foam pit."
"No promises. Bye!" Florence hung up.
Daniel lowered the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. He looked at Margot.
"Pack your bag," Daniel told her. "We're leaving."
Margot raised an eyebrow, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across her face. "Leaving London? Where are we going?"
"South," Daniel said.
Three hours later, a chartered Gulfstream jet cut through the heavy cloud cover over England, pointing its nose toward the Mediterranean.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, the damp, freezing misery of London was a distant memory.
Daniel had arranged for a private helicopter to pick them up from the Naples airport, flying them directly down the jagged, breathtaking coastline of the Amalfi Coast. The water below them was a brilliant, impossible shade of sapphire blue, crashing violently against the sheer rock faces.
The helicopter touched down on a private helipad carved directly into the cliffside.
They were staying at an ultra-secluded, private villa overlooking the town of Positano. The property was built in descending terraces down the cliff. Massive stone arches framed the open-air living spaces, leading out to a sprawling infinity pool that seemed to drop straight off into the ocean. The air smelled of salt, blooming lemon trees, and hot stone.
There were no schedules. There were no security guards hovering in the hallway. The villa staff had fully stocked the kitchen and then vanished, leaving them completely alone.
Margot was in absolute heaven.
By two in the afternoon, she had discarded her travel clothes entirely. She was wearing a tiny white bikini, laying on a cushioned lounger at the very edge of the infinity pool, soaking in the blistering Italian sun.
Daniel walked out onto the terrace, wearing swim trunks and a loose linen shirt unbuttoned to the chest. He was carrying two tall glasses filled with ice, Aperol, and prosecco.
He handed a glass to Margot and sat down on the edge of her lounger.
"I could live here," Margot announced, taking a sip of her drink and letting her head fall back against the cushion. "I could throw my passport into the ocean, change my name, and just eat pasta and lay in the sun for the rest of my life."
"The fashion industry would mourn the loss," Daniel noted, taking a drink from his own glass. The condensation dripped onto the hot stone deck.
"Let them mourn," Margot sighed happily, closing her eyes. "This is perfect. It's so quiet."
It was quiet. Without Florence's chaotic, high-voltage energy bouncing around the room, the dynamic between Daniel and Margot settled into a very deep, grounded rhythm. They didn't need to fill the air with constant banter.
Daniel reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen, checking an email from Tom Wiley about a budget variance on the Jabba's palace set.
Margot opened one eye. She looked at the phone.
Before Daniel could react, Margot reached out with lightning speed, snatched the phone right out of his hand, and stood up from the lounger.
"Hey," Daniel protested, standing up.
Margot darted across the stone terrace, laughing loudly. She ran into the open-air living room, scanning the space. She spotted a massive, antique wooden bookshelf built into the stone wall. She climbed onto the heavy oak desk sitting next to it, reaching up on her tiptoes, and shoved the phone onto the very highest shelf, completely out of sight.
She jumped down from the desk, dusting her hands off, and turned to face him with a triumphant, wicked grin.
"Florence told me to make sure you turned it off," Margot declared, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are not looking at a spreadsheet while we are in Italy. You have to climb the bookshelf if you want it."
Daniel looked at the top shelf, which was a solid nine feet off the ground, and then looked back at Margot.
He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her effortlessly off the stone floor. Margot shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he spun her around and carried her back out into the blistering sunlight.
"I'm keeping you hostage until you give it back," Daniel warned, walking directly toward the edge of the infinity pool.
"No, no, wait, I have sunscreen on, the water will ruin it!" Margot yelled, kicking her legs, clutching onto his shoulders.
Daniel didn't stop. He stepped right off the edge of the pool deck.
They hit the water together with a massive splash. The cool, refreshing water enveloped them. Daniel surfaced, wiping the water from his eyes, treading water in the deep end.
Margot popped up a second later, her hair plastered to her face, gasping for air. She glared at him, a massive smile ruining the attempt at looking angry. She swam over, wrapping her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist to stay afloat.
"You are a menace," Margot accused, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes.
"You stole studio property," Daniel countered, his hands resting on the small of her back under the water.
The playfulness melted away into something much heavier, much more intimate. Margot looked at him, the bright Mediterranean sun reflecting in her eyes. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was slow, deep, and tasting of salt water and Aperol.
Daniel held her tight against him, feeling the warmth of her skin against the cool water.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the pool, talking lazily about the industry, dissecting the bizarre personalities of the studio executives, and enjoying the absolute isolation of the villa.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and purple, the air cooled down rapidly.
They moved inside. Daniel cooked dinner in the massive, rustic kitchen, tossing fresh pasta with garlic, olive oil, and local tomatoes. They ate at a small wooden table out on the balcony, wrapped in thick robes, watching the lights of Positano flicker on down the coastline.
After dinner, the tension of the real world was completely gone.
Daniel carried Margot into the master bedroom. The massive glass doors were pushed wide open, letting the sound of the crashing waves echo into the room. The bed was massive, covered in crisp white linen sheets.
The intimacy was passionate and deeply focused. Daniel took his time, completely shedding the persona of the untouchable studio head. He focused entirely on her, making sure she felt the absolute weight of his attention. Margot was vocal, her hands gripping his shoulders, completely surrendering to the rhythm they established. They moved together with a familiarity and a desperate heat that filled the quiet villa.
