By the time she’d finished touching up her makeup, finger combing her straight hair, and changing into a mint green Marc Jacobs cotton eyelet dress, the smell of fresh baked goods had drifted upstairs. Her stomach growled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so hungry. Bram was waiting in the foyer, along with Chaz, who was gazing up at him as if he hung the moon and the stars.
As Georgie reached his side, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Chaz, you’ll make sure Georgie has whatever she needs.”
Chaz responded with a friendliness that Bram might buy into but Georgie didn’t believe for an instant. “Anything, Georgie. You just let me know.”
“Thanks. As a matter of fact, I’ve hardly eaten all day, and I wouldn’t mind—”
“Later, sweetheart. We have work to do.” Bram kissed her forehead, then turned to pick up one of two trays piled with home-baked sugar cookies. “Chaz has made a goodwill offering for us to distribute to our friends in the press.” He handed one tray to Georgie, then picked up the other for himself. “We’re going to pass these out and pose for some photos.”
The press liked nothing better than free food. It was a great idea, and she wished she’d thought of it. He opened the door for her. “I hired extra security until the gates go up,” he said. “I’m sure you won’t mind paying your portion of the bill.”
“How big a portion is that?”
“All of it. Only fair, don’t you agree, since I’m putting a roof over your head?”
“If you’d include some actual food with that roof—”
“Can’t you think about anything but food?”
“Not at the moment.” She grabbed one of the cookies from her tray and took a big bite. It was still warm…and delicious.
“No time for that.” He snatched the cookie away and stuffed it in his mouth. “Damn, these are good. Chaz’s cooking gets better all the time.”
She watched the cookie disappear. For a year everyone had been trying to coax her to eat, and now that she had an appetite, he was taking food away. It made her even hungrier. “I wouldn’t know.”
The end of the driveway came into sight, along with the beefy security guards stationed there. Several dozen paps and a few members of the legitimate press clustered in a noisy pack in the street. Georgie gave them a gay wave. Bram took her free hand, and fingers linked, they carried the cookie trays forward. The paps began “hosing them down,” a particularly distasteful term that described the aggressive shooting of celebrities.
“If you guys play nice, we’ll pose for some pictures,” Bram called out. “But if anybody comes too close to Georgie, we’re going inside. I mean it. Nobody gets near her.”
She was momentarily touched, and then she returned to Sanity Land as she remembered Bram was acting the role of the protective husband.
“We always play nice, Bram,” one of the women reporters shouted over the din.
Even before Bram passed both trays over to the security guards to distribute, the questions began to fly. When had they hooked up? Where? Why, after all these years, had they gotten together? What about all the bad feelings between them? One question followed another.
“Georgie, is this a rebound from Lance?”
“Everybody’s saying you’re anorexic. Is that true?”
She and Bram were pros at handling the press, and they answered only the questions they wanted to.
“People think this whole thing is a big publicity stunt,” Mel Duffy called out.
“You go on dates for publicity,” Bram retorted. “You don’t get married. But people can think what they like.”
“Georgie, rumors are flying that you’re pregnant.”
“Really?” The wound ached, but Georgie played the clown and patted her waist. “Hello? Anything in there?”
“Georgie isn’t pregnant,” Bram said. “When it happens, we’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Are you taking a honeymoon?” The reporter had a British accent.
Bram rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. “When we get around to it.”
“Do you know where?”
“Maui,” he said.
“Haiti,” Georgie said.
They looked at each other. Georgie went on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his jaw. “Bram and I intend to use this silly overexposure we’re getting to call attention to the plight of people living in poverty.” She didn’t know a lot about Haiti, but she knew it had poverty, and Haiti was a lot closer than Thailand and the Philippines, where Lance and Jade were doing their good works.
“As you can see, we’re still discussing it,” Bram said. Without warning, he drew her into his arms and gave her the lusty kiss the press had been waiting for. She went through all the proper motions in response, but she was tired, hungry, and trapped in the arms of her oldest enemy.
They finally separated. Bram addressed the crowd while he fixed her with a hungry lover’s gaze. “You’re all welcome to hang around, but I can guarantee we’re not going anywhere tonight.”
She tried to blush, but blushing was beyond her. Would she ever know what had happened in that Vegas hotel room? She hadn’t seen any signs that they’d made love, except they’d both been naked, which she supposed was a fairly big sign.
As they walked back to the house, his hand strayed to her bottom for the benefit of the onlookers they’d left behind. “Nice,” he said.
The sadness she’d been trying so hard to suppress oozed to the surface. “I’ve never forgiven you for what happened that night on the boat. I never will.”
He drew back. “I’d been drinking. I know I wasn’t exactly a dream lover, but—”
“What you did was a step away from a rape.”
He snapped to a stop. “That’s bullshit. I never forced a woman in my life, and I sure as hell didn’t force you.”
“No physical force, but—”
“You had a crush on me. Everybody knew it. You threw yourself at me from the beginning.”
“You didn’t even lie down with me,” she said. “You shoved up my skirt and helped yourself.”
“All you had to do was say no.”
