by Serena Grey
The next question is directed at Aidan. “Where do you see this play fitting into your impressive body of work?”
He answers the question, not bothering to mask the boredom in his voice.
“Do you have any concerns about working with Liz McKay?”
There’s a pause. “Is that a complete question?” Aidan’s voice is stinging and I can hear his irritation. “What exactly are you asking?”
“I mean it’s common knowledge that you have a romantic history. Is that a concern for either of you seeing as you will work closely together, and can we assume there is substance to the rumors of a reconciliation?”
Aidan’s jaw hardens. I fully expect him to announce his distaste for me in front of the world. Desperation churns my belly.
Leaning toward my mic, I start to talk almost without thinking. “You know, I was very young when I left New York and Broadway. I loved Aidan then, and I loved his work. I still admire him…I admire his work and I still love him. Seven years ago, I didn’t deal with the situation I found myself as well as I should have, but now I’m determined to give us another chance and to do better.”
The questions explode.
“What does that mean?”
“Does that mean the rumors are true?”
“Are you two together?”
Aidan is glaring at me. If eyes could kill, I’d be a shriveled husk six feet underground. I jerk back from the mic, as if it was somehow to blame for my impulsive word vomit. Regret drowns out the certainty I felt only moments before.
Why had I thought he’d see my words as a public apology, a public declaration that I wasn’t unaware of how badly I’d acted seven years ago, of how inconsiderate I’d been of what we had, of how desperate I am now to make him understand?
At that moment, it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in anything I have to say. He looks royally pissed. When he speaks, his voice is tight with suppressed anger.
“Gentlemen, and ladies… We have a play to produce and I promise that like professionals…” He gives me a withering glance, as if to say that I don’t belong in that group. “…We won’t let personal feelings and histories get in the way of doing the best job we can.”
He rises, as if, as far as he’s concerned, the briefing is over. Then he turns his back on the rest of us and walks out of the room.
Chapter Nineteen
Aidan
I take the subway, as if hurtling through underground tunnels surrounded by an eclectic mix of people would somehow clear the thought of Liz from my head.
It doesn’t.
When I emerge from the train, I watch a man wearing a coat at least two sizes too large playing passable music on an old violin. I place a few dollar bills in the hat in front of his boots and keep walking.
I still love him.
Fuck her!
“You don’t get to come back into my life and say things like that,” I mutter under my breath.
Why couldn’t she just stay away?
I still love him.
My soul is stirring with uncontrollable emotions and I hate it. I hate that beneath my anger, there’s still hope, hope that we can make it work.
There’s also fear, and the certainty that she will wreck me again, just like she did before.
As soon as I emerge into daylight, the first thing I see is Liz looking down at me from a jewelry ad covering the two-story windows of a large department store. Her shoulders are bare, a half-smile plays on her full lips, and her hair is expertly disheveled. I stare, hating her almost as much as I want her.
It’s always a game with her. She drops her little cues and watches as everyone scrambles, and yes, I’m scrambling. She has ensured that I’ll spend the next few months unable to think of anything but what she said.
I still love him.
God! I hate her.
I really do. As much as it’s possible to hate her and yet know deep down that there’ll never be anyone else like her for me. Never.
It’s a sad thing to know for sure at my age.
I reach the Swanson Court hotel and nod a greeting at the doormen before walking into the familiar lobby. It has changed little since I was a child, but it still looks impeccable. Landon is a perfectionist with his properties, especially this one, the flagship hotel.
In the penthouse, the elevator deposits me in the foyer. Rachel redecorated a few years ago, and the spacious entrance is warm and welcoming. From the foyer, a carved metal door leads to the rest of the apartment. It’s one of the extra security measures Landon added after the horrible attack that almost took their lives seven years ago.
It takes a few moments before Esmeralda, the housekeeper, unlocks the door.
“Mister Aidan!” She sounds delighted. “Is so good to see you.”
“You too, Esme.” I grin and hand her a box of sweets I got from the gift shop downstairs. She loves them. “You look beautiful today. Is it the hair? Did you do something to your hair?”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “No! It’s the same!”
“Impossible!”
“Uncle Aidaaaaaaan!” I hear the scream from the top of the stairs a moment before two small bodies fling themselves at me with the speed and strength of high-velocity projectiles.
“Uncle Aidan!” Preston repeats, hanging unto my neck with his tiny arms. He’s the oldest of the two boys, a little over six years old and the exact image of his father.
I puff under their weight. “How are my boys?”
“We’re bored,” Preston proclaims.
“Will you take us to see the zebras in the park?” Damien lisps imploringly. He’s a sweet-faced boy who looks more like his mother than Landon.
“Of course,” I reply, placing them on their feet and tousling their hair. “That’s why I’m here. Where’s Miss. P?”
Damien giggles at the nickname for his baby sister. “She’s not Miss. P,” he corrects me. “She’s Penelope, and she’s sleeping. She’s always sleeping.”