They fell asleep tangled together in the sheets, the cool ocean breeze blowing through the room.
For four days, they existed in a perfect vacuum. They took a small boat down the coast, swimming in hidden coves. They drank too much wine on the terrace. They barely wore clothes. Daniel didn't climb the bookshelf to retrieve his phone until Sunday night.
The vacation achieved exactly what it was meant to do. Margot felt completely seen, completely prioritized, outside the shadow of the Hollywood machine.
On Monday morning, the real world came rushing back.
The Gulfstream jet touched down on the tarmac at LAX. The blistering heat of Italy was replaced by the dry, smoggy warmth of Los Angeles.
Daniel and Margot sat in the back of the armored SUV as it navigated the heavy traffic on the 405 freeway. Margot was leaning her head against his shoulder, looking thoroughly rested, a deep tan glowing on her skin.
The SUV pulled up to the massive iron gates of the Bel Air estate.
"You aren't coming in?" Margot asked, sitting up as the car stopped in the driveway.
"I have to go straight to the lot," Daniel said, kissing her softly on the forehead. "Dante has been waiting for my approval on the Endor sets for three days. Go inside, take a shower, and tell Flo I survived if she's in there."
"I will," Margot smiled, opening the door and stepping out into the driveway. "Thank you for Italy. It was perfect."
"We'll do it again," Daniel promised.
He closed the door and tapped the glass partition, signaling the driver. The SUV pulled away from the estate, heading straight for the San Fernando Valley.
The Miller Studios lot in the Valley was a sprawling, industrial complex of massive soundstages and production offices. It was louder and more chaotic than the Culver City lot, primarily dedicated to the heavy physical production and stunt work of their biggest blockbusters.
Daniel's SUV pulled up outside Soundstage 3.
He walked through the heavy acoustic doors. The massive space was entirely draped in giant, seamless blue screens. The floor was covered in a thick layer of artificial dirt and scattered pine needles.
In the center of the room, mounted on massive, heavy-duty hydraulic gimbals, were two full-scale speeder bikes. The props were incredibly detailed, weathered, and scarred with fake blast marks.
Dante Ferretti was standing near the base of the gimbals, arguing loudly in Italian with a mechanical engineer holding a clipboard. Tom Wiley was standing a few feet away, drinking a coffee and looking incredibly stressed.
"Dante," Daniel called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the stage.
Dante stopped yelling, turning around. He unwound his thick scarf slightly, a look of massive relief washing over his face.
"Ah, the boss returns from his Roman holiday," Dante announced, walking over. "I have been fighting with these engineers all morning. The hydraulics are sluggish."
Tom walked over, looking at Daniel's tan. "You look rested. I haven't slept since Thursday. We have a problem with the pitch and roll on the lead bike."
The transition was immediate. The quiet Mediterranean villa evaporated, replaced entirely by the grinding, high-stakes reality of finishing the largest sci-fi saga in history.
"Show me," Daniel ordered, walking up to the massive speeder bike.
The engineer climbed onto the control platform and pushed a heavy throttle forward. The hydraulic pistons hissed violently. The massive speeder bike pitched forward, banking hard to the left.
"It's catching at the apex," Daniel noted, watching the fluid movement of the machine suddenly jerk slightly at the steepest angle. "If Christian is sitting on that thing and the gimbal jerks, it ruins the illusion of forward momentum. The actors have to look like they are fighting gravity, not fighting a machine."
"The fluid pressure drops when we extend the rear piston to maximum capacity," the engineer explained, looking at his clipboard.
"Then upgrade the pump," Daniel said instantly. "We need a smooth, continuous arc. I want these things moving like actual motorcycles, not carnival rides."
He turned to Tom.
"Where are the stunt guys?" Daniel asked.
"They are in the harness room getting suited up," Tom replied. "Florence is with them. She insisted on doing the first test run on the rig herself."
Daniel nodded, walking toward the video village monitors set up near the edge of the blue screens.
Ten minutes later, Florence walked out onto the stage. She was wearing the Endor camouflage poncho, a heavy stunt harness strapped tightly over her clothes. She saw Daniel standing by the monitors and flashed a massive, knowing grin.
"You look significantly less stressed," Florence called out, walking over to the speeder bike.
"Italy is nice this time of year," Daniel replied, crossing his arms. "You ready to fall off a hover motorcycle?"
"Born ready," Florence laughed.
The stunt riggers hooked the heavy safety cables to her harness, locking her onto the seat of the speeder bike.
Daniel put on his headset, settling into his director's chair. The massive machine of the studio was humming perfectly all around him. The sets were built. The cast was ready.
"Alright, let's fire up the hydraulics," Daniel called into the microphone. "Level one. Let's see the pitch."
The pistons hissed. The bike lifted into the air. Florence leaned forward, grabbing the handlebars, her eyes locking onto an imaginary spot on the blue wall, completely dialed into the performance.
"Give me the fans," Daniel ordered.
Massive industrial fans roared to life, blasting Florence with heavy wind, flattening the poncho against her back.
Daniel leaned forward, staring at the monitor, his eyes tracking the movement, perfectly back in his element.
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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/AmaanS