Morning sunlight slipped through the hotel suite's curtains, casting a narrow beam across the carpet.
Leon Donaldson was jolted awake by the sharp ring of his phone.
Groggily, he fumbled for it on the nightstand, fingers brushing the cool metal case.
"Hello?" His voice was thick with sleep.
Beside him, Jennifer Aniston stirred, mumbling softly like a lazy cat. She tightened her arms around him, her cheek pressed against his bare back as if trying to block out the noise.
Leonardo DiCaprio's voice burst through the phone, a mix of excitement and barely concealed nerves, words tumbling out at breakneck speed.
"Leon! It's me! I met with Mr. Spielberg yesterday afternoon! He read the script, and we talked for ages!"
Leon's sleepiness faded fast. He shifted to sit up, but Jennifer's arms held him in place, limiting his movement.
He patted her hand gently to soothe her and lowered his voice into the phone. "How'd it go, Leo?"
"He's super into it! More than I even hoped!"
Leonardo's voice practically vibrated through the receiver. "He said the story's smart, the pacing's killer, and Frank's character is full of charm and complexity. He especially loved the humor with that undercurrent of sadness!"
This was huge. Leon's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "That's awesome. What's next?"
"Next? He wants to meet us in person to dive deeper!"
Leonardo's excitement was contagious. "Tomorrow, at his DreamWorks office!"
The word "us" made Leon's lips twitch upward slightly.
Spielberg didn't just want to meet Leonardo—he wanted the screenwriter there too. That was a strong sign of interest.
"What time tomorrow?" Leon asked, his tone steadying to its usual calm.
"Ten a.m. I'll pick you up?" Leonardo asked eagerly.
"Sounds good. See you then, Leo. Nice work."
Leon hung up, exhaling as joy and anticipation bubbled inside him. Things were speeding toward the best possible path.
Jennifer was fully awake now.
She propped herself up, the silk sheets slipping from her smooth shoulders, her golden hair slightly messy, blue eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of surprise from what she'd overheard.
"Spielberg? DreamWorks?" Her voice was still raspy from sleep. "Sounds like a big project."
Leon turned to face her, nodding. "Yeah. I adapted a story, and Spielberg's interested in directing."
A complex look flickered in Jennifer's eyes—admiration, maybe a touch of envy, and perhaps a quiet reassessment of the man in her arms, whose career was skyrocketing.
She already knew Leon was talented; Final Destination's script and box office proved that. She knew he was ambitious, securing the producer role for The Princess Diaries and steering the project.
But she hadn't expected him to reach the likes of Spielberg—Hollywood's inner circle—so quickly.
A film directed by Spielberg, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, written by Leon Donaldson? That kind of lineup could turn heads across the industry.
But Jennifer Aniston was sharp— razor-sharp.
She knew Hollywood's rules and her own delicate position.
The world saw her and Brad Pitt as the golden couple, one of Tinseltown's brightest, most scrutinized pairs. Any hint of a scandal, especially with a rising star she'd just spent the night with, could spark a media firestorm.
She didn't pry about the project or show too much curiosity.
Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing Leon's jaw as she gave a lazy, knowing smile. "Looks like you've got a busy day ahead, big-shot writer."
Leon caught her restraint and understood.
He leaned in, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. "Thanks. Gotta start prepping."
They didn't talk shop anymore.
The morning passed in a warm, slightly rushed haze. They shared room-service breakfast, chatting about lighter stuff—the L.A. weather, funny stories about mutual actor friends.
Then, with quiet understanding, they got ready, exchanged private contact info, shared a simple hug, and left the hotel separately, diving back into their busy lives.
---
Back on The Princess Diaries set, Leon flipped straight into producer mode.
In the massive soundstage, workers were tweaking the Genovia palace set under the art director's guidance.
Deep crimson velvet drapes, hung per his and Garry Marshall's decision the day before, added a warm, regal weight to the hall.
"Hey, Leon! Check this out!"
Garry Marshall, in his eternal baseball cap, waved him over from across the set, clearly pleased with the progress.
Leon strode over, pushing last night's heat and this morning's Spielberg call to the back of his mind, focusing entirely on the creative work at hand.
He and Marshall, along with the art team, inspected the drapes' texture, how the color shifted under different lights, and even debated whether the carpet pattern clashed too much.
---
The busy day flew by.
As the sun set, Leon and Marshall finalized every detail.
Before leaving the set, Leon made sure to tell his assistant to clear his schedule completely for the next morning, pushing all Princess Diaries tasks to later.
---
The next day, at 9:30 a.m., Leonardo's sports car rolled up to Leon's villa right on time.
Leon slid into the passenger seat, noticing Leo's unusually formal look—a tailored dark suit, no tie, hair meticulously styled, his face a mix of nerves and excitement.
"You look like you're heading to the Oscars, Leo," Leon teased, buckling his seatbelt. He'd opted for a casual yet polished cashmere sweater and slacks combo.
"Come on, Leon. It's Spielberg!"
Leonardo took a deep breath and started the car. "I barely slept. Went over the script and proposal again. Man, I even dreamed I was cashing fake checks with Hanks chasing me!"
Leon laughed. "Relax. If he's meeting us, he's already hooked on the story."
His words seemed to calm Leo a bit.
DreamWorks' office wasn't as flashy as you'd expect.
The car pulled into a serene campus, parking in front of a low-key, modern building.
After checking in at reception, an assistant led them to Spielberg's office.
The hallway was quiet, lined with movie posters and artwork, buzzing with a focused, creative vibe.
The assistant knocked and opened the door. "Steven, Mr. DiCaprio and Mr. Donaldson are here."
Spielberg's office was spacious and bright, less an office and more a studio filled with collectibles, books, and movie models.
He stood by a large whiteboard, sketching what looked like storyboards for A.I. Artificial Intelligence.
At their entrance, he turned, a warm smile on his face.
"Hey, Leo."
He shook Leonardo's hand, then turned to Leon, extending his hand, his eyes sharp with unmasked curiosity.
"You must be Leon Donaldson. Congratulations."
Leon stepped forward, shaking the legendary director's hand confidently. "Thank you, Mr. Spielberg. It's an honor to meet you."
He wasn't sure what the congratulations were for at first.
Spielberg, catching his confusion, grinned. "For the British Book Award nomination. Girl with a Pearl Earring, right? Great novel. My wife, Kate, is reading it now and loves it."
Leon's heart skipped a beat, but he stayed composed.
Word traveled fast—and straight to the top.
He kept his smile humble. "You're too kind, Mr. Spielberg. It was an unexpected surprise."
Beside him, Leonardo's jaw dropped, his eyes wide as he whipped his head toward Leon, his expression screaming, "What the hell?! A British Book Award nomination?! Why didn't you say anything?!"
Even if Leo wasn't a literary buff, he knew the weight of that award in the UK and the English-speaking literary world.
A screenwriter-producer suddenly writing a novel and snagging a major literary nomination? That was wild.
Seeing Leon brush it off like someone complimenting the weather made Leo's mind reel.
What else is this guy hiding?!