Eventually, once I’m calmer and I’ve worked my way through at least half of Brooke’s box of tissues, Savannah pours me a fresh glass of wine. “Drink. It’s medicinal.”
I take a swig and feel the liquid run down my throat, warming my belly.
“I hate seeing you like this,” Brooke says.
“I hate being like this.” I laugh. It sounds like a cross between a choke, a gurgle, and some sort of weird alien language.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Brooke asks.
“There’s nothing I can do,” I plead, a wave of helplessness crashing over me.
She arches her eyebrows. “Really? In my experience, as your older sister and therefore a much wiser person—” she winks “—there is always something you can do.”
“There’s nothing. I want to be with . . . with Sam.” I almost choke on his name. “And I can’t. It’s hopeless.”
“Sam sounds like a great guy, Grace, and you clearly fell for him hard,” Savannah begins.
I nod. Sam’s the best man I’ve ever known. Falling in love with him was inevitable, from the moment our eyes locked.
“But maybe it’s time to move on?” Savannah continues. She darts a look at Brooke who nods in agreement.
“She’s right” Brooke adds. “All that horrible media attention nearly killed you. I know it did. Grace, you deserve better than that.”
I look from Savannah to Brooke. They’re like some sort of interventionist tag team, telling me like it is.
“Look, how about you take some time, do things that make you happy? Let’s all do a spa day or something next week,” Brooke suggests.
I smile through my tears. “That would be nice. And now can we please stop talking about Sam?”
We spend the rest of the evening together, eating popcorn and watching one of Brooke’s favourite rom coms. I try my best to do as my sisters suggest: move on from Sam. It’s a very tall order.
The movie done, I announce it’s time I headed home.
“When you’re ready, I have a cute guy for you,” Brooke says.
I look at her in surprise. “You do? Who?”
She grins. “The guy I was teasing Logan about. He’s sweet and funny and really cute. I think you two will totally hit it off.”
The thought of dating another man is so bizarre I almost choke. “No way José.”
I shake my head, my heart dropping. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to be with another guy.” I look at Brooke and Savannah. “I don’t think time will change anything. Sam’s the love of my life.”
Savannah’s face breaks into a grin. “What are you waiting for then?”
Brooke and I both turn and look at Savannah in surprise. Her face is aglow, her smile broad.
“What do you mean?” I ask, breathless, barely believing my ears.
Savannah’s voice is calm. “Go get him, Grace.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “What?” The idea is so preposterous, so outlandish I almost laugh.
Brooke frowns. It seems Savannah’s deviating from the brief.
“Savannah, I don’t think—” she begins.
Savannah ignores her, instead looking at me intently. “Grace, if he’s the love of your life what the hell are you doing?”
I put my hand to my head. “It’s too hard. You don’t understand.”
She shrugs. “What’s there to understand? You love him, he loves you. Anything else is just noise.”
“Noise?” My chest tightens and the belly acrobats that deserted me long ago come crashing back, performing a fresh, high-energy routine.
“Noise,” Savannah confirms, looking resolute. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, you don’t get a second chance at your Big Love. I blew it with mine. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”
I shake my head as I force out a laugh, ignoring the acrobats.
I laugh, nervous. “You sound like one of Brooke’s rom coms.”
“You know what? Maybe she’s right?” Brooke says, her face breaking into a grin. “Because that’s what we’re talking about here, isn’t it? Sam’s Big Love, right?”
I give a tentative nod, biting my lip. I don’t want him to be. With all my heart, I wish he wasn’t.
But he is.
Savannah sits back in her seat. “Then you’re a fool if you don’t at least try.”
Chapter 30
I’M LIKE THE WOMAN in that movie Brooke, Savannah and I watched last week, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. My entire family has decided to accompany me to the airport. Even Dylan. Plus, Tiffany, Rangi, Savannah, Taylor and Scott. You’d think they would have enough excitement in their lives, wouldn’t you?
Clearly not.
And there are a few awkward relationships here: Scott and Brooke, Scott and Tiffany, now Scott and Taylor. In a nutshell, Scott and most of the women in the room. Really, it’s hard to keep up with the man.
I watch them, all looking vaguely uncomfortable, and then I see Scott approach Brooke.
“It’s good to see you, Brooke,” Scott says to her. “Your baby’s real cute.”
She looks down at Mia and smiles. “Thanks. It’s good to see you, too. And nice to hear you and Taylor have become, ah, close.”
Logan places a protective hand on Brooke’s shoulder and I watch in disbelief as Scott actually looks sheepish. He glances over at Taylor, who’s talking to my mum—no doubt running wild and loose with her farming vernacular and confusing the hell out of her—and smiles as he catches her eye.
“Yeah. She’s cool,” he replies.
Is that a blush, Scott Wright?
“What exactly are you going to say to him when you first see him?” Tiffany asks, pulling my attention away from my anthropological observations.
I bite my lip, contemplate. “Do you know what? I don’t actually know.”
She laughs. “Well, there’s nothing like having a well thought out plan.”
I shrug. Pause as I think. “I guess I’m simply going to say that I was wrong about all that other crap mattering. That I want to be with him.”
