by Serena Grey
We drove into the gated community where I lived. My house, a gift from Braden, had been part of the dream we’d had two years ago, a place that would be ours on the west coast—only, during our marriage, I’d spent less than a week in the beautiful modern-design masterpiece. I’d spent so much time on location that I never got to live there with him.
Now, it was a sort of refuge for me, far too big, of course, but sometimes it allowed me to dream of what might have been if we hadn’t…
“I’ll call you,” Matthew said beside me, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m thinking a quick press conference before you go to the spa. Not Europe, I think. Somewhere closer. There’s an excellent place in Nevada—”
“Let me know whatever you arrange,” I said tiredly, getting out of the oversized car. Meredith had already unlocked the front door, so I hurried inside without breaking my stride.
“You look pissed,” she observed.
“I kind of am.” I sighed and looked around me. I’d never gotten around to hiring a designer to oversee the décor of my home, so it was very spartan in the living spaces, beautiful, but lacking the loving touch of someone who actually enjoyed living there. “I’m going to need a plane,” I told Meredith. “Get me a private flight to New York, and a car to take me to Gracie House.”
“Gracie…” She gave me a look. “That’s your…”
My estranged husband’s home. I nodded. Somehow, my thoughts had led me to want to go there, for peace and quiet, for the solitude and the memories. I knew Braden wouldn’t be there as he never spent Christmas there anymore. He never spent any time there at all.
Thinking of him caused an ache to start in my chest. The tabloid coverage during our marriage had been brutal. Whenever I was on location, I was bombarded with insinuations that he was cheating. There was exposé after exposé of my supposed love affair with my co-star. The Guylies flooded the internet picking my marriage apart, demonizing Braden and convincing themselves that Guy Fletcher was my one true love.
The coverage had cooled down somewhat, but it was enough that I knew the previous Christmas, he had been in Switzerland for a party put together by a British billionaire and his actress girlfriend. The year before that he had been in the French Riviera. There was no reason to think this year would be any different. I would have the place to myself if I could keep the press from finding out where I was.
“Are you sure?” Meredith sounded skeptical.
“Yeah. I’ll call the housekeeper. I have no doubt she’ll be helpful. Just get the plane and a utility van or something to come through the back gate and get me out of here without anyone seeing me.
I packed a small bag, and because Meredith was so good at what she did, the arrangements went off without a hitch. I knew she’d keep my location secret too, even from my management team.
It was two days before Christmas when I arrived at the Gracie. As the private car from a local security firm drove me up the drive, I marveled at how beautiful the house looked in the winter sunset. The windows were dark, but still, it was an enchanting sight.
Sam met me at the car. I resisted the urge to hug him and send him into shock. “Welcome home, Mrs. Rhodes,” he said gravely.
My breath hitched, and when I trembled, I knew it wasn’t the frigid east coast wind. I’d been called that name too few times, and hearing it sent a bittersweet ache through my heart.
“Colleen?” I enquired.
“She’s inside.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry for the short notice,” I said quietly.
“It’s nothing.” He smiled. “I’ll get your bags.”
“Bag,” I corrected. “Just one.” We walked into the house and just before we entered, I stopped and turned to face him. “You understand why it’s important that Braden isn’t told I’m here,” I said.
He paused. “Mr. Rhodes doesn’t require a daily report of how we run the house. It’s very likely that there will be no need to alert him of your presence until you have tired of our hospitality.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Sam.”
He opened the door, and I stepped inside the house. As the warmth enveloped me, tears filled my eyes. When Colleen came into the hall to greet me, I couldn’t resist hugging her.
“You’re cold,” she said. “Dressed for LA, not Long Island in the winter. I’ll turn up the heat, and I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll set out the food then run you a bath.”
I chuckled. Who needed a spa when they had Colleen? “Thank you, Colleen.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear. Come on. Let’s get you strong again.”
I followed her, ate, rested, and slept long hours in Braden’s massive bed. It was looking to be a restful Christmas, and as long as nothing happened to ruin it, I would be perfectly fine.
Ten
Braden
The Jeffersons’ “cottage” in the Hamptons was a sprawling mansion with at least sixteen bedrooms, an indoor and an outdoor swimming pool, a movie theater, and a tennis court.
They had a house party for Christmas every year, and I’d finally agreed to honor their invitation. It kept me out of reach of my mother and her serious talks about Allie and my failed marriage.
“Do you like the food?”
Beside me, Stella Jefferson, the twenty-five-year-old daughter of my hosts, gazed up at me with wide blue eyes. Beneath the admiration, whether fake or real, there was undeniable intelligence. She was one of the youngest faces of a successful start-up for online art sales. Since I’d arrived earlier in the afternoon, she’d barely left my side.
I smiled at her. “It’s excellent.”
She smiled back, and an image of emerald green eyes and glossy golden hair replaced her features in my mind’s eye. Along with the image came the pain I associated with that face.
My wife.
I wondered where she was, probably on location somewhere, doing what mattered more to her than anything else: working.
