by Jan Moran
Fianna turned her face up, loving his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m showering in Perrier water.”
“Even better.” Niall motioned to an array of fragrant shampoos and body washes on the wall. “Verbena, lavender, or ginger? What’s your pleasure?”
“Besides you?” She teased her leg around his. “How about verbena and ginger together?”
“As the lady wishes.” Niall squirted each body wash into the palm of his hand, rubbed them together, and then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he lathered her with foamy soap.
Fianna followed his lead, and soon they were lathered and making love under the warm pulsating jets. They clung to each other as water dappled their skin, rinsing them clean.
I’m in heaven, she thought, arching her neck back under his touch and luxuriating in the moment.
A little while later, Niall brought out a stack of fluffy white towels and dried her from head to toe, and she did the same for him. He shook his hair and brushed it back, while she fluffed her curly hair with her fingers.
“I love your gorgeous mane. You look like an Irish Rapunzel,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “If you’re hungry, I have a breakfast specialty that Johnny and Lance taught me how to make.” He helped her with a robe, and then he took her hand.
“You can cook, too?” She followed him from the bedroom. “Can you be any more perfect, Niall Finley?”
Fianna sat on a stool in the kitchen as he explained the recipe.
“First, you slice the croissants,” he said, drawing a stainless blade through three flaky half-moons. “Add strawberries and cream,” he continued, slicing fresh strawberries. “Or chocolate, like pain au chocolate.” He looked up in question.
“Chocolate sounds delicious.” She rested her chin in her hand, enjoying watching him.
“Good choice, my favorite, too.” He placed sliced strawberries onto the open croissants, and then shaved chocolate on top. He put the croissants back together and dipped them in egg batter. “Now we add chopped macadamias, Hawaiian-style.” He quickly sautéed his creations in a skillet. Then he drizzled maple syrup over the croissants and sprinkled powdered sugar on top.
“Here it is. French toast, my way.” He placed the plates on the counter with a flourish.
Fianna took a bite. “Mmm, I think I could live on this alone.” She’d never tasted French toast made this way, and it was delicious. A man who could cook, even a little? Very sexy.
Kaitlin wandered in wearing yoga gear. “I thought I smelled something fabulous.” She hugged Fianna. “It’s so nice to see you here in the morning.” She raised her brows and jerked her head toward her brother.
Fianna understood her meaning and nodded, feeling herself flush.
Kaitlin clapped her hands with glee, and Niall turned around. “You sure get excited over my French toast croissants.”
“Indeed I do,” Kaitlin said, giggling.
“Good thing I made one for you, too.” Niall put another plate on the counter and sat on a stool next to Fianna.
“Life just doesn’t get any better than this,” Fianna said, giving him a kiss. “Thank you, chef.”
“Don’t get any grand ideas. I’m pretty handy with a barbeque, too, but I’m also a devoted patron of our local restaurants.”
“I’m not too bad with corned beef and potatoes any way you like them, but in L.A., I’m more of a granola and organic veggies kind of girl.”
“There’s a happy balance there somewhere,” Niall said, grinning. He took a bite, clearly enjoying his cooking.
Somewhere a phone rang. “Whose phone is that?” Kaitlin asked.
“Sounds like mine.” Niall had plugged in her phone the night before.
Kaitlin sprang up. “I’ll get it for you.” A moment later she returned with Fianna’s phone.
Fianna checked; it was Scarlett again. She hated to let the outside world back into their private abode. Still, Scarlett was her friend. “Hello?”
Scarlett’s voice crackled through the line. “Thank goodness I reached you.”
“What is it, Scarlett?” Fianna sat up, suddenly concerned.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but the model who fell from the runway in Dublin is suing you.”
Fianna had half-expected this, but this was like an Arctic blast of air into their warm cocoon. “Of course, I understand. I feel so responsible.”
“Don’t say that, you’re not. You didn’t rig the shoes. Someone else is responsible for this. Have the police found any leads?”
“Not that I know of.” Fianna clutched the phone. “Scarlett, I’ll pay for her injuries. How much does she need?”
“Brace yourself.” Scarlett paused for a long beat. “Ten million dollars.”
“Wh-what?” Did they have a bad connection? She thought she’d heard—
“She’s suing for loss of wages, injuries, and damage to her career.”
Fianna’s stomach dropped. She stared out the kitchen window to the sea, dumbfounded. That amount of money was absolutely unattainable.
She shot a look at Niall. He and Kaitlin were watching her, their brows creased in concern.
“Fianna? Are you there?”
“Yes,” she murmured. She blinked back hot tears of shock. This would mean the end of her business and her career. She tried to remember if she’d seen anyone near the shoes—anyone who might have tampered with them.
She closed her eyes in thought. She wished she could remember something, but she’d been so focused on the event and making sure everything was perfect, she hadn’t thought of anything else. Had the other models or stylists seen anything?
Or was it simply too late?
“I can’t raise that, Scarlett. That’s way beyond my ability.” She swallowed. “That would put me out of business.” Regardless of what Scarlett said, she still felt responsible and wanted to make amends, but ten million dollars? It seemed excessive, even for a model. “I spoke to her the next day, and she sounded okay. How badly was she really hurt?”