“Then you walked out. As soon as it was over.”
“I was never going to fall in love with you, Georgie. I’d done everything I could to make that obvious, but you wouldn’t take the hint. At least that night put an end to it.”
“Don’t you dare act as though you did me a favor! You wanted to get off and I was handy. You took advantage of a stupid kid who thought you were romantic and mysterious when you were really just an egotistical, self-centered ass. We’re enemies. We were then, and we still are.”
“Fine by me.”
As he stormed off, she told herself she’d said exactly what she needed to. But nothing could change the past, and she didn’t feel one bit better.
Chapter 8
Georgie swam for nearly an hour the next morning in the sheltered pool. Yesterday she’d let him see how much he’d hurt her, and displaying that kind of vulnerability was a luxury she couldn’t repeat. Not anymore.
As she was getting out, she heard a voice coming from the path that ran behind the shrubbery. “Settle down, Caitlin…Yeah, I know. Have a little faith, sweetheart…”
Bram moved on before Georgie could hear any more. As she wrapped herself in a towel, she wondered who Caitlin was and how long it would be before Bram sought out one of his mystery women for extramarital sex.
She combed her wet hair with her fingers, tucked the towel under her arms, and went inside to rummage through the refrigerator. As she pulled out a carton of blueberry yogurt, Chaz came in and dropped a pile of mail on the center island. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of the refrigerator. Everything’s organized the way I like it.”
“I won’t move anything I don’t eat.” Chaz was a monumental pain in the ass, but Georgie still felt sorry for her. She didn’t really believe Chaz was Bram’s lover, but she did believe Chaz was in love with him. Remembering the
pain of that particular disease, she took a fresh tack. “Tell me about yourself, Chaz. Did you grow up around here?”
“No.” Chaz pulled a mixing bowl from the cupboard.
She tried again. “I can’t cook much of anything. How did you learn?”
Chaz slapped the cupboard door closed. “I don’t have time to talk. I need to get a head start on Bram’s lunch.”
“What’s on the menu?”
“A special salad he likes.”
“Fine by me.”
Chaz grabbed the dishcloth. “I can’t cook for both of you. I already have too much to do. If you don’t want me to quit, you’ll have to take care of yourself.”
Georgie licked the inside of the yogurt lid. “Who said I don’t want you to quit?”
Chaz’s face flushed with anger. Georgie understood, but Chaz’s hostility was making an already awful situation that much worse. She pulled a spoon from the drawer. “Make lunch for two, Chaz. That’s an order.”
“I take my orders from Bram. He said he’d never interfere with how I did my job.”
“He wasn’t married when he said that, but now he is, and your Godzilla act is getting old fast. You have two choices. You can play nice, or I’ll hire my own staff, and you’ll have to share your kitchen. Somehow I don’t think you’d like that.”
She and her yogurt headed back outside.
As Georgie’s footsteps faded, Chaz pressed her fists to her belly, trying to hold in all the hatred that wanted to spill out. Georgie York had everything. She was rich and famous. She had great clothes and a big career. Now she had Bram, and only Chaz was supposed to take care of him.
Outside the kitchen windows a hummingbird flew onto the veranda. Chaz grabbed a paper towel and opened the refrigerator door. The milk wasn’t where she’d left it, and a couple of the yogurt containers had fallen over. Even the eggs were on the wrong side of the shelf.
She straightened everything and wiped a smudge from the door. She couldn’t stand the idea of another person in her kitchen. In her house. She pitched the paper towel into the trash. Georgie wasn’t even that pretty, not like the women Bram went out with. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve anything she had. Everybody knew she was only famous because her old man had made her a star. Georgie had grown up with everybody kissing her ass and telling her she was hot shit. Nobody had ever kissed Chaz’s ass. Not once.
Chaz gazed around her kitchen. The sunlight coming through the six narrow windows made the blue accents in the tiles sparkle. This was her favorite place in the world, even better than her apartment over the garage, and Georgie wanted to wedge her way in.
She still couldn’t believe Bram hadn’t told her he was getting married. That hurt the most of all. But something wasn’t exactly right. He didn’t treat Georgie the way Chaz had imagined he’d treat a woman he loved. Chaz made up her mind to figure out exactly why that was.
Georgie stayed out of sight while Aaron supervised the movers unloading her things. By late afternoon, he had her office set up, and she’d unpacked the wardrobe boxes that had taken over her bedroom but held only the clothes that weren’t in storage. By the time Aaron left, the walls had closed around her. Even though her Prius sat outside in the driveway, she couldn’t go anywhere by herself, not the fourth day of her marriage, when every photographer in town was staking out the house. She settled down to try to read.
Much later Bram found her standing by her bedroom balcony doors giving herself an internal pep talk about things like independence and self-identity. “Let’s drive to the beach,” he said. “I’m going stir-crazy.”
“It’ll be dark soon.”
“Who cares?” He rubbed his knuckles over his golden beard stubble. “I’ve already smoked two packs of cigarettes. I need to get out.”