“And crying,” Preston adds matter-of-factly.
“And eating,” Damien says, not to be outdone.
“And trying to talk like this,” Preston mimics baby noises and both boys double over.
“I remember when you only knew how to talk like that. You weren’t so smug then.”
“What’s smug?”
“It means when you think you’re perfect.”
“I think you’re perfect, Uncle Aidan,” Damien tells me, coming closer for another hug.
“Awww.” I kiss the top of his head. “But I’m not. Not really. Where’s your mother?”
“I’m here.” Rachel is coming down the stairs. There’s a small white Labrador under one arm who starts barking enthusiastically and squirming once he sees the boys. “Look who it is,” she says with a smile, setting the dog down once she reaches the bottom of the stairs. “We’ve missed you around here.”
“Work.” I explain, going to hug her while the boys roll around on the carpet with Scribbles, the dog.
“I know.” She studies my face, concern etched on her features. Apparently, Landon’s penchant for worrying about me is contagious. “I’ve seen some of the press about your new play.”
My mouth twists. “You can say her name.”
She sighs. “I read that Liz signed on to star. Are you okay with that?”
I know she is thinking about the day I discovered that Liz was gone. I’d come here, looking for my brother, and I’d found Rachel. She’d been pregnant, tired, and still recovering from the attempt on her life, but she held me while I cried my eyes out, unable to pretend that I wasn’t devastated.
I shrug the painful memory away. “At this point, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Nothing you can do about what?”
I turn at the sound of Landon’s voice as he enters the living room, casual in a t-shirt and lounge pants. The children run to him and he picks them up, carefully avoiding the dog running circles around his feet.
“Hey, bro,�
�� I grin. “Good to see you slumming it in sweats like the rest of us mortals.”
He laughs. “I am working, though. Just doing it from home.” He sets the boys on their feet before pulling me in for a hug. “What’s going on? Are there problems with the play?”
I almost start complaining about Liz, but I stop myself. Landon has spent most of his life taking care of me and making my problems his. I’ve worked for years to change that dynamic, especially now that he has a young family of his own.
“There’s no problem, really.”
“Only that Liz is starring in the new play.” Rachel gives him a pointed look.
“Liz?” Landon frowns. “Liz McKay?”
Rachel nods. Landon turns to me and I shrug like it’s not a big deal.
“That’s…” Landon looks from me to Rachel. “…potentially awkward. I thought she was doing movies.”
“Who’s Lis Macray?” Damien pipes up.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Preston asks, tugging at my sleeve.
The innocent question causes an unexpected tugging in my chest. “No,” I reply firmly. “No, she’s not.”
“Uncle Aidan is working with her on a new play,” Rachel explains to the boys, before shooing them upstairs to join their nanny and the baby in the nursery.
After they finally leave, very reluctantly, I collapse into an armchair.
“So,” Rachel prompts. “What will you do?”
“Nothing.” I meet Landon’s concerned gaze. “I get that you guys are worried, but this is not seven years ago. I’m not going to descend into a spiral of misery and depression just because of a girl.”
“Not just any girl,” Rachel amends. “It’s Liz. Have you seen her? Spoken to her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I still love him. “And…Nothing. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s only a few months at the most.” Landon shrugs. “Seven years is a long time. You’ve both grown a lot since then… and moved on.”
Except I haven’t moved on. I still want Liz. I’m still mourning the loss of what we had…what we could have had, and sometimes the pain is enough to make me want to scream at the sky in frustration.
Rachel is looking at me, almost as if she can read my thoughts. “Maybe at least there’ll be some closure.”
The idea is tempting, too tempting. I shake my head. “Closure is just another name for letting someone back into your life to reopen old wounds because you can’t bear to let go.”
“I disagree.” Landon hands me a drink. “But closure isn’t necessary when you’ve both moved on.”
“They haven’t…” Rachel sighs. “Men,” she mutters under her breath. “Aidan—”
I rise from the armchair, shaking my head. “I’m done talking about her for today. Now, I’m going to see my niece, and then I’m taking my nephews out for sunshine and ice-cream.”
“Please.” Rachel accepts at once. “They’re driving me crazy with their energy.”
I reach the top of the stairs before I hear Landon’s voice. He’s talking to Rachel. “You don’t think he can handle it? It’s been years. He got over her a long time ago.”
Rachel’s reply is low but heated. “Except he didn’t.” She snorts. “You men are so blind it’s a miracle that you can find your way around.”
Landon chuckles. “I have you to show me the way.”
She giggles. “Aren’t you lucky?”
Done eavesdropping, I make my way to the nursery, cooing at little Penelope in her crib before taking the boys out. I need all my energy to keep up with them, even with their nanny helping. And yet, through it all, somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s Liz, whispering over and over again.
I still love him.
Chapter Twenty
Liz
“What were you thinking?” Fiona exclaims, handing me a margarita. We’re in the kitchen of the lovely Brooklyn townhouse she shares with her husband Lionel and her four-year-old daughter, Lily.
