by Lee Winter
“Well, she’s a force to be reckoned with,” Summer continued. “My best advice is to just go with it. Do not fight her on anything. That’s how Autumn and I coped growing up.”
“And how did Autumn take the news of all this? The film role and fake-dating?”
Summer shuddered. “Ugh, no comment. I didn’t even know she knew half those words. But she also read the script. And when she was done freaking out, she admitted to being blown away by the role. She also knows what Jean-Claude’s like. She can’t see any way around doing what we’re doing.”
“Neither can I.”
“It’s only for six weeks, anyway. Two weeks of getting to know each other now before Hope wraps for hiatus; a month of filming. We can ‘break up’ after the movie’s shot. Jean-Claude will never be any the wiser.”
Six weeks wasn’t too terrible. “Yes. But…” Elizabeth hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.
“What is it?”
“I have concerns. About you.”
“You don’t think I’m up to Lucille?” Hurt flashed across Summer’s face.
“My more immediate concern is whether you’re up to the role of playing my girlfriend. You flinched when I kissed your cheek yesterday.”
Summer sagged. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Well, expect it, especially at that pool party. If we’re going to pull this off, we can’t cut corners. I’ll expect and provide occasional PDAs. Are you okay with that? If not…” Then why on earth are you doing a sex scene with me?
“I know. I wasn’t really ready yesterday. The hangover didn’t help.”
“But you’ll be okay on Sunday?”
“Absolutely.” Summer snapped straight, as if preparing for war.
Christ. Was that how she saw this? Some unsavory tour of duty? It was exasperating and a little insulting. “Have you ever even…” Elizabeth stopped herself from asking a most inappropriate question. Have you ever even kissed a woman before? The answer seemed pretty obvious. “Will you be comfortable with this?” she asked instead.
“About as comfortable as you.” Summer offered a small shrug. “But we’re both adults. And it’s acting.”
“It is.” Elizabeth reached for her tea and swallowed. It improved her mood another ten percent. “Just be ready is all I’m asking.” She leaned over and brushed her lips against Summer’s cheek, relieved to see no flinch. Much better. “And Summer?” she said, lowering her voice to throaty. “I think you should call me Bess.”
Summer had never been so nervous in her life. Somehow she kept her voice steady, announcing her presence into the electronic box beside the bronze gates outside Elizabeth’s home. They slid open and she navigated her blue VW up the steep, curling drive. She parked in an area that had five other cars and a souped-up Hog. She wondered whose motorcycle it was.
As she squared her shoulders, Summer realized that this party night mattered more to her than the Badour role. She wasn’t here for the research. Summer was doing this for one reason: To impress Elizabeth, whose opinion still mattered to her, no matter how much she’d tried to tell herself it didn’t. Tonight, Summer was being allowed inside Elizabeth’s private world. She wasn’t Elizabeth’s friend, of course. But just being invited was overwhelming. So no matter what, she’d make sure Elizabeth wasn’t sorry she’d asked her in.
After ringing the door bell, Summer wiped her palms down her forest-green pants. She wondered if her cream halter top was too casual. It flattered her arms, but maybe there was too much skin? She hadn’t even thought to ask about a dress code. God, what if she looked completely ridic…
The door opened. Elizabeth was resplendent in a pair of tight, pale-blue jeans that made her legs look spectacular. Four buttons were undone on her white, long-sleeved cotton shirt. Four. Oh God. Soft white skin was revealed in cleavage that Summer absolutely, positively shouldn’t be staring at. Her head snapped up. “Hey.”
“Right on time.” Elizabeth smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but we started an hour ago. I wanted to brief everyone on the situation first. That way we’d get all the annoying jokes out of the way.” With a long-suffering look, she added, “There were plenty, trust me. Anyway, come in.” She stepped aside.
Summer handed her a bottle of wine as she walked past. “From Marcus’s grandfather’s winery.”
“Excellent. I’m sure the others will appreciate it. Come on through and I’ll introduce you around.” She closed the door and led the way down a hall.
