by Wendy Wax
“You’re going to have to stir things up a bit, luv,” Nigel said as she slowed to a walk. “Or I’m going to have to move on. I’ve put my trust in you and you’ve let me down. I’ve got alimony and child support to pay.”
She blinked at the thought of Nigel Bracken as a father. “I’m pretty sure that’s not our responsibility,” she replied.
“Bloody hell it’s not!” the photographer retorted, his companion nodding in agreement. “Ours is a symbiotic relationship. You give us photo ops of something worth photographing and we bring you an audience.” He yawned theatrically. “Plus I’m nearly dying from the boredom.”
“Symbiotic is a serious stretch,” Kyra replied grimly. “More like parasitic. We don’t want an audience that’s looking for titillation.”
“All audiences are looking for titillation,” Bill said, taking a swipe at his very large, very sunburnt nose. “You and your mother are both dating celebrities and we haven’t had so much as a glimpse of either of them.”
“I am not dating Daniel,” Kyra said. “And I definitely don’t control his travel schedule.” Her grip tightened on the jogging stroller’s handlebar as she prepared to push around them.
The photographers snorted their disbelief. “Well, then maybe you’d like to flash a little something,” Nigel suggested. “You know, give us a bit of Girls Gone Wild?” He raised his camera into position as if that might actually happen.
“That would do it,” the other pap agreed amenably. “Just a little skin to keep the editor happy.”
“Gosh, why didn’t I think of that?” she asked, putting the heel of one palm to her forehead as if she’d just realized she could have had a V8. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t you wait right here while I take Dustin inside, you know, so he won’t have to see his mother stripping in public. Then I’ll take off all my clothes and come back out here so that you can take nude pictures of me. Will that work for you?”
Nigel’s mouth opened then closed.
“That would be great!” Bill exclaimed.
“Wait right here,” she said sweetly as she angled the stroller so that Dustin’s sleeping face was not photographable. “I’ll be back!” she called as she pushed past them. She kept the “just as soon as hell freezes over” to herself.
“There are worse things than having paparazzi wanting to take your photo,” Nikki observed when Kyra carried the still-drowsy Dustin inside and tucked him into the corner of the sofa.
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Having them leave because there’s nothing worth shooting.”
Kyra stared at her, nonplussed.
“I’m not saying you have to flash your boobs or anything. But as much as they are pond scum, Nigel has a point. I know Avery wants this to be a straight renovation show, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to raise all the money we’ll need or find a way to get it aired if no one even remembers who we are.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Nigel and his friend Bill are still waiting. If you think it will help, you can go on out and show them a little skin. Be sure and tell them I sent you.” She knew she needed to calm down, but the fact that she was the one who had to control herself just made her angrier. “I’m so sick of them. They are barnacles on the dock of life as far as I’m concerned. Someone needs to scrape them off. I am not going to be turned into a Kardashian.”
Kyra settled on the sofa with her laptop. As she checked the Do Over Facebook and Twitter pages, it was impossible to ignore the fact that the number of followers on both had leapt each time they’d had brushes with celebrity or disaster. Even her “designer wanted” post had picked up another five hundred Facebook fans. The shots of the “Deirdres” waiting in line for interviews had attracted even more.
Beside her, Dustin had curled into a tight ball, his breathing even, his thumb firmly planted in his mouth. She brushed a hand over his dark curls, studied his almost delicate features. He was so small and defenseless. So in need of her protection. And how would he fare when he got older and had to navigate on his own without her running interference, blocking unwanted camera lenses? Would he be comfortable with who he was and the circumstances of his birth? Or would he hold it against her?
Movement outside caught her eye. Still lost in thought, she watched the pool being cleaned. The pool guy wore a large straw hat that tied under his chin and a pair of dark glasses. His nose was covered in a thick stripe of zinc oxide. His T-shirt and swim trunks hung loose on his body as he vacuumed the bottom of the pool in long unhurried strokes, checked the filter, and added chemicals. He moved out of sight, presumably to inspect the pump.
A knock sounded on the kitchen door. She heard it open. Heard Nikki speaking to someone.
“The pool guy is here.” Nikki stood in the entrance to the salon.
“Um-hmmm,” she said, not bothering to look up.
“He needs to talk with you,” Nikki said. “Now.”
Kyra looked up in irritation, which fled when she saw the pool guy standing beside Nikki. He had removed the straw hat and dark glasses to reveal the dark curly hair, even darker heavily lashed eyes, and golden skin he’d bequeathed to her son. “Daniel.” Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of him, a response she told herself was simply the result of being taken by surprise.
His eyes rested on her face before moving to Dustin’s tightly curled body. “I thought I’d just pop in and see how you both were doing.” He moved toward them with animal grace, his smile devastatingly eager and boyish.
He bent over and pressed a kiss to Dustin’s tousled curls, then kissed her just as gently, the brush of his lips across hers reminding her of the first time he’d made love to her in his trailer on the set of her first—and last— major motion picture. When he’d kissed her as if she were something precious, as if all he’d cared about was making her happy. As if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. She had been so unbelievably naïve.
