by Serena Grey
A few steps inside, and I see her curled up on the couch. There’s a book in her lap, one of mine, but she’s asleep. Her hair has fallen to one side, exposing her neck. Her lips are full and pink, parted as she breathes softly. I allow myself to study her in a way I haven’t done in years, the perfect bones, the slender fingers, the outline of her body, slim yet curvy, lush and beautiful.
Everything is painfully familiar, yet so out of reach. My fingers ache to feel the silky waves of her hair. I want to bruise her lips with mine, to spread her legs and claim her body as harshly as I can, to demand to know why she came back into my life to haunt me like an unwanted, uninvited ghost.
As if she can feel the turbulence of my thoughts, she stirs. Even the way she wakes is beautiful. How many times in that long ago past did I worship that sleepy smile and that languid stretch?
She straightens and rises to a sitting position, her eyes on me.
“You’re back.”
I restrain myself from reaching for her. Instead, I glare, silently asking what the hell she’s doing in my space.
“Aidan—”
“Don’t.” I raise my hand, as if to create a barrier between us. “What are you doing here?”
She rises and walks toward me, momentarily distracting me from the past seven years. She moves like a siren. She looks like a goddess. I want her. I want her with an ache that has only grown since we’ve been apart.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
She sighs. “Don’t be like this.”
“Just stop, ok?” Her tone, and the implication that I’m being unreasonable… it infuriates me. “We don’t need to talk. You shouldn’t be in my home acting as if what happened between us was a little misunderstanding that you can smooth over by talking.”
She doesn’t back down. “If not talking, then what? What would it take to make you—”
“Nothing.” I cut her off. “I want nothing from you. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to see you. You’ve been dead to me for a long time, Liz, so get the hell out of my apartment.”
She looks taken aback. Did she expect me to be glad to see her? Is she so drunk on her appeal that she thinks her appearance is all it’ll take for me to forgive and forget?
“No.” Even I am surprised by the stubbornness in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking about my apartment or the play.
“Liz,” I grind out her name. “Don’t think I won’t throw you out. And the next time you come here and get one of the impressionable young men downstairs to let you into my personal space, I will get him fired.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her chin goes up, defiant. “The Aidan I knew wouldn’t do that, anyway.”
My laugh is bitter. “The Aidan you knew is dead. You killed him.”
Her breath hitches and the elation I felt at landing the blow is suddenly colored with shame. I walk over to my bar and pour myself a drink. She remains beside the couch, watching me.
Expensive scotch burns my throat. “Go away, Liz. I don’t want you here.”
“I need to do the play.”
I shrug. “Not with me directing it. Why do you want it so badly, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be on location shooting a big budget action movie?”
Her eyebrows arch, then one corner of her full lips lifts ever so slightly. “You know about that?”
I would rather be raked over hot coals, then whipped and flayed, than admit my unending obsession with her. “Sometimes I read movie industry news. Don’t delude yourself into thinking I’m particularly interested in news about you.”
Her face falls. “About the play…” She takes another step, coming closer to me. “I need to try something different from the movies I’ve been doing.”
I don’t take my eyes away from her face. She’s one of the most bankable stars in Hollywood, but her movies haven’t fully showcased her incredible talent. Is that why she’s so desperate to do the play? Or is there something more?
“You’re lying.”
“There are other reasons,” she says quickly, “but it’s important to me, this play, and I trust you. I haven’t been on a stage in years and people expect me to fail. I need you to work with me.”
I put down my glass and go to her, not stopping until I’m standing right in front of her. A slow flush creeps up her cheeks, momentarily distracting me.
“Aidan—”
“You’re pathetic,” I say in a low voice. “It’s all about you and your ego, as always. All the time you spent in la la land has made you even more selfish and egocentric.”
Her eyes close. “I know you hate me…”
Hate? I laugh nastily. “You have no idea.”
Tears spring into her eyes. “You don’t have to be so cruel.”
Curling one finger under her chin, I lift her face up mine. “You are cruel, Liz. You are selfish and cruel, and the only person who has ever mattered to you is yourself. You make me sick. Looking at you is an infuriating reminder that I ever allowed myself to fall in love with someone so vile. Go back to L.A. That’s where you belong.”
I release her, but she remains frozen, blinking furiously, as if to hold back tears, making me hate myself for hurting her.
But she deserves it.
“I’m not leaving,” she whispers fiercely.
“Fine.” I shrug. “Then I will.”
We’re standing barely inches apart, and her eyes are boring into mine, challenging, defying. My nose fills with the flowery scent of her shampoo, and the soft fragrance that reminds me of white satin sheets and soft skin.
White satin sheets and her soft, naked skin.
Arousal clouds my thoughts and I swallow hard.
“Do you hate me so much you’re willing to derail the play?” Her voice is a heated whisper. She places a hand on my chest, and I freeze. “Think of all the hard work that’s already gone into it. All the people who dedicated the last few months to trying to get it off the ground.”