“She fractured her ankle and had to have a pin put in. But she should recover well, certainly well enough to walk the runway. The amount she wants is really excessive. I think a greedy attorney got hold of her.”
Niall slid his arm around her, and Fianna was grateful for his support. “Scarlett, what should I do?”
“First, don’t give up. I’ve been talking to your insurance carrier.”
Fianna grasped at her words. “Will they cover it?”
“It’s complicated. It was out of the country, the police are involved, and it has a lot of hair around it. But I’m working on it.”
They spoke a few more minutes, and then Fianna hung up. She was thunderstruck and still baffled how someone could have done this to her and the models. She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding, and blood rushed through her ears.
“What’s wrong, Fianna, love?”
She shook her head with sorrow. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’m afraid I have to return to Los Angeles right away.”
Niall wrapped his arms around her. “Whatever I can do to help, please let me know.”
Some women might have immediately asked for assistance, but Fianna wasn’t one of them. She wouldn’t do anything that might damage this relationship that now meant so much to her. Besides, she really hadn’t known Niall but what, a handful of days? Did he care for her as much as she did for him? She swallowed against a lump in her throat and looked into his eyes.
“There’s nothing I can think of,” she said, taking his hand in hers.
21
NIALL SAT ON an overstuffed sofa in the sitting room connected to the kitchen, picking out a new tune on his guitar. Fianna occupied his thoughts and dreams, and he could still smell her perfume that reminded him of sweet morning jasmine. She’d truly inspired him, awakening his creativity.
His thoughts were increasingly shifting from Laila to Fianna. Laila would always occupy a special place in his heart, yet he no longer felt her pr
esence.
The song he was writing today was a personal tribute to the first woman he’d ever loved, the woman who had showed him what true love really was. “Good-bye Laila” was his farewell ode to her. He sang softly, “Slán leat, Laila, au revoir, good-bye. Until we meet again…” Slán leat was Gaelic for goodbye.
He’d finally adjusted to Laila’s absence and was at peace for her.
Fianna was alive and radiant and filled with love. And on the other side of the planet from him. Now that he’d experienced the magic of love once more, he felt more alone than ever before.
Kaitlin hurried in, holding her airline tickets and rolling a small Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her. “The car is here. I’m ready to go.” She wore an oversized Pucci print blouse, black leggings that emphasized her long, lean legs, and tall boots that rose above her knees.
Niall put his guitar aside and got up. “I’ll miss you. It’s going to be awfully lonely here without you.” She was leaving for a series of modeling jobs from London to Paris to New York.
A smile played on Kaitlin’s lips. “What you really mean is that you’re lonely since Fianna left. You’ve been rambling around here with sad puppy dog eyes.”
“How did you get so smart?” He wrapped his arms around his sister. “But I swear I’ll miss you, too.” He picked up her suitcase. “Is this all you have?”
“I’m traveling light this time. There are plenty of clothes where I’m going. But you know me, I’ll probably end up buying another suitcase for the trip home.”
Niall walked outside with her along the gravelly drive in front of the castle. A driver took the bag from him and opened the rear door of a large black sedan for her.
Kaitlin paused with her hand on the car door, staring at him with her vivid green eyes. “Have you spoken to her since she left?”
“Several times.” Niall pushed a hand through his hair. “But it’s no replacement for being together.”
“Too bad you sold the house in Malibu.”
He kicked a few pebbles with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, lousy timing.”
“So, book a room. Get a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
He glanced back at the castle that rose behind them. He’d been a recluse here for a long time. Visiting Fianna was tempting. But how long could he live in a hotel room? He loved his privacy on Howth. Dealing with the paparazzi trailing his every move in Los Angeles was mentally exhausting. “You know how I feel about L.A.”
“So, what do you really want? Get your priorities straight, Niall. That’s what you always told me when I was partying too much.”
Niall hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his faded jeans. She had a point, but was he ready to venture out again?
Kaitlin pecked him on the cheek and slid into the backseat, arranging her gangly frame on the smooth leather seat. “I love you, brother. Think about what I said.” She smiled, though her brow was creased with concern for him.
“Love you, too, sis. Be safe, and buckle up.” He waited until she’d put on her seatbelt and then closed her door. He bumped the young driver’s fist. “Take care driving.”
Niall stood and watched the car until it had disappeared from view. He strolled back into the house, thinking about Fianna. As he did, another tune crept into his consciousness.
Once inside the main parlor, he sat on the bench at the shiny black, baby grand piano where he’d written some of his best music. His fingers slid over the keys, and he hummed along as the tune emerged from his creative soul.
“Hello Fianna, hello, my lady of the midnight moon…” If he couldn’t visit her, he could at least sing to her over the phone.
A few minutes later, the piano fell silent, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He heaved a sigh. How were they going to manage this?