God. Her ass was incredible too.
Elizabeth glanced back. “You look good by the way. Nice top.”
“Thanks. Also you. Um. Gorgeous. Like always.”
What the actual fuck, brain?
Elizabeth’s chuckle only made her feel more stupid.
They moved into a wide, cream-colored living room, with honeyed timber floors, several white sofas and armchairs, and glass walls on three sides.
“Whoa,” Summer muttered, gazing outside at the sparkling infinity pool, and the city skyline stretched out beyond. “That’s some view.”
At the sound of laughter, she turned to find half a dozen pairs of eyes on her. Summer’s gaze went from person to person, taking in the people Elizabeth cared about. She recognized three of the faces. Brian, Rowan, and Amrit? All together?
“Uh…Eliz…Bess…You’ve stayed friends with all your exes?”
For some reason, everyone laughed at that—except for a petite red-headed woman whose eyes widened. “Why do you say that?”
“She means my red-carpet posse,” Elizabeth told her, sounding almost bored. But her gaze was pointed.
“Oh,” the redhead muttered. “That.”
Red-carpet posse?
“Summer, meet Alex Levitin,” Elizabeth waved to the woman who’d spoken. “She’s an indie film director.”
“Hi.” Recognition hit. “Hey, didn’t you do Heaven’s Blood?”
“I did. So it was you? I heard maybe one person saw that.” She offered a wry look.
“Actually my mom worked on it. So we both saw it.”
“Your mom?” Alex peered at her. “Oh… yeah, I see a resemblance. You’re Skye’s kid?”
“Yep.”
“Damn LA’s a small world. Skye’s great. Mad as a cut snake, but great.”
Summer wondered what she was supposed to say to that. It was one thing for her to call her mother crazy, but for a complete stranger to…
“Hey, hey,” Brian suddenly leapt to his feet and came over to her. “Don’t mind Alex, I promise she meant it in a good way. She loves people who think outside of the box, like her.” He gave Summer’s hand a squeeze and shot Alex a reproving look.
“Oh God!” Alex sounded stricken. “Sorry, love. I have complete respect for Skye. After all, anyone who can embody an angel with a demon soul in costume form is a godsend.”
“And right there is why no one saw Heaven’s Blood,” Brian teased. He turned back to Summer. “I’m Brian Fox.” His smile was as warm as the large hand that captured hers.
She already knew who he was, of course. Elizabeth had dated him back in…
“Over there, looking dashing in red suspenders, is my boyfriend of twenty years, Rowan Blagge,” Brian finished.
Shock pierced her. She knew Rowan, too, of course…as another of Elizabeth’s old boyfriends. Or so she’d thought.
“Hi, Summer.” Rowan waved. “It’s good to finally meet someone from Bess’s crazy doctor show. We were starting to think she tosses them into the body bags on set at the end of every day so we can never meet them. Such a shame.”
“That wouldn’t do much, though,” Summer said earnestly. “Body bags are quite easy to escape if you know how.”
Brian snorted. Rowan gaped at her, looking delighted. “I dread to ask how you know that.”
“You think Punky Powe
r, teen spy, sat on her butt all day?” She cocked an eyebrow. “I have mad skills. I can even crack a basic safe. Like for real.”
“That could come in handy.” Rowan tapped his chin, as though imagining the possibilities.
“You know, I thought so too.” Summer gave a disappointed huff. “But it actually hasn’t. Not without a criminal inclination.”
He laughed. “Ha. Well, maybe one day.”
“I live in hope.” Summer grinned.
Amusement danced in Elizabeth’s eyes. “And this is Amrit Patel.” She waved to her stylish boyfriend, arranged on the couch in an artful, aristocratic pose, like something from a magazine shoot. He reminded Summer of a ballet dancer at the peak of his career. He wore an immaculate royal blue silk shirt and designer shoes. When he smiled, his white teeth flashed against his light-brown skin.
Rising to his full, towering height, Amrit tugged his shirt cuffs straight and supplied Summer with an utterly charming smile. He gathered her hand in both of his, turned it over, bowed, and kissed it.