I take a step back. She’s trembling, and less noticeably, so am I. I’m also hard as a rock, only a few moments away from succumbing to the temptation to push her against the wall and find out if being inside her still feels as good as I remember.
If her moans still sound as intoxicating as I remember.
I take a deep breath. “You’re being dramatic, and manipulative. And guess what? That doesn’t surprise me. Natalia can get another director, or you can leave.”
“Why should I leave? Just because you’re afraid to work with me.”
My laugh sounds hollow even to my ears. “I’m not afraid, Liz. I’m unwilling. I have no respect for you, either as a person or as an actress.”
She flinches at the lash of my words, but she doesn’t retreat. “I don’t believe you.” She gives me a pitying half-smile. “You’re a coward, and you’re afraid of what would happen if we work together. You know why? Because I’m not the only one who has spent the last seven years thinking about what we had.”
Her words are like a thunderclap in my head. How dare she? “You were thinking about what we had? When, Liz? Between the high-profile relationships and the helluva short engagement? When did you have the time?”
“You’d be surprised.”
I chuckle. “You think you can insinuate that you still care and that would somehow change my mind? Get out, Liz, and keep going until you get back to where you’ve been for the past seven years.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t run away, but I bet you will.” She smiles, looking pained and disappointed at the same time. “It’s amazing how much you’ve changed, Aidan. The man I knew would never have run away from a challenge.”
With that comment, she strides to the door and out of the apartment. I hear the door slam behind her, bristling as I go back to the bar and start to pour myself another drink before I think better of it.
You’re afraid to think of what would happen if we work together.
&nb
sp; “No, Liz,” I mutter. “I’m not.”
I watch the clear amber liquid swirling in the bottle for a long minute before pushing it away. If this continues, I’ll be a relapsed alcoholic before the play opens. Working with her would likely drive me crazy, but I’m going to do it, because she challenged me, and she knew when she did it that I wouldn’t back down.
Chapter Eighteen
Liz
Dad is sitting up in bed while his nurse hovers over him. She watches him swallow his medication, then satisfied, she gives me a smile and leaves the room.
“Being sick is boring,” he complains.
“I can imagine.” I pat his hand. “Would you like to go out?”
His eyes go to the window and he grimaces, shaking his head. The soft classical music playing from the speakers lends a melancholy air to the room. I wish he’d let me change it to something livelier.
I walk over to the windows and open the blinds. “We could go for a drive.”
“Maybe another time.” He closes his eyes as a haunting interlude from Chopin fills the air. “Your mother could listen to this for hours.”
He rarely talked about my Mom when I was growing up, but now, he mentions her every day, and even though I want to hear his reminisces, I’m also scared that it means he has resigned himself to an imminent reunion.
I return to the side of the bed and take his hand. “She wouldn’t want you to give up, not when I still need you.”
“I’m so proud of you, Sweet Pea.” In his lined face, his eyes are sharp. “You know you don’t have to come here every day. Especially since you’ll soon be busy with the play.”
“Never too busy to see you.”
He smiles. “I hear Aidan is not quitting the play after all.”
Remembering my last encounter with Aidan, I sigh. “Natalia confirmed he’s staying.”
“She says you persuaded him.”
I snort out a laugh. “Persuaded is not the word I’d choose. I mean…I tried, but the only person who can make Aidan Court do anything is Aidan Court.”
“Maybe,” my dad concedes. “At least you’ve got what you wanted.”
Have I? I only have to think about Aidan for my mind to be flooded with images of all the things I want from him… with him. I pull in a sharp breath and smile brightly.
“Did I mention there’s a presser later this afternoon? Part of the publicity for the play. I have a few hours before I leave. Would you like me to read to you?”
He nods, and I read until he falls asleep, glad for the moment not to have to answer any more questions about Aidan.
A few hours later, I arrive at the presser. An intern from the publicity company leads me to a back room, where the other members of the production are waiting for the cue to join the press in the conference room.
I recognize my co-star Todd Feldman and wave. A wiry man with black-framed glasses and a shock of frizzy white hair introduces himself as Gary, the publicist for the production. Natalia is across the room with the sound, lighting and production designers. Busy interns buzz from one corner of the room to another like bees, offering coffee and water.
Aidan is absent.
Since that afternoon at his apartment, public interest in the play had grown to a crescendo. There have been numerous articles speculating about my acting skills, my history with Aidan, why I’m choosing to do theatre instead of a guaranteed box office hit at this point in my career. There are always paparazzi waiting outside my apartment and even my father’s place.
It’s madness.
The presser is a chance for the production to offer an official story to the world, and they are making a huge production of it, offering the press access to the whole production team instead of doing something easy like releasing a statement.
Where is Aidan? I glance at my watch, nervous at the thought of seeing him and at the possibility that he won’t show.
“Hi,” I look up to see Todd smiling at me. He’s handsome, with short brown hair, gray eyes with nice crinkles at the corners, and the tight athletic body of a dancer. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Todd Feldman.”
“I know,” I return his smile and take his offered hand. “I saw your last musical a few times.”