“Nice getup,” she said, nodding to the T-shirt with Perfect Pools lettered across it, the baggy board shorts. The stripe of zinc oxide still coated his nose and, she suspected, now dotted her cheek.
“Thanks. I have an hour before I have to return the truck.”
“I hope you checked the filter while you were out there. I think there’s something wrong with it.”
His brown eyes lit with amusement. They were eyes designed to get a woman into a bedroom and keep her there.
“And there are two paps waiting outside in hopes that you’ll make an appearance. Or for me to come out and flash them an interesting body part or two.”
“I’d rather you keep those body parts here,” he murmured.
“That’s my plan,” she said, reminding herself that she should not be showing those body parts to Daniel, either. “We’ve managed to bore the rest of them away. I think the last two are pretty close to giving up.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately paparazzi have to make a living, too,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.
“So Nigel told me. Apparently our dullness is wreaking havoc with his child support payments.”
“It is a dicey thing,” he replied. “We need each other to exist.”
“Please,” she said. “I beg you. Do not use the word ‘symbiotic.’”
He smiled. “Done. I’m ejecting it from my vocabulary.” Gently he lifted the still-sleeping Dustin into his lap, moved closer to Kyra, then settled him gently within the crook of one arm. A reminder that he was an experienced parent. That he had other children. And a wife. With whom he lived.
“The trick is not to make them go away, but to control the kind of coverage you get. And especially to get it when you want it,” he continued as he slipped his other arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, not giving her a chance to protest. As if she could have when she could feel that thing that bound them tingling and tightening. It was easy to be strong when Daniel Deranian was just a name i
n the headlines or a snippet in a movie trailer. In person he was more like catnip. Her own personal brand of kryptonite.
No. She might not be Superman but that didn’t mean she was going to roll over, either. She was not going to be his “bit” on the side. She’d told him this and she’d meant it. More importantly, she’d promised herself. She scooted away from him.
“Kyra, you can’t deny that we have pretty powerful chemistry together.”
“I didn’t do all that well in chemistry. But I remember that sometimes when the wrong things get mixed together they explode.”
He smiled at this and inched closer, careful not to wake Dustin. “You know I care about you. And our son. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“We’re not a package deal,” she insisted. “I know you love Dustin and I appreciate everything you’ve done for both of us. Having Bella Flora is, well, it’s huge. But it is complicated. You have a family and you’re married to Tonja.” If anything should have woken her up and ripped her out from under his spell, it was the mention of his vindictive movie star wife. Whom he’d repeatedly chosen over her.
She straightened and looked him in the eye. “I refuse to be someone you sleep with now and then.”
“I’d like to sleep with you a lot more often than that.” His tone was teasing, his eyes admiring. “I care about you, Kyra. I love being with you in every possible way. That’s the best I can do.”
Somehow, while she was all tangled up in the word “love” and the look in his eyes, he’d gotten close enough to nibble on her earlobe. His warm breath on her neck made her skin prickle with pleasure. Of its own volition her body began to strain toward his. Her eyes fluttered shut as she searched for the strength to resist him even as her head turned so that her lips could reach his. It was possible that the word “irresistible” had been created to define him.
“I am not going to sleep with you,” she said hoarsely. “I’m not.”
“I know.” The kiss was devastatingly sweet and deceptively earnest.
Once again she felt herself surrendering. “No!” She pulled back, squared her shoulders. But the truth was if her protest hadn’t woken Dustin, Daniel could very well have kissed his way to “yes.”
“Dundell!” Dustin said happily, not questioning his father’s arrival any more than he would question his departure.
“Dustbin!” Daniel replied equally happily, using the name Dustin had applied to himself when he’d first begun to talk. With a mischievous wink he slid his arm around Kyra’s shoulders and pulled her tight against him.
And so she sat with Daniel’s arm around her, their son sprawled across both their laps, smiling at their shenanigans. To all appearances they might have been a happy family roughhousing on the family couch. But though they were in fact bound together they were none of those things. And if she were going to protect her son, she’d better not let herself forget it.
Nikki came out of the kitchen to the sound of Dustin’s giggles. Pausing to peek into the salon, her eyes were drawn to the sofa where Daniel, Dustin, and Kyra were knotted together in what appeared to be some sort of tickle fest. They were so tightly intertwined that it was impossible to tell where one body began and another ended. Despite the occasional mock growl or protest, their laughter was joyous. Though she knew the truth, to all appearances they might have been any happy young family delighting in each other’s company.
The image sliced through her. This was exactly what Joe Giraldi wanted, what he deserved.
She turned away from the merriment. She hadn’t had so much as a text from Joe since his presentation to Annelise. She’d agonized over whether to call and apologize. Whether to tell him how much she loved him. Whether to beg for another chance. Only nothing had changed. Including her inability to marry him and saddle him with a wife who did not have the courage to do whatever it took to start a family at this late date.
She moved slowly, her limbs heavy as if wrapped in a wool blanket she couldn’t shrug off. It took eons to reach the back stairs, another millennia to drag herself up them. At the bathroom sink she splashed cold water on her face, then stared into the mirror at her ashen skin, the dull mossiness of her eyes. As if all the color had been leached from her. And not just on the outside.