Tiffany grins at me. “Perfect.” She looks up at Rangi, who is standing at her side, his arms wrapped around her waist. They smile at one another.
I shudder. I am completely surrounded by happy, smitten couples.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful when my flight is announced.
“You’re up, Gracie,” Dad says, picking up my cabin luggage. “Are you ready for this?” he asks me quietly.
I nod. “I am, Dad. Whatever happens.”
“Your mother and I will be here for you, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?”
I smile, feeling his love for me. “I do. And thanks, Dad.”
Taylor is the last to hug me goodbye. “Go get your gibbon.”
I grin at her. Maybe Sam is my gibbon, my mate for life. I take a deep breath. I guess I’m about to find out.
After going through security, I give the assembled masses, my friends and family, one final wave.
I’m going to get my man. And it’s as scary as hell.
* * *
I’ve scoured the Internet and gossip magazines to get as much information on Sam’s whereabouts as I can. I know exactly where I’m going and precisely what time I need to be there.
This has become a military operation, planned down to the last detail. I worked out exactly what I’m going to say when I see Sam and practiced it in the bathroom mirror on the flight over. I think my fellow passengers thought I had a bad case of diarrhoea or something, I was in there so long. I didn’t care: I need to get this right.
So, here’s the plan: I’ve hired a car and am going to drive to the studio where he’s filming. I’ll find Sam and declare my love. Then I think I’ll hold my breath, hoping he declares his back so we can ride off into that sunset. Cue: happy ending.
Or . . . run and hide under a rock for the rest of my life if he says no.
Once in Los Angeles I pick up my hire car
—a red convertible Mustang, of course—and head to my hotel. Driving on the other side of the road in heavy traffic does absolutely nothing for my nerves, but somehow, I make it to my hotel in one piece.
I check in, drop my bags at my hotel, have a shower and put on the green dress I was in when Sam first kissed me, my hair falling loose around my shoulders.
I take a moment to look at my reflection. Not bad for a girl who’s just flown in from another time zone. Hair freshly washed, mascara and lipstick in place. The eyes look a little frantic, but that’s not surprising: I’m about to do what could turn out to be the most publicly humiliating thing in my life. And given events since I first met Sam, that’s saying something!
I recite my speech one more time and take a series of deep breaths to calm the troupe of acrobats in my belly.
It’s now or never.
I jump into my rental car, put the top down, set the GPS for the studio, and head out. I put on the radio, pump up the music. Like all good rom com movie scenes, I need a decent soundtrack as I make the dash to declare my love.
I’m doing this! I’m getting Sam!
Half an hour—and more traffic than I see on the streets of Wellington in a week—later, I drive up to the studio gate. I try my best to look as confident and carefree as someone who belongs here.
I stop at the security arm and flash the guard my best smile.
“Hey there . . .” I spot his nametag. “Daniel. How are you today?”
He doesn’t return my smile. “Fine. Name?”
My tummy acrobats do a little flip. “My name is Grace Mortimer. I’m here to see Sam Montgomery,” I say with calm confidence.
Take that, acrobats!
Daniel checks his list, shakes his head. “You’re not on the list.”
“Well, I know that, Daniel. He’s not expecting me, you see. But he’ll be happy to see me. You have to trust me on that.” I flash him a fresh grin.
Daniel crosses his arms. He doesn’t look amused.
Direct isn’t working. I try a different approach. “Okay, I didn’t want to have to do this, Dan. Can I call you Dan?”
He narrows his eyes at me. Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘no’.
“Daniel it is then,” I trill, my nerves peaking.
Calm, Grace. Calm and in control.
I take off my sunglasses. “You might know who I am. Grace Mortimer? Fell off the catwalk and into Sam Montgomery’s arms?”
Daniel’s face remains impassive.
“Ringing any bells for you?” I ask with a last grain of hope.
He shakes his head. “Time for you to leave, Miss.”
The acrobats ramp up their show.
It can’t end like this. I can’t get turned away at the gate to the studio. That’s not how this is supposed to work.
Why did I delete Sam’s number from my phone? What an idiot!
“Are you sure?” I ask, plastering on my sweetest smile.
Daniel doesn’t return the smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
My heart sinks. That’s it then. I’m defeated. I have no way of contacting Sam. He doesn’t even know I’m in the country.
It’s over.
“All right. Thank you, Daniel.” Thanks for nothing, more like.
He shoots me his steely glare. I wonder if they get taught that at security guard school?
I put my car into reverse. I stop.
I look back at Daniel. “How about Rick Deckard?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Who?”
A surge of excitement grips me. “Rick Deckard. I would like to see Rick Deckard, please.”
Still nothing.
I put on my best American accent, which is pretty shaky at best. “Rick Deckard.”
Daniel continues to regard me through narrowed eyes for what feels like a decade.
“Stage Twenty-Three.”
It worked! Hope soars.
I watch as he lifts the security arm. A grin spreads across my face. Good old Rick Deckard.
“Thanks, Danny Boy. You’re the best.” I beam at him.
He almost smiles—either that or he has a bad case of gas.
