There Dima went again—flaunting his money around. Maybe he thought he could buy Bret off, so he wouldn’t have to worry about me getting close to him.
Bret shook his head. “Thanks, Dima, I really appreciate your offer, but I got this. And I’d love to stay and catch up, but we really need to get on the road.”
“Sure, it is no problem.” Dima eyed me.
“Sel, I’m gonna take Banjo outside. We have to leave in five minutes. Dima, it was great seeing you again.” Bret headed toward the front door, and I heard it shut.
“Sorry, Dima. Bret won this truck, and Benny said—”
Dima cut me off. “I know. Benny told to me everything. I don’t have to start with my partner until two more weeks. I come with you before I go.”
Why did he want to join me in San Francisco? We never visited each other when we were training our celebrities. Not since we had been together romantically. “You don’t have to.”
“Of course, I do not. But I want to go to there. We need to train for Blackpool. It is in four months. And San Francisco is our home. Where we met, where we fell in love. We were supposed to get married there.”
Dima never brought up our broken engagement. I couldn’t believe he was doing this. Right now. When Bret was outside.
“Whatever, Dimka. You called off the engagement. You needed your space before we settled down and got married, remember? And you haven’t been missing me when you have been with all your women.”
Breathe, Selena, breathe.
“Anyway, Bret’s nervous enough. Having you around would hurt his chances on the show. You owe him that, don’t you think?”
Dima stayed silent. We had an unspoken promise never to talk about what had led me to finally make the decision to leave Bret.
Honestly, I didn’t have a choice.
“I really have to go. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Ya tebya loobloo.”
I paused. “I love you, too.” We always said those words to each other. And I did love Dima. But I’d long given up any hope that we could have a normal relationship. Watching him over the years, dating the starlets on the show, had forced me to push my feelings aside.
I left the table, went to my bedroom, and grabbed my rolling suitcase. Dima was acting strangely, like he could read my mind. Being near Bret made me yearn for the pure love that I’d once shared with him. I had convinced myself that what Bret and I had shared was only possible for a young, first-time love.
I walked out the front door. Bret hopped out of his truck and took my bags. “Everything alright?”
“Yes. I’m great. Let’s go.”
Bret helped me into the truck. I settled into the crackly leather of the front seat, looking forward to our journey ahead.
Bret
Once we finally hit the road, I still couldn’t relax. I hated uncertainty. In the Marine Corps, my life was regimented. I knew what time I had to wake up every morning, what time I was supposed to work out, when each meal would be, and exactly what was planned for work. As I drove up the I-5 freeway, my eyes dulled by the endless views of dirt and cow pastures, I had no idea how this day, or any after it, would unfold. And I hated it.
Selena looked out the window. Surprisingly, she had been mostly silent for the past three hours of the trip.
“So, what normally happens on the first day? We just have to meet them today, right? No dancing?”
Selena turned to me, smiling. “Yeah, pretty much. The cameramen are there when you meet your stars. But sometimes it takes a few shots before they get it right, so you have to keep looking surprised every time they open the door. It isn’t too bad.”
Might not be too bad for Selena—she had always been good at hiding her feelings. I was no actor, though, and wasn’t looking forward to faking it for the cameras. “Well, I hope they get my shot on the first try.”
“You’ll be fine. I wonder who our celebrities are? Any ideas?”
I couldn’t care less who my partner was. I just wanted to get through this season without embarrassing myself, my friend’s family, and the Corps. “Hell if I know, Sel. I don’t follow all that celebrity stuff. Probably just some washed-up stars like the usual losers who go on this show.”
“You are so judgmental.” Selena scowled at me. “I’m excited. Only cool, reclusive celebrities live in Marin. I’m sure they’re awesome.”
“I’m sure they are just as spoiled as the Los Angeles celebrities. I’ve met some overseas through the USO. Some turned into jerks the second the cameras weren’t on them.”
“That’s too bad. But by living up here, they’re probably more down-to-earth. Don’t you think?”