Scarlett waved to her from a table inside the bay window at La Conversation on North Doheny Drive in West Hollywood, just opposite the Beverly Hills flats, as the bordering neighborhood was known. The quaint little French restaurant and bakery was one of their favorite places to meet for brunch or lunch, besides Bow-Tie. Scarlett had suggested they come here so they wouldn’t be disturbed by well-meaning friends at Johnny and Lance’s restaurant.
Fianna always felt like she was entering a café in France when she stepped inside the little corner jewel box decorated with lipstick-red-and-white-striped wallpaper, pictures of France, and a profusion of flowers. A glass case of French pastries at the front tempted her. The chocolate éclairs were to die for.
“Look at us, we almost match,” Fianna said. They were both wearing turquoise blouses, though Scarlett wore blue jeans and Fianna had slim white jeans with turquoise heels and wrist bangles. Scarlett hugged her and they sat down.
“So good to see you again, Fianna. How’s it going at the shop?” Scarlett brushed her dark blond hair over her shoulder.
Fianna pressed her fingers to her lips and shook her head. “I had no idea the press could be so brutal. They’ve blasted the Fitzgerald Flop around the world. Someone videotaped part of the show on a mobile phone and posted it to YouTube. Views have skyrocketed.”
“Sometimes negative press is good. Have sales increased?”
“Not really, but the line of tourists outside the shop posing for photos sure has. And photographers have been following me, waiting for me to make a misstep. Literally. I stumbled at the farmer’s market and the next day Evangeline showed me the photo in a tabloid newspaper. She keeps shooing people away from the shop, but they just come back.”
Scarlett eyes her closely. “You look good, though. How was Ireland? And how did you leave things with Niall?”
Fianna had confided in her. “He’s half a world away. My shop is here, his place is there. I don’t know what to do.”
Scarlett touched her hand. “You deserve the best, Fianna. He seems really nice, despite the fact that he’s a hot rock star.”
“I really don’t see him like that.” Heat rose in her face. “As a famous rock star, I mean. He’s definitely hot.”
“Good for you.” Scarlett motioned to a waiter. “Let’s order, and then get down to business.” They ordered poached eggs with smoked salmon on croissants and fruit on the side. “Now, about this case. Can you get a police report?”
“It’s under investigation now, but I haven’t heard anything. We all had to give statements—me, the models, the stylists. As far as I know, nothing has been discovered.”
“Find out as much as you can for me.” Scarlett sipped her tea. “You’re essentially a small business, and it’s odd that they’d go after this much money. Your insurance doesn’t cover this kind of event, certainly not to ten million dollars’ worth. It makes me wonder if there’s more to this than meets the eye. A plaintiff’s attorney will always go after the deep pockets. Can you think of anyone who might have been involved who has a lot of money, or insurance?”
Fianna thought for a moment. “Maybe the hotel?”
Scarlett flipped open a small notebook. “I’ll need your contact there. Did they set up the runway?”
“No, it was a different company, a small independent contractor.”
Scarlett scribbled a note. “And who obtained the shoes?”
“I did. The designers sent them directly to me. The failures spanned Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik, and Prada shoes, so it couldn’t have originated at the factories. Besides, I unpacked everything and set it up in order. I would have noticed.”
Scarlett arched a brow. “Who had access between the time you set up and the show began?”
“The door was locked. I opened it with an assistant I’d engaged. The stylists began arriving early.” She ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “Catering came in, the models arrived later, a photographer stopped by. I don’t think any of them could have done it. There were too many people around.”
“How much time was there between the time you set up and when you opened the door for the show?”
“Overnight. If anyone got into the room, it must hav
e been during the night. It would have been recorded on the security camera. The police confiscated the digital files, as well as the shoes.”
Scarlett made another note. “I’d like to see those images. I’ll have to find an attorney in Ireland to help me get access. Do you know anyone?”
“I can ask my dad.” Fianna shifted in her seat. “I hate to involve them, though. My mam’s having some medical tests done soon.”
Scarlett raised her eyes, concerned. “I hope she’s all right.”
“I saw them before I left, and she seems like she’s handling it well. I think it’s been caught early enough. With dietary changes and exercise, and maybe some medication to help manage her health, I think she’ll be fine. I did a lot of research on her potential condition.”
“Good, I’m happy to hear that. Now, who else could you ask for help?”
Lizzie and Shane knew a lot of people from school, maybe even some young lawyers. She could ask her dad, though she hated to add to his worries over her mother. “I’ll find someone.”
Scarlett continued asking questions, and Fianna answered honestly and to the best of her ability. Her head began to ache and she pressed her fingers to her temples to alleviate the pressure. “I have to admit, this is really overwhelming, Scarlett. I have client fittings, next season’s line to create, and buyers to call. Meanwhile, I’m being ridiculed in the media and stalked by paparazzi, and now, sued for more money than I’ll probably ever earn.”
Whenever Fianna needed a moment to relax from the stress, she let her thoughts wander to Niall and the time they’d spent together at his home in Howth. She conjured the sparkle of his green eyes, the sensation of his chest against her cheek, and the richness of his voice in the night. But even this mental fantasy offered only a brief respite from her troubles.