So did she, even if she had to go with him. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, damn it! But I will be if I’m stuck here much longer. Now do you want to go or not?”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
As soon as he left, she consulted the “Super Casual” section of the three-ring binder Aaron kept updated with Polaroid photos of all the pieces in Georgie’s wardrobe, accompanied by April’s instructions on how they fit together. Maybe one day Georgie would have the luxury of leaving the house without worrying about how she looked, but she couldn’t do it now. She chose her Rock & Republic jeans, a corset top, and a simple Michael Kors kimono cardigan that April had noted would “pull the look together.”
Georgie was capable of dressing herself, but April did a better job of it. The public had no idea how clueless most celebrity fashion icons were, and how much they depended on their stylists. Georgie was forever grateful that April continued to help her out.
The paps waited for them at the end of the driveway like a pack of hungry dogs. As Bram pulled out, they stormed his Audi. He maneuvered through, but half a dozen black SUVs quickly fell into place behind them. “I feel like we’re leading a funeral cortege,” she said. “Just once I’d like to be able to walk out of the house with bad hair and no makeup and go someplace without getting my picture taken.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “There’s nothing worse than a celebrity complaining about the hardships of fame.”
“I’ve been dealing with this ever since Lance and I started to date. You’ve only had to put up with it for a few days.”
“Hey, I get photographed.”
“Sex videos don’t count. And let’s see how cheery you are after another couple months of this.”
He braked for a stop sign, and they were nearly rear-ended, so she left him alone to concentrate on his driving.
The traffic was only moderately horrendous, and their entourage stayed with them all the way to Malibu. Several more SUVs joined the funeral procession, even though the paps had surely figured out Bram was headed for one of the semiprivate beaches.
First-time visitors to Malibu were always surprised to see long stretches of highway lined with private garages butting up to the road and forming a solid wall that restricted beach access to all but the privileged few who lived there. Just past Trevor’s house, Bram pulled off the road in front of one of the sets of dun-colored garage doors. Moments later, they were walking through Trev’s former beach house, the one he’d put up for sale.
Outside, the night was a romantic cliché. Moonlight frosted the tips of the waves. The surf lapped at the shore. Cool sand squished between her toes. The only thing missing was the right man. She thought about that scrap of conversation she’d overheard earlier with the mysterious Caitlin and wondered how long it would be before she found herself drawn into a second scandal involving another woman.
He slowed his steps as they neared the water. A ribbon of moonlight silvered the tips of his eyelashes. “You’re right, Scooter,” he said. “I was a jerk that night on the boat, and I apologize.”
She’d never heard him apologize for anything, but too much hurt and shame lingered inside her for a few words to make a difference. “Apology not accepted.”
“Okay.”
She waited. “That’s it?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what else to say. It happened, and I’m not proud of myself.”
“You wanted to get off,” she said bitterly, “and there I was, standing so conveniently in front of you.”
“Hold on.” Unlike her, he wasn’t wearing a sweater, and the breeze pressed his T-shirt against his chest. “I could have gotten off with any of the women on the boat that night. And I’m not being arrogant. It’s just the way it was.”
A wave splashed her ankles. “But you didn’t. You chose dumb-ass here instead.”
“You weren’t dumb. Just naïve.”
She needed to ask him something, but she didn’t want to look at him, so she leaned down to turn up the cuffs of her jeans. “Why did you do it?”
“Why do you think?” He picked up a beach stone and hurled it into the water. “I wanted to put you
in your place. Knock you down a few pegs. Show you that even though Daddy made sure you got top billing and a bigger paycheck, I could get you to do what I wanted.”
She stood up. “Nice guy.”
“You asked.”
The fact that he’d finally owned up to his bad behavior made her feel a little better. Not good enough to forgive him, but good enough to accept that she had to somehow coexist with him while they were trapped in this farce of a marriage. They began walking again. “It was years ago.” She stepped around a sand turtle some kids had made earlier. “No lasting harm done.”
“You were a virgin. I didn’t believe that bull you handed out about being with an older man.”
“Hugh Grant,” she said.
“You wish.”
She snagged a flyaway lock of hair and pushed it behind her ear. “Hugh told me I was sublime. No, wait. That was Colin Firth. I get those aging Brits I slept with mixed up.”
“A common problem.” He sent another stone flying into the water.
She gazed up at the single star that had begun to shine. At a beach party last year, someone had told her it wasn’t a star at all, but the International Space Station. “Who was she?”
“Who?”
“The woman I heard you whispering to on your cell this morning.”
“What big ears you have.”
“All the better to catch you cheating.”
“Isn’t it a little early for me to cheat? Although you have to admit, the honeymoon’s been a real bust-out so far.”
She dug her heels deeper into the sand. “When it comes to vice, I never underestimate you.”
“You’ve wised up.”
“It wasn’t just the sex, Bram. It was everything. You got handed the opportunity of a lifetime with Skip and Scooter, and you blew it. You didn’t appreciate what you had.”
“I appreciated what it got me. Cars, women, liquor, drugs. I had free designer clothes, a collection of Rolexes, big houses where I could hang out with my buddies. I had the time of my life.”