Date: May 1996
Location: London Theatre Lounge
Actress: Emily Watson
Alexander's Status: Fresh off quietly funding Breaking the Waves through a Danish financing shell; midway through confidential talks to back The Blair Witch Project
Actress's Status: Shattering breakthrough with Breaking the Waves; stunned by sudden Cannes buzz and unsure if she wants Hollywood or if it wants her at all
"The Silence After the Storm"
Rain tapped against the high arched windows like a ticking clock that refused to strike the hour.
Inside the lounge, everything was red velvet and forgotten grandeur. Dust hung in the corners like soft regrets. A dim chandelier swayed slightly overhead, the kind of detail only noticed when two people are too quiet for too long. The after-party was still happening upstairs — champagne flutes, theatrical chatter, someone from The Guardian asking about "performance as feminine martyrdom."
Down here, Alexander Kaine sat in silence, elbows resting on the table like a man who had just survived a plane crash.
Emily Watson sat across from him, curled slightly in a wool coat too large for her. Her eyes — wide, tired, unblinking — searched his face for a verdict he refused to give.
The quiet was unbearable.
She fidgeted. "You hated it."
Alexander didn't blink.
She tried again. "Or you thought it was—too much. Too raw."
Still nothing. His face was unreadable. Like he was listening to a language only he understood.
Emily straightened, folding her hands like a child awaiting punishment.
"You should say something," she whispered.
Twenty minutes had passed since she sat down. Twenty long, coiled minutes since the screening ended. No one had dared approach them. Not when he was in that kind of silence.
Finally, he leaned in.
"You terrified me," he said, voice low and reverent. "I loved it."
She exhaled — not a sigh, something deeper. Like breath returning after being held for years.
"I didn't think it would ever be seen," she said. "It's… not an easy thing, that film."
"No," he murmured. "It's not. It's ugly. Sacred. Completely untrained. And absolutely impossible to ignore."
She blinked at that. "That's not a review."
"I don't give reviews," he said. "I give lifelines."
A pause.
"Was that one?" she asked.
"I don't know yet," he said. "Are you staying here, or are you running?"
"From what?"
"Hollywood. Attention. What happens next."
She hesitated, looking down at her hands. "I didn't expect to be… noticed. Not like this."
"You weren't noticed," he said. "You were detonated."
That startled her into a small laugh. "That's a terrifying compliment."
"Only if you're scared of power."
"I am," she admitted, then quickly added, "But not yours."
That made him smile. "Wise."
Another pause. This one warmer.
"I think I'm supposed to go upstairs," she said finally. "Smile. Be grateful. Take a card from someone who'll cast me as 'traumatized mother #2.'"
Alexander leaned back.
"You don't belong up there."
She studied him. "And where do I belong?"
"In stories that hurt to watch," he said. "And linger after you forget the ending."
There was a long silence between them. Not awkward. Holy.
Finally, he stood and extended a hand.
"Come with me."
"Where?" she asked, already rising.
He leaned close, whispering the answer like a secret meant only for one ear.
"Anywhere the quiet still matters."
As they step into the boutique suite, the warmth of the fire envelops them, a stark contrast to the rain-soaked streets outside. The room is a sanctuary of dark woods, old books, and flickering candlelight. The air is thick with anticipation, but it's a quiet, reverent kind of tension, a hush that speaks volumes.
Alexander watches as she toes off her shoes, her movements graceful and unhurried. He pours a glass of wine, but instead of offering it to her, he sets it down and turns his full attention to her. She walks toward the window, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the city lights blurred by the misting rain.
"You don't have to be anything right now," Alexander says, his voice a low, gentle rumble.
She turns to face him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that makes his breath catch. "Then let me be seen," she replies, her voice a soft, fervent plea.
Alexander steps closer, his eyes never leaving hers. She reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unbutton his shirt, her touch feather-light and exploratory. He lets her lead, his body responding to her touch, his breath holding as she peels back the layers, revealing his chest inch by inch.
He reaches up, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the raindrops that cling to her cheeks. He leans in, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling, their eyes locked in a gaze that is as intimate as it is intense.
"You are seen," he whispers, his voice a vow.
She closes her eyes, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he kisses the hollow of her throat, his lips soft and reverent. His hands trace the curve of her waist, the small of her back, his touch light as a feather, his fingers tracing her collarbone like he's reading Braille, committing every inch of her to memory.
She shivers, her body responding to his touch, her breath coming in soft gasps. He slows the pace, his movements deliberate and devotion, his touch a dialogue that speaks of respect, of admiration, of a connection that goes beyond the physical.
He steps back, his eyes roaming her body, taking in every detail, every curve, every line. She smiles, a soft, shy smile that makes his heart ache with tenderness. She reaches out, her hands going to the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly, the sound of the zipper filling the room, the dress slipping off her shoulders, pooling at her feet.
Alexander's breath hitches as he takes in the sight of her, his eyes dark with desire, his body tense with need. But he doesn't rush, his hands reaching out, his fingers tracing the straps of her bra, his touch light, his movements slow and deliberate.
She shivers, her body arching into his touch, her breath coming in soft gasps. He leans in, his mouth capturing hers in a gentle, exploratory kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her hard nipples, making her moan into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss, his voice a low growl as he murmurs, "You are so beautiful."
She smiles, a soft, shy smile that makes his heart ache with tenderness. She reaches out, her hands going to his belt, her fingers deft and sure as she unbuckles it, her eyes never leaving his.
He steps out of his pants, his body now as bare as hers, his eyes roaming her body, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight of her. He reaches out, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the raindrops that still cling to her cheeks.
"You are seen," he whispers again, his voice a vow.
She closes her eyes, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he kisses her again, his lips soft and reverent, his body pressing against hers, his hands exploring every inch of her, his touch a dialogue that speaks of respect, of admiration, of a connection that goes beyond the physical.
He leads her to the bed, his body covering hers, his weight welcome and right. He enters her slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving hers, his body trembling with the effort of going slow, of making this moment last, of cherishing every second, every touch, every breath.
She wraps her legs around him, urging him deeper, her body arching against his, her moans filling the room, her nails digging into his back, her breath coming in short gasps.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his body matching hers, their breath syncing, their hearts beating as one. The room fills with the sounds of their lovemaking, the soft, wet sounds of their joining, their moans and gasps, the crackling of the fire the only other sound in the quiet room.
Alexander changes the angle, his body now fully on top of hers, his elbows on either side of her head, his hands in her hair. He looks down at her, his eyes intense, his body moving with purpose. "You feel so fucking good," he grunts, his voice strained with effort. "So tight, so wet."
She wraps her arms around him, her nails digging into his back as she urges him on. "Don't stop," she whispers. "Please, don't stop."
He doesn't, his body slamming into hers, their sweat-misted skin sliding together. She can feel another orgasm building, her body coiling tight once more. Alexander feels it too, his body responding, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.
"Come with me," he grunts, his body tensing. "Let me feel you come around me."
She obeys, her body shattering, her inner muscles clenching around him. Alexander throws his head back, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release, his body pulsing inside hers.
They collapse together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Alexander rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies still joined. She rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her body sated, her mind blissfully empty.
Later, as they lie tangled in silence, she murmurs, "Promise me I can disappear again, if I need to."
He brushes the hair from her face, his touch gentle, his voice a soft promise as he says, "Only if I get to find you after."