by Evie Claire
“After attorney fees, and a little set aside for Jamie, the balance will be donated anonymously to the Dylan Abbot Center.” His massaging stops. I raise my head off the back of the couch to look at him. He’s rubbing his fingers over his lips, caught off guard by my answer.
“Good,” he finally says, staring at my purple painted toenail. “Good for you. I can’t think of a more fitting place for that money to go.” He turns to me. “I’m proud of you. Giving it to Dylan’s center never would have crossed my mind.”
My chest swells over his praise, like I’ve reached some new level of adulting. I shrug and bite my lip. “It’s the least she can do.” I look away because even though the healing process has started, it’s still not over. In a way, Devon is mourning the loss of Dylan all over again. This time, at least, he knows it wasn’t his fault. “So what about you?”
“Tiny is hand delivering the tape to my offshore bank box today.” He begins rubbing again. “India is busily working on a PR plan. She thinks if I look contrite, heartbroken and miserable for five months, that should be long enough.”
“Long enough for what?” I’m on my phone wondering when Heather’s awful headlines will be plastered on my go-to gossip sites.
“Long enough to properly mourn the dissolution of HeaVon. Then...” He squeezes my foot and gets my attention. I look up from my phone. “She can start spinning stories that bring us together. She thinks it will take six to nine months before we can go public with everything. By then we’ll have three movies released and America will be begging for us to get together.”
My heart stutters in my chest. Us. Me and Devon replacing the awfulness of HeaVon. Is this really it? My Hollywood happily-ever-after plotted out by one of the city’s most devious PR minds? I’m so shocked I can do nothing but stare.
“That’s what you want, right?”
“It’s all I’ve wanted since you first took me to your island.”
He drops my feet and crawls down the length of the couch to take me in his arms. Our lips find each other. “I love you, Carly Klein. And I can’t wait to shout it from the rooftops.” The moment is blissfully perfect. Until he puts his hands on my belly. I flinch at the touch. “And that’s not all nine months will bring.”
“Does India know?” I ask him. “Does she have a miraculous solution for this problem, too?”
“First of all, it’s not a problem.” His look goes dead serious. “But no. I haven’t told her yet. She needs to deal with Heather first. Then I’ll tell her.”
I take a deep breath and push out of his arms. “That hurts my back,” I lie, making up an excuse he won’t fight. Of course he hasn’t told her. I don’t like India, but I’m certain my situation is something she and I would agree on. The fact that he hasn’t told her tells me that somewhere in the back of his mind he knows this can’t possibly happen, too. But I’m not arguing this point with him. Not today when everything else in my world is fucking roses.
“She wants me to disappear for a few weeks. Let stuff blow over. She suggested the island.”
“But we start filming in a few days.”
“I told her it wasn’t possible.” He sits up beside me, taking my hand. “She’s totally against it, but I’d like to stay here. With you.” He gives me a sideways look, judging my reaction.
“Of course you can stay.” I smile broadly at him, his request making it easy to forget my situation. “Nobody knows I’m living here. Maria’s name is on the deed and we certainly haven’t been neighborly.”
“I can come and go through the garage. It’s close to set. It’s perfect. India really doesn’t like it, but...”
“I really don’t like India.” I emphasize my dislike with a snarled lip. “I don’t trust her.”
“I believe her, Carly. She’s totally on board with us. She just wants time to make the transition smooth for everyone.”
“And what about Heather? Is she helping her out the door or slamming it her face?”
“India works for me. She’s no longer taking Heather’s calls.”
“Where is she?”
“Fuck if I know. Probably ransacking the Malibu house. She has to bring Angel to me next weekend. I’m sure that will be...eventful.”
I roll my eyes, sigh and lean into him. Unable to believe this is my life.
“So this is it then? Everything’s in place? We just sit back and watch it unfold?”
Devon nods and wraps me in his arms. “With popcorn. Watching Heather burn is going to be the best show in town.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Carly!”
“Miss Klein!”
“Carly, over here!”