That earned eye rolls and low groans from everyone else.
“Enchanted, Summer,” Amrit murmured. The sheer charisma of the man was almost tangible. No wonder Elizabeth loved him. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” His smirk was pure rogue.
Okay, what? He was flirting with her. Right in front of his girlfriend. “I…um…” She shot a confused look at Elizabeth, whose eyes crinkled in amusement. “Aren’t you,” Summer replied, “actually all of you,” she pointed at Brian and Rowan, “Elizabeth’s exes…or, in Amrit’s case, current boyfriend?”
The room burst into laughter.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Brian told Rowan as he resumed his seat. “I keep telling you Bess is the one for me. It’s the couch for you.”
“I’m not dating any of them.” Elizabeth headed for a side buffet with empty glasses lined up on it. “Now or ever. It’s Delvine and Rachel’s idea to keeping the chatter about me going. Handsome men, red-carpet eye candy. The usual. It’s good for their careers and mine. Drink?” She tilted an empty wine glass questioningly.
Summer stared at her. “You’re not together?” She swished her finger between Amrit and Elizabeth. “And you were never with Brian or Rowan?”
“She’s not my type,” Rowan said. “I prefer more stubble.”
O-kay. Looked like she was the fool. Elizabeth was apparently an even more convincing actress than Summer had given her credit for. “Wine, please,” she muttered.
Elizabeth uncorked Marcus’s wine and poured.
“Well, that was worth the admission price,” came a low, soft purr from the corner of the room. The voice was velvety, soft, and light, but not warm.
Summer turned to see an immaculate forty-something woman sitting like a queen in a butter-soft, cream-colored leather armchair.
“Hello, dear, I’m Grace.” She gave Summer a slow, appraising look and tilted her head. Waiting.
No surname. She obviously thought she didn’t need one, and her words contained an air of expectation. Summer knew that pause well. Famous people did it, and often didn’t even realize. They were waiting for the recognition, the excited acknowledgment that, yes, I am who you think I am, and only after the gushing begins and ends can the conversation move on.
Grace Christie-Oberon had been the most famous woman in England when Summer lived there. The actress’s perfect face had graced every billboard. Profiles filled newspapers and magazines. She always topped the UK lists of most beautiful women. Little wonder “Gracie-O” expected something approaching an awed gasp from a lowly upstart like Summer.
Except Summer wasn’t in the mood to play. Her mind was still reeling from Elizabeth’s revelation. “Hi Grace,” she said simply. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Summer turned to the final unintroduced person in the room, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with ample curves and warm, brown eyes. She wore a stunning ensemble in crimson that suited her shape and coloring to perfection. Summer’s mother would adore this outfit.
“Gosh, I love what you’re wearing,” she told the woman, and saw a flash of dissatisfaction dart across Grace’s elegant features. Grace probably assumed Summer didn’t know who she was. “Who’s the designer?”
“Me.” The woman beamed. “I love you already. I’m Zara Ejogo.”
“Zara does costumes.” Elizabeth inserted the cork back in the bottle and handed Summer her wine glass. “And there’s no one she can’t make look amazing, including herself.”
“You have so much talent,” Summer said sincerely. “I mean, I know we’ve only just met, but I want to take you home to meet my mom!”
“Well, at least buy me dinner first.” Zara’s lips curved into a teasing grin.
“Oh God!” Summer laughed heartily. “Yeah, that did come out a little wrong, didn’t it?”
“Or right,” Brian said. “Since I hear you’re taking a walk on the Sapphic wild side soon? And with our dear Bess, no less.”
“Yep.” Summer took a sip of the wine, and found a seat on an empty couch.
Elizabeth joined her, with a glass of clear spirits in hand. Smelled like gin.
Summer took in the faces watching her. “So I’ll need lots of tips on what makes Elizabeth…Bess…tick.”
“Good luck on that one,” Grace intoned, eyes inscrutable. “Bess Thornton is a vault.”
