The screening room on the Miller Studios lot was locked down tighter than a bank vault.
Security guards in dark suits stood by the heavy acoustic doors, holding large plastic bins. Every single person who walked into the room had to drop their phone, their smartwatches, and any recording devices into the bins. They also had to sign a stack of non-disclosure agreements that essentially signed away their firstborn children if they leaked a single detail about the plot.
Daniel wasn't going to test Vice City with a random audience in a mall. The movie was too big, the anticipation was too high, and his own profile made him too much of a target. Instead, Elena had carefully selected a test audience made up of trusted lower-level studio employees from different departments—people who had no direct involvement with the movie—along with a handful of highly vetted industry contacts.
Daniel sat in the very back row of the dark theater, flanked by Tom Wiley and Marcus Blackwood.
He didn't watch the screen. He had stared at the footage for hundreds of hours in the editing bay. He knew every single frame, every audio cue, and every color grade. Instead, he watched the backs of the audience's heads. He watched how they shifted in their seats. He watched their shoulders.
The movie was pushing into the final act. The tension in the room was incredibly thick. Nobody was whispering. Nobody was getting up to use the restroom.
On the screen, Al Pacino stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, looking down at Robert De Niro. The standoff was quiet and heavy.
Then, Jamie Foxx walked out of the shadows.
Daniel watched the audience. A few people physically leaned forward in their plush theater seats. When Foxx walked down the stairs, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with De Niro and delivering his cold apology, a collective, sharp intake of breath echoed through the dark room.
The ensuing shootout was loud and brutal, but it was the final, quiet execution in the office that really landed. When Tommy Vercetti pointed the gun down at Ricardo Diaz's body and pulled the trigger, the screen cut to black.
The credits started to roll.
For five full seconds, the screening room was dead silent. The audience was just sitting there, processing the heavy, cynical reality of the ending. Tommy had won the city, but he had lost his soul, and the crowd felt the weight of it.
Then, someone near the front started clapping. A second later, the entire room joined in, the applause growing loud and sustained.
Tom Wiley let out a long, shaky exhale next to Daniel, slumping down into his seat. He rubbed his face with both hands.
"Thank god," Tom muttered under his breath. "I was terrified they were going to hate Lance for turning on him. I thought it might alienate the crowd."
"They don't hate the movie for it," Daniel said quietly, watching the audience start to stand up and stretch. "They just hate Lance. Which means Jamie did his job perfectly."
Marcus leaned over, checking the time on his watch. "The reaction cards are going to be glowing, Dan. The pacing is relentless. You barely give them a chance to breathe in the second act."
Daniel finally looked up at the rolling credits on the screen. The feeling of creative burnout that had been riding his back for weeks slowly started to lift. The story worked. The characters landed. The neon aesthetic didn't overpower the gritty reality of the script.
"Tell Benny to lock the picture," Daniel told Tom, standing up from his seat. "We're done cutting. Send it to the sound department for the final mastering mix."
---
The next afternoon, the Bel Air house was quiet and flooded with warm California sunlight.
Daniel was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the marble island with a glass of water. He had just finished a phone call with his legal team regarding some standard distribution contracts, but his mind was completely elsewhere.
Margot walked into the kitchen wearing a loose pair of denim shorts and a vintage band t-shirt. She opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator, grabbed a carton of orange juice, and poured herself a glass.
She took a sip, closed the fridge, and looked at Daniel. She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You're pacing," Margot observed casually.
"I'm standing completely still," Daniel replied.
"You're pacing in your head," Margot corrected him, walking over to the island and hopping up to sit on the cool marble counter. She crossed her ankles and looked at him expectantly. "You have that look on your face. The one you get right before you have to shoot a complicated stunt sequence. What's going on?"
Daniel let out a slow breath and set his water glass down. He looked down the hallway to make sure they were alone, even though he knew Florence was at the studio.
"So I have the ring," Daniel said softly.
Margot's face instantly lit up. A massive smile broke across her features, and she did a little excited wiggle on the counter. "On you? Are you ready?"
"It's in the safe in my office," Daniel nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a strange, unfamiliar knot of nervous energy in his stomach. "I just don't know how to do it. I keep running scenarios in my head, and they all feel wrong. I thought about booking out that restaurant in Malibu she likes, right on the water. Or maybe taking the weekend and flying down to the house in the Caribbean."
Margot immediately shook her head, her blonde ponytail swishing.
"No," Margot said firmly, holding up a hand to stop him. "Absolutely not. Cancel all of that. Do not rent a restaurant, and do not put her on a private jet."
Daniel frowned. "Why? She likes the beach."
"Daniel, you are overthinking this," Margot laughed, shaking her head at him. "You are trying to produce a proposal like it's a movie scene. Florence doesn't want the billionaire studio mogul putting on a show for her. She just wants you."
Margot set her juice glass down on the counter.
"Think about how you guys started," Margot reminded him, her voice softening. "She didn't fall for you on a yacht or at some fancy Hollywood gala. She fell for you on the set of the first Star Wars movie. You were stressed out of your mind trying to direct a massive sci-fi epic, and she was this completely unknown actress playing Leia, trying to prove she belonged there."