“Have you talked to your costar?”
“Did he have any clue about Heather and Jamie?”
Twenty-four hours ago Hurricane HeaVon made landfall on American shores. Since then the entire tabloid-reading free world has devolved into DEFCON level Fuck. You’d think Elvis came to life and died again by the way people are reacting.
“Miss Klein!”
“Miss Klein!”
I smile as sweetly as I can for the crush of photographers, but say nothing. Stopping for autographs and candid shots with fans, I slowly work my way into the restaurant. Maria is lost somewhere in the crush, probably posing for pictures, too.
Brunch at The Ivy is the last thing I want to do. But it helps Devon, so I’m here. He’s gone into hiding now that the story is out. In order to avoid any speculation that we’re involved, I’m forced into the public eye. A place I loathe being. Especially on a day like today.
The paps are overly aggressive, yelling and screaming and waving at me from a white picket fence that marks their boundary. A doorman steps in to silence them. Devon was right...five million. The number brings a mischievous grin to my lips every time I think about it. That’s where Maxwell stopped the bidding so it would have time to go to press. TMI won the auction. They’re happier than a pig in shit, and rightfully so. Know who else is happy? The finance director for the Dylan Abbot Women’s Crisis Center.
These camera-wielding idiots have no idea. They’re clueless pawns in our plan to ruin Heather. The truth would probably implode their poor peon brains. I know that and I also know that Devon being linked to me right now would totally derail the PR plan India cooked up. But having to take orders from India is like driving flaming needles into my eyeballs. I don’t like her, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to put up with her.
I stumble into the doorway, catching myself on the hostess desk. Maria falls in behind me, wiping her brow and smoothing her hair.
“Klein, party of two.” I wiggle a couple fingers at a sleek brunette behind the desk.
“Of course, Miss Klein. We’re so happy to have you dining with us today. Right this way.” We’re whisked away to the best table in the house. India made the reservation. Then immediately called the hounds and let them know where I’d be to throw the scent off Devon. Sneaky bitch.
The restaurant is packed. Every eye follows us to our table. We’ve gone totally glam for brunch—full hair and makeup, dressed to the nines. We’re prepared for this level of scrutiny. Seated beside us is a family of three—mom, dad and a precious little girl who looks about four. The kid sits backward in her chair and sticks her tongue out at me. I repay the favor, crossing my eyes to show her how it’s really done. She bursts into giggles. I laugh, too, until I remember. My fabulous starlet façade slips into a heavy frown. I lean forward, hand on my forehead, trying to forget what lies in my future. Yesterday was bliss. Today totally blows.
Maria places a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it for support. She knows what I’m going through. I force a smile on my face and sit back, knowing someone is probably watching me. With all the Heather drama consuming my life for the past few days, it was easy to forget. Now that the major p
roblem in my life is solved, the other reality of my situation can no longer be ignored. My appointment is at 4 p.m. Maria’s going with me. Devon has no clue what I intend to do. But it’s the only answer I see.
We order salads and Maria launches into on-set stories from Valley General. Her addition to the cast has seen their ratings jump five points. That’s huge for daytime TV. Her bit part is morphing into a leading lady role. There are more than a few old-timers who now hate her. Who can blame them? She’s young, blonde, beautiful and everything they will never be again. I listen with half an ear.
The little girl keeps trying to get my attention. I give her a few small smiles, wanting to do more, but keenly aware of how volatile my emotions are these days. Every time I look her way she breaks into a snaggletooth grin. It makes a lump swell in my throat.
She’d have blond hair, navy eyes and be stubborn as hell.
I pale at the thought, knowing exactly who it is I’m thinking about. Chills race down me. Tears spring into my eyes. I look across the table to Maria, shaking my head.
“Carly,” she says with implied danger. Her eyes dart to my abdomen and back up. I follow them and find I’m tenderly embracing my bump like pregnant women do. I jerk my hand back to the table, knocking over a water glass in the process.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head, gritting my teeth to keep from crying.