I decided to stop talking. I had almost forgotten that there was a camera in the back of this truck recording our every word. In five weeks, nineteen million people would be watching Selena and I bicker in my truck.
Three hours later, we finally arrived in Marin. It was in the afternoon, and we had to meet our celebrities at five. I exited on Tiburon Boulevard and headed to the Tiburon Lodge, where we were set to meet our hair and makeup staff.
Driving down the winding road, I took in the beauty of the San Francisco Bay. I loved it here—the green grass and walking trails of Blackie’s Pasture, the view of the towering Golden Gate Bridge. At least I would be spending a few months in this paradise, and since I had used all of my vacation time for the show, I figured I’d better enjoy it. Ray was right—this definitely beat dodging land mines in Iraq.
We pulled up to the hotel, and I parked in the lot. I didn’t want a valet to touch my truck.
“Sel, we have two hours before we have to meet production. I’m gonna take Banjo on a walk through Blackie’s Pasture before I have to drop him at my dad’s houseboat.” I looked up, and her eyes seemed hopeful. I really wanted to be alone, but I didn’t want to strand Selena. “Do you want to come with us or stay here?”
Her face brightened. “I’d love to take a walk. I’ll just change into my running shoes.”
She walked around to the bed of the truck, and I pulled her luggage down. I grabbed a tennis ball, some treats, and doggie bags.
She rummaged through her bag, found her shoes, and tossed her flip-flops back in. I placed her bag in the backseat of the truck. “Let’s go.”
We crossed the street and walked toward the path. I loved the salty smell of the bay. I really needed this break from the Marine Corps, even if I was still working.
“It’s so nice,” Selena said. “In Los Angeles, there’s so much smog, and it’s never clear. I miss it here. Do you ever want to move back?”
“It’s beautiful, but I’ll never be able to afford it. And it’s too liberal for my taste. Anyway, there are more jobs for former military down in San Diego. You?”
Selena sighed. “I’d love to, but Dima and I own a studio in LA. But I think Marin would be a great place to settle down and raise kids.”
We came across the off-leash dog park. I released Banjo, who scampered with a Goldendoodle and a Sheltie.
“When’s that going to happen? Settling down, I mean. Are you dating anyone?”
She turned away from me and looked across the bay. “No. I have no time with the show and competing.” Her voice dropped. “And I don’t ever meet anyone who understands my lifestyle.”
I knew it wasn’t my place to say anything, but I couldn’t resist. “It’s your life. Do whatever makes you happy. But a title from Blackpool isn’t going to keep you warm at night or take care of you when you’re sick.”
Selena was still turned away from me, and I couldn’t see her face. I knew I had upset her. She’d been back in my life for two days, and that picture-perfect world of hers started to look chipped and cracked the closer I got to it.
“I need to get back to the hotel to get ready,” she said, her voice meek. “I’ll just start walking back. You and Banjo enjoy the view.”
“You sure? I can walk you back.” I knew I’d struck a chord.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I might tak
e a nap before hair and makeup. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in front of your hotel at four forty-five.”
She waved as if to acknowledge me but spoke no words as she walked away.
I threw the tennis ball, and Banjo ran to retrieve it. I didn’t feel sorry for Selena; she’d chosen her life just as I’d chosen mine. When we were younger, I had always imagined we would have a life together—kids, dogs, a house, the whole picture. But neither of our lives had worked out that way.
Banjo brought the ball back to me and dropped the chewed-up toy on my feet. After twenty minutes of playing, I headed back to my truck and drove to my father’s houseboat.
I was glad to finally be alone. I stepped onto the rickety wood of the dock and walked down the row of houseboats. Each one was unique: one had a Chinese awning; another had brightly colored planter boxes. I was thankful that my dad had purchased this place, and I wouldn’t have to spend the next fifteen weeks in a hotel room next to Selena.
I opened the door and scanned the room. It was simple and masculine. My father had been in the Navy before his own dance competition days and had decorated the place with a nautical theme. When I’d joined the Marines instead of the Navy, my dad had been furious. I would always tease my dad that the U.S. Marine Corps is part of the Navy—the men’s department.