“I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“Not even a tiny little let-me-shake-things-up bit?” She raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“No!” I place my hands over my face, remembering Aidan’s fury at the presser.
“That was some stunt,” Natalia had said afterward. “That’ll generate even more buzz, but Aidan is livid. Did you think about that? His reaction?”
I hadn’t expected him to be so mad, that was for sure.
Fiona is still looking at me, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe…a little,” I concede. “I thought…I wanted to stop him from telling everyone how little he thinks of me, but yeah, a small part of me also hoped that hearing me say I still cared…”
“That it would soften him a little? Make him more amenable to give audience to the woman who tore out his heart and left him bleeding?”
I sigh. No matter how everyone else in the world treats me, I can always count on Fiona to tell me what she really thinks. “If you don’t think he can forgive me, then maybe there’s no point.”
Fiona refills my drink. “Maybe his anger is just a mask and he hasn’t gotten over you, but you should think carefully before making any public statements about you two.” She seems determined not to coddle me and even though it hurts, I appreciate it. “It’s not all about you and what you want. If he’s so important to you, then you should also think of what he wants and what he deserves.”
I swallow. “Something or someone better than me?”
“Of course not.” Her face softens. “You, but…more considerate of his feelings.”
I take a sip of my drink then place the glass on the counter and stare at my fingers. She’s right. I’ve been so focused on the fact that I want Aidan to forgive me. I assumed that if he loved me before, he can and will love me again.
Is that too arrogant? The assumption that because the whole world loves me, he’ll love me too.
It probably is. It’s also selfish.
You are cruel, Liz. You are selfish and cruel, and the only person who has ever mattered to you is yourself.
Aidan’s sneering words are like a whiplash in my memories. “How’s your new book coming along?” I ask Fiona, changing the subject.
She grins. “The plot is still secret, and I’m not sharing, but my hero is such a delicious hunk of alpha goodness...”
I spend the rest of the evening badgering her for details about her latest novel, then Lionel returns with Lily from her ballet class and we have dinner together.
Later, in my apartment, I consider Fiona’s advice.
It’s not all about me and what I want.
So, what does Aidan want?
And how can I do my best to give it to him?
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the table read for The Break of Day.”
The stage manager, Reed Dyker makes the announcement with a flourish then stands grinning as we all clap.
“Okay,” he continues after the applause. “First, introductions, and then we get on to familiarizing ourselves with our roles and characters. As most of you already know…” He gestures toward where Aidan is seated with a brooding smile on his face. “This is our director, Aidan Court.”
There’s more clapping. Aidan smiles tightly and lifts one hand in something that barely passes for a wave.
“He’s so cute,” I hear someone whisper from a few seats to my right.
As if a word like cute can ever describe just how amazing he is. He is talented, dynamic, extraordinary, unbelievably beautiful… And even without the aid of my memories, my body still reacts to him with barely contained lust.
He keeps his eyes on whatever he’s reading, not looking up even when I introduce myself and earn a few laughs from the rest of the cast.
The whole world already knows who you are, Liz.
After the introductions, we discuss for a while, then read our parts. The atmosphere is relaxed, and it would be fun if I were not so acutely aware of Aidan, and if he wasn’t so int
ent on ignoring me.
I didn’t lie, Aidan. I still love you.
As the reading progresses, I keep my gaze on him. Surely, he can’t really be so immune to the memories of the past?
Look at me, I urge silently, but his eyes stay on the pages in front of him.
Almost as if I don’t exist.
Suddenly he looks up and our eyes meet. He looked bored, his face impassive, but my body jolts, thrilling like an excited puppy.
“Liz.” He says my name drily, without inflection.
“Yes?”
He frowns, and then I notice that everybody else seems to be waiting for me. Aidan’s expression curls with unconcealed contempt.
“Your line, Liz.”
Someone giggles, and I swallow, feeling stupid and unprofessional. I say the line from my head, holding his disdainful gaze with a steady one of my own.
With a curl of his lips, he turns away.
Pushing aside my embarrassment, I continue with the rest of the reading. Fine. Let him go out of his way to show me he still hates me for what I did to him.
If only he knew.
He can’t possibly hate me more than I hate myself.
He can’t possibly punish me more than I punished myself these last seven years, knowing that I threw away the best thing that ever happen to me.
After the session, Aidan doesn’t wait to chat. He picks up his notes and strides out of the rehearsal space. Gathering my things, I hurry after him.
At the door to his office, he turns around and sees me trying to catch up. His face hardens.
“Wait…” I reach him before he can close the door. Thankfully, he doesn’t slam it in my face and break my nose.
“What do you want now?”
“To apologize?”
“For what? Your behavior at the presser? Your presence here? Your actions seven years ago?” His laugh is bitter and mocking. “I don’t have the kind of time it would take for you to attempt a decent apology.”