Daniel smiled faintly at the memory. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"She used to watch you from the craft services table," Margot continued, smiling fondly. "She told me about it. Sebastian Stan and Christian Bale would be off practicing their lightsaber choreography or whatever, and she would just be sitting there, completely ignoring Luke and Han Solo, just watching you try to figure out camera angles. She was so openly into you, and you were too busy working to even notice until she finally just walked up and asked you on a date."
"I was very focused on the script," Daniel defended himself weakly, though the smile on his face betrayed him.
"She likes you because you're real," Margot said, dropping the teasing tone and looking at him seriously. "She keeps you grounded. If you try to do some grand, sweeping gesture with violins and a private chef, she's going to think you're acting. Just be normal."
Daniel thought about it. The knot in his stomach slowly started to loosen. Margot was entirely right. The pressure he was putting on himself was completely manufactured.
"Okay," Daniel nodded. "Normal. I can do normal."
"Good," Margot smiled, hopping down from the counter. She picked up her juice glass. "And to help you be normal, I am officially removing myself from the premises. I am going to stay at a friend's house in Malibu for the entire weekend. The house will be completely empty. Just the two of you."
Daniel looked at her, genuinely grateful for how easy she made everything. "You don't have to leave, Margot. You live here too."
"I know I do," Margot beamed, walking over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "But you guys need this moment to yourselves. I'll come back on Sunday and demand to see the ring on her hand. Order some junk food, put on a bad movie, and just ask her."
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Daniel alone with a very simple, very clear plan.
---
Friday evening arrived with a heavy, unseasonably warm breeze blowing through the hills of Bel Air.
The house was incredibly quiet. Margot had packed a weekend bag and left hours ago.
Daniel was sitting on the floor in the living room, his back resting against the base of the massive sectional sofa. The large flat-screen television was playing some random sitcom on a low volume, providing a steady hum of background noise.
Sitting on the large wooden coffee table in front of him was an absolutely massive spread of Mexican food.
He hadn't ordered from a high-end, overpriced fusion restaurant in Beverly Hills. He had driven down into the valley and gone to a small, loud, incredibly authentic place they both loved. The table was covered in foil-wrapped burritos, styrofoam containers packed with shredded beef enchiladas, a huge bag of greasy tortilla chips, and plastic tubs of fresh guacamole and spicy red salsa.
He heard the heavy front door open and click shut.
A moment later, Florence walked into the living room.
She looked entirely, completely spent. She was wearing a baggy grey sweatshirt and loose sweatpants. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun that was slowly falling apart. She dropped her heavy canvas gym bag onto the floor by the entryway with a loud thud and let out a long, dramatic groan.
"I am broken," Florence announced to the room, not even looking up as she kicked her sneakers off. "I am physically shattered into a million pieces. My stunt coordinator is a sadist, Daniel. A literal sadist."
Daniel smiled, watching her slowly shuffle into the living room. "Wire work today?"
"Eight hours of it," Florence complained, walking over and dropping onto the rug right next to him. She practically melted into the floor, leaning her head on his shoulder. "They put me in this horrible, pinching harness and just jerked me up into the air over and over again so I could pretend to do a backflip off a wall, all that with a corset. I have bruises in places I didn't even know could bruise."
Daniel wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her messy hair. She smelled like sweat, dry shampoo, and exhaustion.
"Well, I have medicine," Daniel told her, gesturing toward the coffee table.
Florence lifted her head and looked at the spread of food. Her eyes went wide. She let out a soft, genuine noise of pure happiness.
"You went to the place in the valley," Florence whispered, looking at the foil-wrapped burritos like they were made of gold.
"I got the chicken enchiladas with the green sauce, extra chips, and the ridiculously spicy salsa," Daniel confirmed. "I figured you needed calories, not a salad."
Florence actually leaned over and kissed his cheek hard. "I love you so much right now. Where is Margot? Tell her to get down here before I eat all the guacamole."
"She went to Malibu for the weekend," Daniel said casually, handing Florence a plastic fork. "Just us tonight."
Florence didn't question it. She just grabbed a container of enchiladas, pulled it onto her lap, and started eating.
For the next twenty minutes, they just sat on the floor and ate. Florence complained a bit more about the heavy sword she had to swing around on set, and Daniel told her about a funny argument Tom Wiley had gotten into with the craft services guy over the lack of decent coffee on the lot.
It was incredibly comfortable. The massive, stressful world of Hollywood was completely locked outside the gates of the house.
Florence dragged a tortilla chip through the tub of guacamole, popped it into her mouth, and let out a happy sigh. She leaned her back against the sofa, stretching her legs out on the rug.
"This is exactly what I needed," Florence murmured, closing her eyes for a second. "I don't want to move for the next twelve hours. I just want to sit right here on this floor."
Daniel looked at her.
He looked at the small smudge of salsa near the corner of her mouth. He looked at the purple bruise forming on her collarbone from the stunt harness. He looked at how completely relaxed and safe she felt sitting in their living room.
The realization hit him like a slow, warm wave. The timing wasn't planned, and the setting wasn't glamorous, but it was absolutely perfect. This was their life. This quiet, unfiltered safety was exactly what he wanted for the rest of his days.
