Risky Return

by Nicole Helm

  “You’ll make very excellent arm candy,” she said in a scratchy voice that didn’t match the lightness she was trying to accomplish. “But…”

  He pressed his forehead to hers, that old gesture. Love. God.

  “I should have tried it your way before I bulldozed ahead. I should have considered other people’s opinions, not just mine.” He winced a little at that. “And I’ll try to bend more often—not always—but more often. Because I’ll always love you, too, and if we feel the same after ten years apart, after blackmail and threats, what could possibly change that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Damn right nothing. So, I’m here. And instead of assuming you want me in your life, instead of assuming what you want, I’m offering. I’m offering a life with me, wherever that is, however it works. No threats. No blackmail. I just want to be with you. Not your way or mine, but ours. That’s number one on my list.”

  Celia swallowed down the tears threatening to choke her. “That’s number one on my list, too.”

  He grinned, wound his arms around her waist, and pulled her closer. Celia leaned her head against his chest. She closed her eyes, soaking in the moment. This was right. Absolutely right. “I just want to come home to you, Ryan. That’s what I want. Wherever home is.”

  He tilted her head to his, finally touching his mouth to hers. It was tentative, searching, but she melted into it. Exactly what she wanted.

  “That’s what I want, too, Cee.”

  It seemed crazy to think they’d both finally get what they wanted. Scary to believe it could be, but too good not to work for.

  …

  By the time they finally entered the party, Ryan was pretty sure he was half-blind from the camera flashes. Combined with the smell of heavy perfume and cologne that coated the room like a fog, his head spun.

  But Celia’s arm was around his waist, and his arm was around her shoulders, and even if everyone was staring, whispering, well, he had her. And he’d do whatever it took to keep her.

  “How you holding up? You’re looking a little…freaked.”

  Ryan squared his shoulders. “I am not remotely freaked.” So he was surrounded by cameras and famous people? They were just people.

  Celia chuckled, waving to some woman in a bright-red dress.

  “Is that…”

  “Yes. And if you tell me you have that idiotic magazine with her naked on the cover, I’ll throw you to the wolves right here and now.” She spoke with a bright Hollywood smile on her face. And then she pinched him under his arm.

  “Hey! I don’t have it.”

  “Liam!” Celia planted kisses on either cheek of some actor with big muscles and a grizzly beard. “Darling, how are you?”

  “Fabulous. But what about you? All these things about your nasty childhood. I was just shocked to hear about it. And the word ‘murder’ being bandied about. My God. Absolutely—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Devoire. I need to speak with Celia for a moment.” Aubrey barged right in, effectively cutting off the guy’s diatribe about Celia’s shocking childhood.

  Dickwad.

  “Thanks,” Celia mouthed to Aubrey, looking around the room.

  “All right. Do the rounds. Kiss cheeks. Shake hands. You’re not a sweater, are you, Ryan?”

  “What?”

  “Ignore her,” Celia said, giving his arm a squeeze.

  “If you get enough people schmoozed and commenting on how happy and wonderful you look together in the next forty-five minutes, I’ll whisk you two out early. Got it?”

  Celia nodded, but Ryan scowled. “She going to orchestrate the rest of our lives, too?” He tried to ignore the extreme discomfort he felt. The tuxedo. The people, many of whom he’d seen on TV or in movies—it was all very overwhelming. But it was about to be his life. At least part of his life.

  “Damn right I am,” Aubrey returned.

  “It’s a lot to get used to,” Celia whispered into his ear, grinning.

  “I’ll manage,” he whispered back. He would, because she hadn’t let him go since she’d first touched him. She hadn’t stopped smiling. She was happy, and he was going to work to keep her happy. “For the record, I am not a sweater.”

  Celia laughed, then reached up and kissed him, and kept kissing him, despite Aubrey’s hissing at her to stop.

  Definitely worth getting used to.