Banjo ran around the houseboat, checking out his new space. He jumped on me and gave him a slobbery kiss.
“Hey, buddy!” I rubbed Banjo’s ears. Lately, Banjo was the only one who kissed me. It had been a long time since I’d connected with anyone. I wasn’t a monk; I’d found comfort over the years with some women. But I had always been upfront about not wanting a relationship and would extricate myself from the situation if I became too involved.
I put a leash on Banjo and decided to go for a walk to get a bite to eat.
A lady with gray-streaked hair waved to me. “Hello, I’m Gerta. I live in the next boat. You must be George’s boy. He always talks so highly of his hero son.”
There was that word again. Hero. “Hi. Yes, ma’am, I’m Bret. Nice to meet you. And this fellow here is Banjo.”
Her long, flowy dress shifted in the wind. “Your father said that you were up here filming some television show? I don’t have a television, so I don’t keep up with all that Hollywood nonsense.”
At least I’d met someone else who had better things to do with her time than care about this show. “Yeah. I’m one of the new professional dancers on this season of Dancing Under the Stars.”
Gerta’s eyebrows perked up. “Whom are you dancing with up here?”
I had no idea, but even if I did, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone my celebrity partner until the big media blitz. But Gerta seemed harmless enough; she didn’t even own a television.
“I honestly don’t know yet, ma’am. But I’ll let you know when I find out.”
Gerta’s blue eyes sparkled. “Where are you heading?”
Normally I would’ve been annoyed by this stranger interrogating me, but she was probably just being friendly. “To Fish to get some chowder.”
“Oh, I love Fish. Would you mind some company? I’m a widow and get lonely eating alone—though Issaquah Dock is the best houseboat community. We’re a wonderful group of creative spirits. I’m a sculptor. And we’re one of the few docks that’s dog friendly. If you would like me to watch him on the days while you train, I’d be honored.”
I smiled. That was the nicest offer I’d had in a long time. I hated the thought of leaving Banjo alone. “Banjo would love that. And I’d love for you to join me for a late lunch.” I offered Gerta my arm.
Her shoulders wiggled. She took my arm, and Banjo led the way.
I needed a friend up here. Selena couldn’t be the only one I knew. I couldn’t be around her any more than I had to. In the past twenty-four hours, I had been unable to stop thinking about her. Imagining what it would be like to kiss her, taste her again. But she was completely off-limits. I still wasn’t convinced that she and Dima weren’t involved. And even if she was single, we had nothing in common besides our childhood bond.
I couldn’t allow Selena to make me lose focus of what I’d come here to do. Pierce’s family needed that money. No way could I let myself get wrapped up in some childhood love that couldn’t and shouldn’t ever be recreated.
Selena
I leaned back in the chair and allowed the makeup artist to put the finishing touches on my mascara. I loved the first day of shooting. The celebrities were usually so excited, especially since the reality of the training they were about to endure hadn’t hit them yet.
“There you go, Miss Martinez. Beautiful. The purple eyeliner brings out the golden flecks in your eyes.”
I blinked and stared in the mirror. My eyes did seem brighter than normal, despite the fact that I was exhausted. For the road trip, I had rocked a natural makeup look even though I would’ve preferred to scrub my face clean. But I had been aware of the cameras in the backseat. “Thank you, Heather.”
I had already changed into my greeting outfit. Nothing fancy; the producers wanted to make it seem as if it was a casual meet and greet. I wore a peach-colored sweatsuit paired with Louboutin high heels and some gold hoop earrings. I left my chair, grabbed my purse, and hurried out to Bret’s truck for our journey up the hill to our celebrities.
As I approached the truck, Bret shifted on his feet. He hadn’t changed his clothes at all. I guessed that wardrobe wanted to portray him as a rough-and-tough Marine to keep him distinct from the other dancers.
Didn’t matter, though. He was still the sexiest man. He looked like he could be an action hero.