Get a grip. She hated people who got all melodramatic and needy when things went wrong. She loved Joe and she loved being with him. But she didn’t need him. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to get all weak and weepy because he’d finally taken her at her word and moved on.
Bereft and alone, she walked slowly to her bedroom, where she closed the blinds to blot out the bright yellow sunshine and the soft blue sky. Then she pulled back the bedcovers and slid between the sheets, closing her eyes against the insistent prick of tears. Could I be any more pathetic? Her answer came as the first tears escaped and began to fall, dampening her cheeks, then building to an uncontrollable deluge. That answer was a resounding, soul-shattering, Yes!
Chapter Seventeen
Like the rest of her, Bella Flora’s doorbell was not easily ignored. It chimed loudly, echoing through the foyer, up the front stairs, and down the central hallway. You might choose not to answer, but it was virtually impossible to pretend you hadn’t heard it.
Maddie stood at the sink, her hands in soapy dishwater. Swiping at a stray hair with her shoulder, she waited for Nikki to get it.
The doorbell rang again. Which meant Nikki was probably once again doing her imitation of Sleeping Beauty. Something she’d been doing daily since they’d started the cleanup of the Sunshine Hotel, though Maddie was pretty sure her exhaustion, and accompanying sleep-a-thon, had more to do with Joe Giraldi’s absence than the heavy lifting and cleaning they’d been doing.
Grabbing a dishtowel, she headed to the foyer, where she used a still-soapy hand to pull open the door. At the sight of her ex-husband she froze, her hands clutching the damp towel, a soap bubble on her right cheek. However disheveled she might be, Steve looked worse.
Steve Singer was still tall and thin but his shoulders were more stooped than she remembered. The face she’d once found so handsome had turned pasty. His hair was more salt than pepper and was in dire need of cutting. The gray eyes that stared back were wary and underlined by dark circles.
“Hi, Maddie.”
“What are you doing here?” She leaned to the side in an attempt to see around him. “Is Andrew with you?” Their son was a student at Georgia State, where he’d been forced to transfer from Vanderbilt after their savings and pretty much everything else had been lost to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme.
“Nope. It’s just me.” He looked at her expectantly. “Is Kyra here?”
She looked back. “Is she expecting you?”
“Not exactly.” He shifted uneasily from one foot to another. “But as I understand it the house does belong to her and my grandson. And I do have an open invitation.”
Maddie may have made a face. Or it could have just been an attempt to keep the soap bubble from slipping toward her mouth. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas when they’d spent an excruciatingly long three days being polite to each other, an ordeal she’d assumed she wouldn’t have to repeat until the following Thanksgiving, which also happened to be Dustin’s birthday.
“Are you planning to let me in?”
She wished she could say “no” and simply close the door in his face. Reluctantly, she took a step back to allow him to enter. With the dishtowel wadded in her hands she turned toward the stairs. “Kyra! You have—”
“Shhhh!” Kyra appeared at the top of the stairs. “I just got Dustin into bed and . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Dad! What are you doing here?” She came down quickly. Unlike Maddie, she hugged her father and accepted his kiss on the cheek.
“Do I need a reason to visit?” he asked, smiling too brightly.
“No, of course not,” Kyra said. “I just didn’t real
ize you had vacation time. I thought you’d be at work.”
“I’ve taken a little time off,” he said, his smile slipping a notch. “To regroup.”
Steve had been either lying on a couch unable to get up or “regrouping” since their life had fallen apart and Maddie had been forced to step up and take over. It was not the loss of their things that had ended their quarter-of-a-century marriage, but Steve’s loss of himself and his inability to forgive her for finding the strength to do what he could not.
“How long are you planning to stay?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t really know,” he said, attempting a casual shrug. Turning to Kyra, he asked, “Is there a bed available?”
“Yes, of course,” Kyra replied quickly. “The pool house is empty.”
They stood looking awkwardly at each other.
“Do you need help with your suitcase?” Kyra asked. “I was planning to edit a little video and have an early night, but I can . . .”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll get my things out of the car and take them around back.”
Since Steve had reminded her that she was not the hostess and her divorce papers confirmed that she was not responsible for feeding or caring for him, Maddie turned and walked back toward the kitchen.
“There’s probably some snacks and cold drinks in the pool house, Dad,” Kyra said. “Dustin will be so excited to see you. Are you sure you don’t mind if we catch up in the morning?”
“No problem,” he replied in a tone that had always indicated there was, in fact, a problem. “Just tell me what time breakfast is served and I’ll be there all bright-eyed and bushy tailed.”
It took every ounce of willpower Maddie possessed not to turn and tell Steve exactly when he might find breakfast and where he could then shove it. She smiled tightly to herself when Kyra stopped climbing the stairs to say, “Oh, we don’t have a formal breakfast, Dad. Everyone just kind of helps themselves. We’re going to head over to the job site around nine tomorrow morning. Dustin and I will come wake you at eight.”