  Epilogue

  Ryan glanced around the small crowd of people populating the hangar. Celia’s ever-present entourage, the film crew of Celebrity Air.

  But no Nate and Vivvy.

  “I can’t believe they’re late,” Celia lamented, pacing the hangar that had been transformed into a screening room.

  “He said they’d be here.”

  “They have five minutes before it starts,” she grumbled, plopping into one of the folding chairs set up for the screening of Celebrity Air’s pilot.

  Ryan took the seat next to her and she rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed her hair, because he could. It was still a little weird, months later. A good weird, but jarring nonetheless, to feel her next to him and know she was here. To stay.

  One of these days he’d get used to the entourage that came along with her, and Aubrey sending him death stares.

  Mandy, Celia’s perky assistant, clapped to get everyone’s attention. “The show is about to start, guys. Grab a seat.”

  “So how’d you manage to keep the paparazzi away?”

  “Aubrey’s brilliant.”

  Aubrey scowled over at them from her seat at the end of the row. “First, compliments will get you nowhere as long as I’m on Kansas soil. Second, why don’t you two get a room?”

  “I like the room idea,” Ryan whispered into Celia’s ear. “Considering you’re going to be in Toronto for the next three months, this is really low on my list of things to do with you tonight. Really, really low.”

  “I know, but it’s only an hour or two. Besides, if you’re a good boy you’ll be amply rewarded.” She kissed his chin, running fingertips back and forth over his neck. “Amply rewarded” he could definitely get behind.

  The small door from hangar to office opened and Vivvy and Nate rushed in, laughing breathlessly.

  “Did we miss it?” Vivvy asked, shedding her coat and heading for a seat next to Celia.

  “Two minutes to spare. What happened to you two?”

  Nate grinned. “We got a little sidetracked.”

  “TMI, bro.”

  Nate patted Ryan’s shoulder before sliding into the seat next to Vivvy. “We got married.”

  “Huh?”

  “We were a few hours from Vegas and figured might as well.”

  Celia did a girly squeal and gave Vivvy, then Nate, a fierce hug. “Congratulations! Please tell me it was an Elvis impersonator, because that’s really the only way to get married in Vegas.”

  “No. No Elvis.” Vivvy leaned her head against Nate’s shoulder and smiled up at him. “It was nice.”

  “Married, huh?” Ryan rubbed a palm to his forehead.

  “Yeah. That give you two the willies or ideas?”

  Ryan scowled at him. “Neither.”

  “We’re still legally married anyway,” Celia said with the wave of her hand. “Now shh.”

  The show started, but Ryan didn’t look at the screen they’d set up. He watched Celia. They’d agreed to let the marriage stand as it was and reevaluate once they figured out if their lives really could mesh.

  And hadn’t they come to the conclusion that they did? That this worked, even if it meant his going to LA for weeks at a time, or her staying in Kansas when she could, or even her filming somewhere far away? It had worked for months now. With the truth out, neither of their parents posed any kind of threat, and everything had gone mostly smoothly.

  Maybe it was time to revisit the whole marriage thing.

  He turned his attention to the show. It was weird to see Harrington as someone else might. He doubted most people could understand the hard work that went
into this place, what it meant to him and Nate.

  But there they were on the screen and he could almost pretend they were all different people. He felt like a different person from the stiff guy who had to use every ounce of energy just to manage a smile in front of the camera. The guy who couldn’t have imagined this outcome.

  When the show was over, everyone wanted to talk, mainly to Celia, which would be fine with Ryan if his time with her weren’t ticking down. If he weren’t thinking that maybe…their decade-old marriage couldn’t be something more now.

  Nate and Vivvy sneaked off, leaving Ryan and Celia to clean up with the help of Celia’s staff and the TV production staff.

  “I guess it was kind of interesting,” Aubrey conceded reluctantly. She let out a lengthy, belabored sigh. “If you guys want to head off, I’ll oversee the cleanup.”