Bitter thoughts flooded my head, and I pushed them away, trying instead to concentrate on what Stella was saying.
After dinner, we went outside, where a tent had been set up over the pool, which was covered in a transparent glass flooring. The celestial lights inside the tent, the ice sculpture, the surprise performance by a chart-topping pop singer, and the flowing champagne as well as the attention of the woman beside me should have kept me entertained, but my mind kept going to Allie.
A sitting politician approached me, and we spoke briefly about the impact of some new regulations. A famous actor joined us and brought up a recent record sale of a famous painting. Doug Jefferson and his wife had enough clout to bring the most recognizable names in the world to their estate just a few days before Christmas. I conversed. I feigned interest. I thought of Allie.
It was always difficult at Christmas, trying not to think about her. Memories of that first Christmas made me ache for what we’d had, what we’d lost…
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying the party,” Stella whispered, smiling up at me. “We could go back inside. I’m sure it’s quiet upstairs, and we’d be alone.”
I knew what alone meant. She licked her lips, hopeful. I took a deep breath and slowly disengaged myself from her. “I’m sorry, Stella,” I said, letting the few words carry my meaning. I wasn’t in the market, not now, and as long as Allie still occupied my thoughts, probably not for a long while.
I reached inside my pocket and fingered the smooth green stone she’d given me, so long ago. I carried it around for luck, to remind me of her, to have something of hers within reach. The memory of her green eyes flashing with amusement took over my mind. I couldn’t be sure if the memory was from the time we’d spent together or from a movie I’d seen, and that irritated me more than it should have.
I toyed with the idea of calling her, just to hear her voice, but then I changed my mind and called McGuire instead. I’d been planning to spend the night in one of the Jeffersons’ many guest rooms, but it seemed like this was one of those nights when I
needed to be on my own.
I planned to go back to the city. I had a helicopter waiting nearby just for that, but I changed my mind and instructed McGuire to take me to the house instead.
The Gracie.
I’d thought of selling it, but something always made me reconsider—maybe the memories, maybe hope. It had been two long years, and still, I couldn’t shake the hope that someday, Allie would light my home and my heart with her smile again.
I took a deep breath and chided myself for being so unrealistic. It was over, and at some point, one of us would do what was necessary and file the papers that would close the short chapter of our lives that had been our marriage. I hadn’t done it yet, and neither had Allie. That didn’t mean anything, just that legally we hadn’t severed the ties that had been cut long ago.
Without warning my staff of my arrival, I had no doubt the house would be cold and dark and the emptiness of my holiday and my life would seem amplified, especially against the memory of being there with Allie, but something drew me there. I couldn’t have explained it if I’d tried, but the closer we got, the more I felt the house was where I needed to be.
Eleven
Allie
I lay in the softness of Braden’s bed, our bed, and tried to fall asleep. Lying there, it was hard not to think of him, to remember things…like the first time we made love.
My body reacted to the memories, and I closed my eyes. I would never admit it to anyone, but Braden’s touch had ruined me for any other man, and at times like these, when I lay alone at night, I yearned for it with an intensity that left me aching.
The sound of an engine interrupted my thoughts. It was faint, but the estate was so big that a car would have to be within the perimeter for me to hear it at all.
A glance at an ornate clock on the wall told me it was just past midnight. I got out of bed and walked over to the window overlooking the front of the house. I watched the black luxury car as it slid up the drive and stopped right in front then the back door opened.
My heart tightened. A mixture of emotions made it temporarily impossible to think, to breathe. I watched Braden say a few words to his driver, McGuire, then walk straight toward the house.
I closed the curtains, excitement and panic almost crippling me. My hands were shaking. Quickly, I pulled on a dressing gown. I didn’t want him to find me in here, half-naked and vulnerable. I tightened the belt around me and went to the door.
I hurried down the carpeted hallway to the top of the stairs, watching in the dim light as he moved around the foyer. He moved comfortably in the darkness, like a lethal and predatory jungle cat. As he started for the stairs, my heart began to pound wildly, and I switched on the lights.
“What the…?” he started, cursing softly then blinking doubtfully when his eyes focused on me. Surprise, curiosity, something that looked like hope and pleasure—then nothing as his face became blank and guarded. “What are you doing here?” His voice was so cold, I felt it like a freezing lash on my skin.
I swallowed. What had I expected? That he would be glad to see me? That he would run up the stairs and wrap me in an embrace, welcome me with eager, open arms?
Yes. In my wildest dreams, I had hoped for something like that, but of course, that wasn’t going to happen. So, I shrugged. I could be cool too. I could play like ice even when my heart was crushed.
“I needed a place to stay for a while,” I said without emotion.
Braden’s jaw tightened. “And of all the places you could have gone, of all the houses in the world, you chose to come here?” He sounded furious.
“At the moment, it’s the last place anyone would think to look for me, and I didn’t know you would show up like a thief in the night. If I had, I’d have gone someplace else.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome to leave now that I’m here.”
