The Hollywood Reporter: "After a week off the radar, Martin Meyers resurfaced at Paris International Airport, candidly addressing all questions about Nicole Kidman and their child, showing his resolve to embrace fatherhood…"
The Los Angeles Times: "'I'll take care of Nicole and our child forever'—the most romantic declaration of the century…"
At Obama's campaign office—now the president's office—an aide sighed, "Martin stole the headlines again. He showed up in Paris yesterday."
Obama laughed it off. "No big deal. We won. Media attention's secondary now. In fact, I'd prefer less of it. But I should call Martin to congratulate him on becoming a father."
Before Obama's call came, Martin's father rang first.
"Your mother's furious, son. Something this big, and you didn't tell us?" his father said.
"Alright, I'm sorry, dear Dad. Please pass my apologies to Mom and tell her she's about to be a grandma. That's good news, right?"
"Hmph, no need. She's on the earliest flight to Paris today. You can tell her yourself."
"What?" Martin's heart sank. That damn bloodline suppression—even a incubus couldn't escape it.
Lynda Meyers' arrival made Yang Mi nervous, like meeting a future mother-in-law. Martin didn't help, bringing her along to meet his mother without hesitation. Thankfully, Lynda was kind, chatting warmly with Yang Mi, leaving her both flattered and flustered.
Later, alone with her son, Lynda turned serious. "Martin, you went too far. Your father and I had to learn about you and Nicole from the news."
"My bad, Mom. I've been swamped and forgot to tell you," Martin said, quickly owning up. He moved behind her, massaging her shoulders with a grin.
"Cut it out!" Lynda scolded, though a smile betrayed her.
Martin exhaled. He knew how to handle his mom.
"What's the deal with this Yang Mi? New girlfriend?" Lynda asked.
"Not exactly new. We've been together for years."
"So I'm the last to know again?"
"Don't worry, Mom. I've made an Excel sheet with all my women—their ages, hometowns, personalities, photos—and sent it to you and Dad's email. Check it out when you have time."
Lynda froze, feeling like her son was treating his love life like a king selecting concubines.
After two days ensuring Martin felt her maternal authority, Lynda flew to Australia to meet Nicole, the mother of her future grandchild. Though Martin had warned he might never marry, Lynda cared deeply about the Meyers bloodline. She called Nicole ahead of her flight to avoid startling her.
Meeting Nicole, Lynda's emotions were mixed. By age, Nicole was practically her peer. Her husband had once been smitten with the Australian star, even jealous when Martin "won" her. Now, she was the mother of their grandchild. Still, Lynda was gracious, greeting Nicole warmly, while Nicole pulled out all the stops to charm her future "mother-in-law."
Australia was all harmony, as was the Inception set.
"For this scene, I want a wide-angle lens to emphasize the cramped space, Leo. You'll get a close-up—mind your expression," Martin directed.
"Got it," Leonardo replied.
"Cillian, when you're talking to Leo, lean in slightly. Your profile will be in the close-up. Keep your eyes locked on his face, no drifting."
"Got it, director," Cillian Murphy said.
"No, no, not 40 feet—I need 100 feet. The circular rig has to rotate for the spinning hallway shots."
"No, the camera can't be fixed to it. If it spins with the hallway, the audience won't see the rotation. I need a suspension system and stabilizer to keep the camera level."
"Let the stunt team handle this action scene. I need to brief them on the choreography."
"Listen, your bodies will move with the hallway's rotation, so keep your movements tight. Don't worry, the spin will be slow—speed comes in post-production. Your fight moves don't need to be fast to avoid looking sped-up."
"Leo, Joseph, and you guys, you'll need to show your faces in the spinning hallway. Joseph, run against the rotation—make it dynamic."
"Leo, during your spinning fight, keep your eyes sharp. Don't let the motion daze you."
Producer Emma Thomas watched Martin direct, mentally comparing him to her husband, Christopher Nolan. Both were meticulous, obsessed with detail. Both were calm, not studio tyrants, but Martin seemed warmer—though no one dared defy him.