“I’m so sorry. Is she bothering you?” the mother asks across her table, worried her daughter has caused my outburst.
“Oh, no. She’s fine. She’s adorable.” I dismiss the mother’s concern, but she moves her daughter anyway.
“I’ll have Jane cancel the appointment,” Maria whispers under her breath, taking her phone from the table.
“No, I mean I can’t do this. I can’t be here.” I’ve already posed for pictures. Now that the world has seen I’m not in Devon’s arms, that’s the only place I want to be. I need to feel him. I need to calm down and remember I’m doing this for us, because looking at the little angel one table over has given me some serious doubt. Doubt is dangerous.
“The driver’s meeting us at the back door.” Maria stands, closing her phone and offering a hand to help me up. I toss some money on the table the instant our food arrives.
“We’ve had something come up. I apologize.” I wave off an overly concerned waiter and make my exit.
* * *
The sound of my high heels rings through the foyer and down the marble-tiled hallway leading to the kitchen. I find Devon in his swimsuit, leaning over my breakfast bar reading a newspaper, coffee in hand. He stands when I come flying in.
“Sunshine!” he exclaims, raising an eyebrow at my glam appearance. He was meeting with India when I left. She hates that he’s gone into hiding at my house so much she has the Chateau Marmont penthouse booked under his name. He refuses to leave me. I crash into his outstretched arms, squeezing and holding him tightly. I never want to let him go. In his arms is the only place that ever feels totally right to me. “You look gorgeous, my love.” He hugs me back, but my grip is so intense he knows something’s up. “What’s wrong?” A mildly concerned kiss lands atop my head.
“The photogs were brutal.” Maria breezes into the kitchen on my heels, answering so I don’t have to lie.
“I bet,” Devon answers, pulling me closer and adding a slight rock to our embrace. “Hiding out is the easy job. Thanks for being the sacrificial lamb.”
“We didn’t even get to finish our lunch.” Maria pours us both a glass of water and sets mine on the counter.
“Are you hungry?” Devon asks, pulling away and looking down at me. His navy eyes have taken on a decidedly less burdened look since the whole Heather drama unfolded. They could seriously be the eighth wonder of the world.
“I’m always hungry.” I frown, poking out my burgeoning belly for effect. “And exhausted.”
“Tell you what...” His hair is still damp with pool water. “Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll bring you brunch in bed. What do you want?”
“Chocolate pancakes,” I say without even thinking about it.
“Chocolate pancakes?” he questions with a chuckle, eyeing the half-eaten plate of pancakes I left in the sink before we left for The Ivy. I nod against his chest. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I want the frozen pancakes with lots of butter and a handful of mini chocolate chips from the pantry.” I know this because I eat it at least twice a day. “And a banana,” I add. For dessert.
“You got it,” he says against my hair. His phone buzzes. He looks down at it. “Right after I take this call.”
My sex-god husband on foreign shores steps onto the porch, raising his phone to his ear. His muscles ripple and glisten in the sunshine reflecting off the infinity pool. At this moment, he looks more delicious than chocolate pancakes ever could be. Maria and I sigh longingly at the same time. She stands beside me, water in hand, licking her lips in a ravenous way. I slap her arm playfully. She giggles.
“I cannot believe you get to fuck him,” she says enviously. “Please tell me he sucks in the sack. Or that he has a small dick. Something. Anything. It’s not fair for someone to be that hot.” She continues to stare. Who can blame her? I’ve gotten used to his hotness, but I remember how it used to level me.
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug that isn’t. Maria smacks her lips and empties her water glass in the kitchen sink.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask when she slips her sunglasses on.
“I’m going to stay at Ryan’s for a few nights. Give y’all some privacy. I’m feeling like a third wheel here.” She picks up a set of keys and loops it over her thumb.
“But, I need you here.” I frown, knowing everything needs to appear as normal as possible in order to keep Devon hidden.
“Oh, I’ll still pop in. It won’t be obvious. How long does he think he’ll stay?” she asks, taking her vitamin bottles from a cabinet and dropping them into the bag.