His grin widens. “That’s great to hear. I’m…I’m honored.”
“Why?” I look around again for Aidan, but he still hasn’t arrived. “You were the one lighting up the stage.”
Todd laughs and I smile, still nervous. I grab a bottle of water from a table stacked with refreshments and take a few sips. Someone comes in from the conference room and I hear the racket from the crowd of reporters on the other side of the door.
Lord! Seven years in the public eye and I haven’t gotten used to it. It still boggles my mind that people are so interested in me. Interested enough that thousands of questions pour into my social media daily.
“Five minutes,” an assistant from the production company announces. “Keep answers to the point, and short. Only about the play.” Her eyes skip to me. “They’ll want to ask about personal stuff, relationships…direct them back to the play and if they get insistent, we’ll shut them down.”
I nod. My publicist said the same thing earlier on a call from L.A.
Natalia comes up beside me. “How’re you doing?”
“So so.” I shrug and take one last sip of my water. Just as I drop the bottle in the trash, Aidan walks into the room. He’s dressed in an ashy gray shirt, black jeans, and a dark jacket. His hair is wavy and messy, as if he’s just rolled out of bed, or some lucky girl has just run her greedy hands through it.
I swallow a sigh.
His eyes are alert, and when they land on me, his lips quirk in a dismissive smirk.
At least you’re here. A triumphant smile creeps onto my lips. You’re doing the play. You’re going to work with me, and you won’t be able to avoid me.
He ignores me after that one glance, speaking to Natalia and a few others until it’s time to enter the conference room. Then he strides past me and through the doors.
The buzz of voices intensifies as all the others go out. I’m the last to enter the conference room and as soon as I do, the noise intensifies and the flash of cameras nearly blind me.
There’s promotional art for the play everywhere, with a huge banner that reads, The Break of Day across the back of the stage. An intern leads me to my seat as someone addresses the press. After a few words, Natalia takes over, and her firm voice details the aims of the production and introduces the production team. I give a small wave when she says my name, stealing a glance at Aidan, who looks uninterested, bored even.
Natalia keeps talking and I can feel the hundreds of eyes on me. I’m the reason most of them are here—the entertainment network reporters and the tabloid magazines with their half-page art and theatre sections. They want to see what the Liz McKay brand is up to. They want to see the body language between me and Aidan and decide if there’s a story they can magnify.
The questions start with one for me. “Why did you pull out of your last project? Many of your fans were eager to see you in that role.”
“I’m sure my fans understand that I’m making the right decision for my career by choosing to work in an acclaimed play such as the Break of Day. It’s a powerful story that needs to be told and I’m honored to be given a chance to tell it.”
“But wouldn’t—”
“We would appreciate it if you kept your questions to issues relating to this play.” The interruption comes from Gary and I gave him a grateful smile.
For the next few minutes, the questions revolve around the play. Natalia answers a few about production schedules, previews and such. I focus on the timbre of Aidan’s voice while he talks about ensuring that this run of the Break of Day preserves the artistic integrity of the story.
“You choose your projects carefully. Why did The Break of Day appeal to you?” The question comes from a reporter from a lifestyle magazine.
“This play
is a seminal work with its exploration of grief, repressed emotions and catharsis. It demands that the audience question long-held beliefs about the expression of human emotion. It’s an important story, one that I feel honored to bring to the stage.”
His gaze swings in my direction, and I realize I’ve been staring at him. I turn away, wondering if everyone in the room saw the stark admiration on my face.
“Ms. McKay. Is your father involved in this play in any way?”
I exchanged a short glance with Natalia. “My father is retired,” I answer. “This production is entirely due to the hard work of Natalia Barrow.”
“There are rumors that you pulled out of your last movie project because your ex-fiancé Devlin Coates signed on to co-star.”
I feel the burn of Aidan’s gaze on my skin, and I let out a small laugh to buy time. “You have a fascinating imagination,” I tell the reporter, earning a few laughs. “Devlin and I are very good friends. In fact, we’ve been friends longer than we were engaged. I would have been glad to work with him, but doing this project is more important to me at this time.”
Despite my better judgement, I steal a glance at Aidan. His eyes hold mine for a fraction of a second, his withering contempt for me all too clear in their depths.
“Well, forgive my imagination,” the same reporter continues. “I’m curious. This is the second time you’re doing a play on Broadway. The first was the critically acclaimed Edge of Madness seven years ago, which Aidan Court also directed. Did the fact that you’re intimately familiar with the director factor into your deciding to work with him again?”
I don’t miss his emphasis, but I smile brightly. “Aidan is a very talented director. This play is lucky to have him and I’m glad to be in such good hands.”
Another reporter chimes in. “You pulled out of the Edge of Madness in the first month of the initial one-year run, leaving your stand-in to take over. Can you assure your audience that you won’t leave this play as abruptly as you left the last one?”
“As I said, this production is very important to me and I’ve learned the lessons about not fulfilling contracts.” There are a few laughs. “So…no, I won’t be leaving this play abruptly.”