Upon closer inspection, I learned the truth. So much for the rough-and-tough theory; he’d been doused with foundation and gel. He must’ve been livid.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
Gorgeous? That was the nicest thing he had said to me since we had met again. Maybe we were turning a corner.
“Hello, handsome.” I climbed into the truck. “You know, pink is a great color on your lips. Maybe next time we could add some gloss for shine.”
“Very funny.”
The celebrities’ house was only minutes away, up the street. A van followed behind us, carrying camera equipment. We turned into the driveway. As if the gates were expecting us, they opened, and Bret drove through.
“Here we go,” Bret sighed.
Then reality kicked in. Christian Louboutin heels hurt. I hobbled along the paved driveway in my heels, praying that I didn’t face-plant and crash into the camera. Why did it always need to be an inch from my face?
“Okay, Bret,” the director said. “You need to pretend that you’re a huge fan of your celebrity. Act surprised!”
“What if I don’t know who she is?”
I rolled my eyes. He was impossible.
The director shook his head. “Well pretend!”
Bret rang the doorbell.
The beveled-wood door opened—and Latin guitar legend Xavier Quintana stood in front of us, his gorgeous television star wife, Robyn, beside him.
I took the lead. “¡Ay, Dios Mío! Xavier Quintana? I’m your biggest fan! I love dancing to your music. ‘Loteria Queen’ is my favorite cha-cha song ever.” I didn’t even have to pretend—I was thrilled.
Bret reached out and shook Xavier’s hand. He turned his attention to Robyn. “Nice to meet you, Robyn. My name is Bret Lord.”
“Cut!” the director yelled. He placed his hands on Bret’s shoulders. “Bret, this is a television show. Speak a little slower, seem a little more enthusiastic. Maybe give Robyn a hug.”
I stifled a laugh. Bret gave me a dirty look.
The door shut, and we made our way back down the staircase.
Bret rang the bell again, and immediately Xavier opened the door.
I once saw on MTV that this guy had some dude whose sole job in life was to hold his boss’s umbrella, yet El Rey opened his own door? So much for reality. Xavier wore his
own brand Xavier Tomás white tracksuit with what looked like 4-carat diamond studs in each ear.
I repeated my same enthusiastic intro, and Bret stuck out his hand. “Hi, Robyn. I’m so excited to meet you.”
“Cut!” the director shouted. “Okay, let’s do it again. Xavier, go back inside.” The director grabbed Bret’s hand. “Bret, son, I want to hear you scream or shriek. Tell her you’re her number one fan.”
“I don’t scream or shriek. I’m a man.”
This would be a long night.
I rebalanced my oversized handbag and dance shoes, took a deep breath, and made my way down the stairs. Again. I knew Bret’s only hope to get through the shot was for me to project enough cheesiness for both of us.
Take three. Bret rang the bell, and Xavier opened the door.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked as brainlessly as I could. “I can’t believe I’m dancing with you! I love your music!” I leaned into hug Xavier. His breath reeked of tequila.
Xavier’s head cocked to the side, and he embraced me. “Thanks, girl,” he said, way too loud. “I hear you’re the best chica on the show. I need to win this. You game?”
“Hell, yeah—”
“Cut!” The director waved us back. “Selena, that was great. Bret, I need you to at least smile at Robyn. You look like you’re at a funeral. One more time, people.”
“How long is this gonna take?” Xavier yelled at the director. “I don’t have time for amateurs.”
I could see a vein in Bret’s biceps bulge. He had been right—celebrities in Marin were just as spoiled as they were in Los Angeles.
“Don’t worry, Xavier, I’ll take care of it.”
Xavier slammed the door in the director’s face.
The director leaned into Bret. “Bret, this time, just lean in and give Robyn a kiss. You don’t have to say anything. C’mon, people, let’s try to get this before I die of old age. Hustle, hustle!”
I stumbled back down the driveway for take number four, nearly killing myself twice. Stupid beautiful shoes.
The Swan and The Sergeant (Heroes Ever After Book 4) Page 7