I thought about the craziness that would ensue if I suddenly showed up at a hotel in the city, and I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let him bully me out of the peace I’d found in the last few days.
“I’m sorry, Braden, but I like it here, and it was working very well for me until you arrived.”
His eyes flicked behind me and then back to my face. “Are you alone?” he asked, his voice tense.
At that moment, I wished I wasn’t, just so I could throw it in his face. Would he care if I was with another man, or had he stopped caring what I did at all?
I stiffened my shoulders. “Are you?” I countered. I knew he hadn’t spent the last two years without female companionship. Our estrangement had put him on the market again, and from the articles I’d read, he hadn’t exactly shied away from the scores of beautiful women who pursued him. I hadn’t seen anyone else with him in the car, but now, even the possibility filled me with unreasonable jealousy.
“It’s my house, Allie,” he said. He walked to the foot of the stairs. “I could come here for an orgy with a whole chorus line and it would be none of your business.”
“It could be my house,” I threw back. “If I wanted.”
“Then take it.” His voice was scornful and dismissive. He turned back toward the door. “A few more hours on the road is nothing compared to this,” he muttered.
I panicked at the realization that he would leave. I didn’t want him to. I wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted, but having him walk away so soon wasn’t at the top of the list.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Braden!” I said tiredly. “We can share a damn house.”
He turned around and fixed his gaze on me. My breath quickened, but I shrugged and held my head high.
“I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he said.
“Suit yourself.” I shrugged. “I’m going back to sleep, and I’ll be gone before New Year’s…then you can forget I was ever here.”
I turned my back to him and flounced back into the bedroom.
Twelve
Braden
You can forget I was ever here.
In what world was that likely or even close to possible?
I was angry with her and with myself. Of all the places in the world, why had she chosen this one?
I felt like a fool. From the moment I’d seen her at the top of the stairs, I’d lost control of my emotions. At first, I’d thought it was a dream, one like the many I’d had in the past two years. I’d wanted nothing more than to meet her at the top of the stairs and feel her in my arms again. I’d wondered if my dreams had finally come true.
But of course, they hadn’t. If Allie was here, it was for her own selfish reasons. With every word that came out of her mouth, I had to fight the urge to go to her, to pull her down to the floor with me, to silence her with a kiss, to envelope myself in her heat until the past two years were a blur for the both of us.
I watched her walk away, hips swaying gently inside her silk dressing gown, and I’d never felt more infuriated and helpless. I muttered a string of rotten words. I should have stayed at the Jeffersons’, I thought bitterly. There, at least, I didn’t have to deal with the woman who’d shattered my heart.
I went up the stairs, making my way to the bedroom that adjoined mine. I prepared for bed, silently cursing her, cursing the image of her in my bed, cursing the fact that her proximity made it almost impossible for me to function, that my physical need for her had intensified to an undeniable stiffness in my pants.
I’d seen every movie, watched her on TV, read her interviews, tortured myself with the thought of who she allowed into her private life, who she allowed to touch her, to bring her pleasure.
Now, I listened to the silence on the other side of the wall and cursed again. She likely didn’t care that I was working myself up because of her. She would sleep like a baby and go back to her life, leaving me torn up under the mask of equanimity I always had to put on for the world.
I got into bed, the evidence of my arousal heavy on my thigh. Without even coming within a foot of me, she could do this to me. I chuckled bitterly. How could she even come here
, to this house where we’d fallen in love and decided to be together, knowing she had ruined our marriage?
She ruined it? The voice in my head mocked me. You ended it.
In the first flush of love, I’d believed we could make it work, living a whole country apart, both of us with successful careers. I had planes at my disposal. I bought a house in LA, for her, for us.
But she was never there. She had prior commitments, plans that had been made long before she met me. She had a management team who, even though they hid it, saw me as little more than an inconvenience, just one of many claims on her time.
She went to locations in Paris, Helsinki, Montana, and I flew long miles almost every weekend trying to catch a moment with my wife.
The rumors didn’t help. Allie had been working on an action franchise with elements of romance. A whole fanbase was rooting for her on-screen romance with her co-star, Guy Fletcher, to translate off-screen. Guy wasn’t opposed to the idea, and every interview I watched, I had to swallow his flirting with her. I had to ignore the allusions from countless entertainment hosts that maybe my wife truly belonged with another man.
Then there was the media attention, the stalking of paparazzi who weren’t averse to sacrificing their safety for a picture of me doing the most mundane things. They linked me romantically to my secretary, my lawyer, an associate’s wife, the curator of an exhibition I attended. Any woman who came within an inch of me was proof to the Guylies that I was an asshole who didn’t deserve their queen.
When she’d been nominated for an Oscar for a movie she did outside the franchise, I’d arrived in LA to support her and found myself mostly in the way. She’d won, and at the after-party, I’d watched her surrounded by people I didn’t care to know. I’d watched her flirt with Guy, watched her forget I was even there.