I put my foot on the accelerator, forget I’m in reverse. The car jerks backwards, making my head whip back. Daniel leaps out of the way. I panic, jam on the breaks, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. I come to an immediate stop.
My heart pounding, I shoot Daniel an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
I look around. It’s a miracle I didn’t cause any damage.
I grind the gears, making a terrible noise, my hands suddenly like two large rubber mitts.
This is so not part of the cool-as-a-cucumber demeanour I was aiming for today.
“I don’t know what the cars are like in England, but in America we drive using the one that says the letter ‘D’,” Daniel offers.
This time he does smile.
I shoot him an embarrassed look. I decide it’s best not to correct him on my country of origin and the fact New Zealand is literally on the other side of the world from England.
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
Putting the car into ‘D’ as Daniel watches from a safe distance, I drive slowly forward. I jam on my breaks again, this time without giving myself whiplash—or potentially running over Daniel. “Where’s Stage Twenty-Three?”
He shakes his head. “Right then left, then go to the end of the road. It’s right in front of you. You can’t miss it. Well. Maybe you can.” He’s full-on grinning this time. He walks back into his hut, returning a moment later with a piece of paper. “This’ll help.”
He hands it to me. It’s a map. “Thanks, Daniel.”
I drive through the barrier and onto the lot. I’ve never been to a Hollywood studio before. It’s a hive of activity, like its own little city, complete with the streets of New York and Chicago, LA and San Francisco.
Daniel was right: I can’t miss Stage Twenty-Three. I park up outside it, the large building looming above me.
I get out of the car. Take a deep breath.
Show time.
The large stage doors are open. I walk through them and am temporarily blinded by the change from the bright Southern California sun to the much darker interior.
People buzz around me, going about their business. No one pays me any attention whatsoever—which is exactly what I’d hoped for.
I walk towards the stage where I can see lights and hear people talking. There’s a small group of about four or five people standing together as they watch the actors on a set. My eyes dart around the group, searching them for Sam.
No bananas.
I take a step closer, peering on the set. It looks like someone’s living room, complete with a comfy sofa, family photos, even a dog basket and an old chew toy.
Then I hear his voice. It hits me in my chest like a sledgehammer. Sam.
I take a step closer so that I’m standing on the edge of the set, obscured by the darkness. No one stops me.
Go big or go home.
My heart leaps into my mouth. Sam is facing towards me, standing in the middle of the room, looking intently at a woman. All I can see is the back of her head.
“I have to do this,” he says, taking her by the hand. “If I don’t, who knows what will happen to Johnny, to all of us?”
The woman turns around so she’s standing in profile to me. I recognise her with a jolt: Vanessa.
“I can’t face it,” she says, looking down. “Not again.”
“Cindy, please.” Sam pulls Vanessa into him, holds her for a while as they gaze into one another’s eyes. He then leans down and kisses her oh-so tenderly as tears roll down her cheeks. Pulling back, he adds, “It’s what I have to do.”
I can hardly breathe.
He reaches down and slowly unbuttons her shirt, kissing her again, this time with passion, with need.
The way he used to kiss me.
My heart beats hard in my chest. It looks so real—it feels so real.
Fear paraly
ses me. What if I got it wrong? What if coming here is a big mistake? What if Sam doesn’t feel the same way about me anymore?
A small voice in my head grabs my attention: You’re a fool, Grace, a stupid, stupid fool.
As Sam leans in to kiss Vanessa once more I recoil back from the scene, unable to watch any more. As I do I stumble on a thick cable and fall back, landing with a painful thud on my butt, knocking a light over with a loud crash as I go.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wish I could fall through the floor. Oh, god.
The bumbling hippo on roller-skates strikes again.
All eyes turn to me, in a crumpled mess on the floor. Embarrassed beyond belief, I clamour back up onto my feet, my legs wobbling, unsteady.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” I murmur as my cheeks begin to burn.
Panic overtakes me. My heart races, my breathing steps up, my tummy ties in knots. I have to get out of here. Now.
“Grace?”
I stop in my tracks. He’s seen me.
I turn around slowly, trying to muster what dignity I still have to face him. I force myself to look at him, my body shaking, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
His hand is still on Vanessa’s blouse, as though frozen in time. She too is looking at me in surprise.
I struggle to find my voice. “Hi . . . Sam,” I manage, as though I haven’t just fallen on my ass and made a giant fool of myself in front of all these people.
He drops his hand from Vanessa’s shirt and walks towards me, bafflement written across his face. In a few short strides, he’s right next to me.
“I’m sorry, I . . . sh-shouldn’t have come,” I stammer, my mouth suddenly dry. I look nervously around the room.
All eyes are on us.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t touch me. He simply looks at me questioningly.
I swallow hard.
I can hear Savannah’s voice in my head, telling me not to let my Big Love go.
It’s time to grow some balls.
“Sam, I . . . I was wrong,” I begin, my mouth like cotton wool. “About everything. Nothing else matters. It’s you, Sam.” Tears sting my eyes as my lip begins to tremble.
This is so much harder than I thought it would be.
Falling for Grace Page 27