“I’m not sure. We start filming the studio stuff Monday.”
“That’s cool,” she says, zipping the bag and tossing it over her shoulder.
“You’re coming this afternoon, right?” I ask with as little emotion as possible. Her face slackens. My stomach drops, fearing she’s about to back out. No way can I do this by myself. Not now.
“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbles. “Text me when you’re ready. I’ll pick you up.” The smile returns to her face, restoring a tiny shred of my confidence.
“Thanks.” We both know how much is unsaid in my words. Maria flashes a nervous look at Devon and then immediately back to me. She knows how against this he is, but she’s trying to be as supportive as she can. He finishes his call and returns to the kitchen. Scooping me up in his arms, he covers me in kisses.
“Get a room, you two!” she says, waving over her shoulder as she leaves.
“Who was that?” I ask, wondering what has put him in such a good mood.
“Ernest. My jet just departed the Burbank airport headed for Montreal. He said the paparazzi were swarming so badly they had to set up a police blockade to get people through!” He laughs.
“Who’s taking your plane to Canada?”
“No one. That’s why India’s such a genius. Everyone assumes I’m in Canada now. Every photog in the city will hound Heather.”
“God, she’s a total evil genius.” I marvel at India’s level of scheming, and for the first time feel like she is on our side.
“It’s happening, Sunshine. Everything’s going to work out. I can feel it.” His smile is blinding. “Now, about those pancakes. You get your sweet little ass in bed and I’ll be up shortly.”
“Yes, sir.” I pull away from him and stumble from the kitchen. I love this house, but damn if it isn’t inconvenient as hell when I’m exhausted. And all the stairs. Jeez. In my ol
d apartment I could make it from the kitchen to my bedroom in a nanosecond. Not here. I’ve got hallways and steps and more hallways. But I make it, dragging my tired ass up the last few steps with help from the railing.
My bedroom floor lies littered with the asshole clothes that refuse to button around my burgeoning belly. I would burn them all, but I’ll back to my normal size zero as soon as I stop eating for two. Ugh! Don’t think about it, Carly! I tap my hand on my forehead to distract myself.
I crawl into bed and find a Golden Girls rerun to watch until second breakfast arrives, feeling all sorts of Samwise Gamgee excited about yet another meal.
I’ve just changed into sweats and socks when my food arrives.
“Wardrobe is going to kill me,” I say, shoveling a bite into my mouth.
“They’d have to come through me first.” Devon shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. A move that flexes his impossible biceps. He wiggles his eyebrows and smiles.
“Seriously. Do you not see this?” I pull up my shirt to reveal the belly bursting from my sweatpants. “No way can I fit into all those corsets.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” he says, kneeling beside the bed and rubbing my belly like I’m the Buddha. I push his hand away and turn back to my pancakes.
“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. Prenatal vitamins sit in his palm. The guilt that creeps over me is paralyzing. But I take them and wash them down with orange juice he somehow knew I wanted. Silently, I finish my pancakes while he sits on the bed beside me watching Rose reminisce about St. Olaf. I finish and push the plate away.
“Good girl,” he says like I’m some kid who just ate her veggies. I know what he means—Good girl for eating enough to feed my baby growing inside you. Actresses are never praised for eating, let alone gaining weight. They’re lauded for being rail thin. For being able to live on coffee and air. Damn these hormones. I know he isn’t meaning anything by it, but his simple comment—his two little words—piss me off.
“Devon, how is this ever going to work?” I slap the plate away. It clatters to the floor. The fork flies across the room. I slump against the headboard so hard it shakes the bed and hide my bump under a pillow. He jumps to his feet, startled by my rage. Slowly, he looks from the spilled plate to me, his face full of that uncertain, wary look people get when their present company freaks the fuck out. He assesses the situation while biting his lip, bends to retrieve the plate and sits it safely on the bedside table. He says nothing, studying me through a cautious side-eye stare.