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. “Hardly. You all know me better than anyone.” A smile followed, but it lacked the warmth she’d shown to Zara.
What an odd dynamic. Summer flicked a glance at Grace. The woman seemed to think she was better than Elizabeth. Or better than everyone in the room? Maybe that was unfair. Her face softened each time she looked at Amrit.
“Oh, we have all the dirt on Bess.” Alex smirked. “Ask and find out.”
“She has dirt?” Summer found that a little hard to believe.
“Definitely.” Alex gave her a nod. “Who among us doesn’t?”
“Good point. Okay, give me your funniest Bess story then.”
Everyone broke out talking, debating the best answer. It seemed to be a toss-up between The Howard’s End Incident, whatever that was, and something to do with a case of mistaken identity when she met Ang Lee.
“Are they close to the mark?” Summer whispered to Elizabeth as the debates got more enthusiastic. “Or do you have a funnier one?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” A hint of smile dusted her lips.
“Actually, I would.”
“Hmm.” Elizabeth gave her a considering look. “Year Nine,” she said quietly. “I was at this posh, uptight, all-girls school and was caught smuggling in books on the banned list and running a library from my school locker. I had it all worked out. Due dates, lists of students involved, even some minimal late fees for the worst offenders.”
“You little rebel.”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced.
“So what sort of books were on the banned list?”
“Oh, the usual ones that hormonal teenagers want to get their hands on. Lady Chatterley’s Lover was popular; that sort of thing. I had easy access. My father’s a playwright with an extensive library of all the classics and many modern titles, too. I decided he wouldn’t notice a few books going missing here or there. I always brought them back.”
“How enterprising. So what happened?”
“Well, Miss Fletcher, my English teacher, caught me.”
“Uh-oh. Did you get in a lot of trouble?”
“Not…exactly. She was a new, younger teacher, on a tight budget, with a voracious reading appetite. She became one of my most frequent borrowers. Sometimes we’d discuss D. H. Lawrence’s themes if no one else was around.” Elizabeth smiled fondly. “She was my favorite teacher.”
“That’s…”
“Shocking? Corruption in the English school system?” El
izabeth teased.
“I was going to say amazing. For two reasons: One, that you were so enterprising and shared your love of literature with others. And two, why weren’t the girls just Googling racy fan-fiction?”
“Well, that might have been difficult since this happened before Google. But even so, nothing is more alluring to teens than something forbidden. I think that made them enjoy it more.”
“What would your parents have said if they’d known?”
“Oh, they knew. I accidentally left my bulging book bag at home one day, along with the list of students’ names earmarked for each title, and my father found it. He dropped my bag off at school, telling the office it was “urgent homework” that needed delivering to me.
“Wow. That’s so cool.”
“It was.”
“What about your mother? Would she have freaked out?”
“She’s a professor in medieval English literature at Oxford. I suspect she knew as well. They probably had a good laugh about it. Not that I’d ever know. They take the view ‘the less said, the better’ on most things.”
“The polar opposite of my folks. Mom has an opinion on everything. Geese flight paths would probably get her into debate mode as much as Spanx versus girdles.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
Summer gave her a skeptical look. “I’ll remind you on Sunday you said that.”
Across the room, Grace cleared her throat to speak and it was like a flare had gone up. The raucous debate stuttered to a halt. Elizabeth’s focus left Summer in an instant. Well. That was a nice reminder about her status in Elizabeth’s friendship hierarchy.
“I think you’ve all forgotten one story.” Grace tilted her wine glass at them. “The costume change at Footlights on Bess’s debut performance? When both curtains went up a little earlier than expected?”
There came a chorus of laughter, mentions of a “costume malfunction”, “curtain guy probably did it on purpose”, and a grim smile from Elizabeth. Her face had gone rigid and the knuckles around her glass turned white.
Why had Grace felt the need to raise something that was clearly humiliating for Elizabeth? Why do that to a friend? The amused gleam in Grace’s eyes said Elizabeth’s uncomfortable reaction was exactly what she was aiming for.