  Celia grinned. “You’re the best, Aubrey.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

  Celia grabbed Ryan’s hand and he gladly followed her out of the hangar toward the parking lot. He’d gotten used to having her around after he’d spent a few weeks in LA. Eating dinner together, waking up together.

  Now he’d go back to the being alone for the next few months while she filmed her movie in Toronto and he finished filming the rest of Celebrity Air season one. He didn’t love the idea of being apart, but they’d both be following those separate things they wanted to pursue. And they’d always come back to each other.

  Ryan stopped before they reached the car, so they were between the office and parking lot, hidden in the dark fall night. There was a glow from the front office light so he could make out her face, but the rest of the world was black around them.

  She had to leave. That was a given, but it didn’t mean she had to leave without a little something more permanent to bring her home.

  “So what do you think about the whole marriage thing?”

  “Nate and Vivvy? I think it’s great.” She smiled up at him. “They’re great together.”

  “I meant…marriage in general.”

  “Marriage in…” She trailed off, swallowed. “You mean us?”

  “A long time ago I assumed you wanted to marry me. This time I’m making sure we’re on the same page.”

  She looked at the ground and wrinkled her nose. “That’s a terrible proposal, and besides, we are married.” When she looked back at him, she was failing miserably at hiding a smile.

  “I wouldn’t mind saying ‘I do’ all over again. But if you want to leave things as is, that’s fine with me.”

  She bit her lip, moved against him so they were chest to chest, legs to legs. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Well, a white dress for starters.” His lips curved into a grin and he moved his arms around her waist.

  “I’m not sure white is your color.” She wound her arms around his neck.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “How about this? Cee, will you marry me…again? A real wedding this time. With the people who love us there to be a part of it. With you and me and a promise that even a clergy mix-up can’t screw up this time.”

  “And a buttload of paparazzi?”

  “If you want.”

  “Hmm,” she said, pressing her lips together. “Who are you asking? CeeCee or Celia?”

  She was pulling his chain, but he also knew the question meant something to her, and really, it meant something to him too. “I’m asking the woman in front of me. I’m asking you. I love you. I always have. No matter what name you go by.”

  “Well, that’s nice.” Her tone was flippant, but then she sniffled. “Really nice. So, I guess my answer is yes.”

  “You guess?”

  She chuckled. “It’s going to be a press shitstorm.”

  “You know what I always dreamed of? My bride-to-be talking about shitstorms after I proposed.”

  Celia laughed, and he leaned his forehead to hers. This was real. Ten years after everything had blown up, they’d stitched the pieces back together. It would work this time. He had no doubt.

  “It’s going to be crazy. Paparazzi. Tabloids.”

  “I’ve gotten used to that.”

  “Once the press knows that we’re already married… We’ll have to get more security, even here. It really will be worse than it has been.”

  “I’ll get used to worse. Besides, isn’t Aubrey around to deal with that sort of thing?”

  Celia fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “People are going to call you Mr. Celia Grant. Worse than the terrible Rylia that’s making the rounds right now.”

  Ryan snorted. “I’ll deal.”

  Her expression softened, turned more somber. “Hollywood marriages aren’t known for lasting. It requires so much trust and compromise and… It’ll be a lot of work to make it last…forever.”

  Ryan traced the corner of her mouth with his thumb. She was right—it wouldn’t be easy, but they’d found a way here, and he had to think anything was possible. “I’ll risk it, if you will.”

  She pressed her lips to his. “I will.”

  About the Author

  Nicole Helm grew up with her nose in a book and a dream of becoming a writer. Luckily, after a few failed career choices, a husband, and two kids, she gets to pursue that dream.

  Nicole lives in Missouri with her husband and two sons, and writes her novels one baby’s nap at a time. She’s slightly (okay, totally) addicted to Twitter (@nicolethelm), loves watching the St. Louis Cardinals, and her dream is to someday own a barn.

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