Daniel set his food down on the table. He wiped his hands on a paper napkin.
"I need to grab something from my office," Daniel said, his voice sounding surprisingly steady despite the sudden spike of adrenaline in his chest. "I'll be right back."
"Bring back a bottle of water," Florence mumbled lazily, not opening her eyes. "The salsa is actually burning my tongue."
"You got it," Daniel said.
He stood up and walked out of the living room. He walked down the quiet hallway and stepped into his private office, leaving the door open.
He walked over to the massive bookshelf. He pulled the fake encyclopedia forward, exposing the digital keypad for the wall safe. He typed in the code, the familiar mechanical thud echoing in the quiet room. He pulled the heavy steel door open.
The dark green velvet box was sitting right where he left it.
Daniel picked it up. He took a deep breath, slipped the box into the pocket of his jeans, and closed the safe. He walked back out of the office, stopping by the kitchen to grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and headed back into the living room.
Florence was exactly where he left her, sitting on the rug, staring blankly at the television screen as she chewed on another chip.
Daniel walked over. He handed her the cold bottle of water.
Florence took it, unscrewing the cap. "Thanks. I think I'm going to fall asleep right here on this rug."
Daniel didn't sit back down next to her.
Instead, he took a half-step back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box. He held it in his right hand, took a slow breath, and dropped down onto one knee right there on the living room rug, next to the half-eaten containers of Mexican food.
He didn't say a word. He just opened the box.
The vintage Edwardian diamond caught the light from the television screen. The intricate platinum filigree looked incredibly delicate against the dark velvet.
Florence took a sip of her water. She lowered the bottle and turned her head to look at him, probably intending to make a joke about the sitcom playing on the TV.
Her eyes fell on Daniel kneeling on the floor. Then, they dropped to the small box in his hand.
Florence froze completely. The bottle of water in her hand slipped slightly, her grip going slack. Her mouth fell open. The color drained out of her face, and then rushed back in all at once.
"Oh my god," Florence whispered. The words barely carried any sound.
Daniel looked up at her, a gentle, completely open smile on his face. He didn't have a speech prepared. He didn't need one.
"Florence," Daniel said softly, his voice full of a quiet, unshakeable certainty. "You asked me out when I was busy editing True Detective, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. You are my anchor. I don't want to do any of this without you. You are where I belong."
Florence stared at him, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her eyes were instantly bright with tears.
Daniel held the box out just an inch closer.
"Will you marry me?" Daniel asked.
Florence let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. She quickly set the water bottle down on the coffee table so she wouldn't drop it.
She leaned forward, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. She looked at the ring, and then she looked at Daniel's face. The sheer, overwhelming emotion in her eyes was incredibly beautiful.
Suddenly, she reached out and lightly punched him in the shoulder. It wasn't hard, but it was purely instinctual.
"What took you so long?" Florence laughed, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.
"I was busy editing," Daniel joked gently, reaching out to catch her hand.
Florence let out another wet laugh, sliding down from her seated position to kneel on the floor right in front of him. She didn't hesitate. She didn't need to think about it.
"Yes," Florence said, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, obviously."
Daniel smiled, a massive, profound wave of relief washing over him. He carefully pulled the ring out of the velvet box. He held her left hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, and slid the platinum band onto her finger.
Margot had been absolutely right. The ring looked like it belonged there. The vintage cut suited her perfectly, elegant and grounded without being flashy.
Florence looked down at her hand. She stared at the diamond, letting out a shaky breath. She reached out and traced the intricate metalwork with her other hand.
"It's beautiful, Daniel," Florence whispered, looking back up at him. "It's entirely perfect."
She didn't look at the ring for very long. She reached forward, wrapping both of her arms tightly around his neck, and pulled him in. She kissed him, her hands tangling in his hair. It was a messy, fierce, incredibly happy kiss, right there on the floor surrounded by takeout boxes.
Daniel held her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. The smell of salsa and dry shampoo was suddenly the best thing he had ever experienced.
When she finally pulled back, she kept her forehead pressed against his. She was smiling so wide her cheeks looked like they hurt.
"Margot knew about this," Florence accused him softly, letting out a small laugh. "That's why she went to Malibu. You guys set me up."
"She was my tactical consultant," Daniel admitted happily. "She picked the ring out. I was totally lost."
"Of course she did," Florence laughed, wiping a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand, the diamond flashing in the light. "I am going to tackle her when she gets back on Sunday."
Florence sat back on her heels, looking at her hand again. She let out a long, happy sigh, the exhaustion from the day completely forgotten. She looked incredibly radiant, sitting in baggy sweatpants on the living room rug.
"So," Florence smiled, looking over at the coffee table. "Are we going to finish those enchiladas, or what?"
Daniel laughed out loud. The tension, the nerves, the pressure of the studio—it all completely vanished. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"Yeah," Daniel said, shifting his weight to sit comfortably on the floor next to her. "Let's finish dinner."
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A/N: We are back! I'll post on Saturday's too to make up for the lost time :D
Read ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/AmaanS