Right or wrong, Ivy would find out one way or another.
Chapter 21
Blake was standing on the arrivals curb at LAX the next afternoon, armed with nothing but determination and a small bag of clothes. But as he moved through the cab line, he realized he had missed a critical detail: he had no idea where Ivy lived. He didn’t think “somewhere in Malibu overlooking the ocean” would cut it.
He’d tried calling her parents, but they were both at work and neither was answering their phone. He could probably try to track down her manager’s information, but that could take a while. That meant he had to call her directly and hope she stayed on the phone long enough to give him the information.
Stepping out of the taxi queue, he went back into the airport and looked for a quiet place to call. He stared at his phone for a moment before he dialed her number. His palms were sweating like he was about to start in his first NFL game. “Man up, Chamberlain,” he said in his gruffest coach voice. It worked on his students and players; maybe it would work on him, too.
He hit the button to call her before he could stop himself.
From there, he could only raise the phone to his ear and wait. It rang four or five times before someone picked up, but it wasn’t Ivy’s voice. It was a man’s voice.
“Hello?”
Blake stumbled over the unanticipated road block. “I uh, I think I might have the wrong number.”
“Blake?”
He stopped, a moment from disconnecting the call. “Yes,” he replied warily. “I was calling to speak to Ivy, please. Who’s this?”
“This is her friend Malcolm. Ivy is away from her phone right now. She’s actually in rehearsals for a talk show she’s taping in a couple of hours.”
Malcolm. Her “friend.” Just the sound of his name made Blake’s stomach start to ache with dread. He had ruined it. He’d driven her back into the arms of her ex with his stupidity.
“Do you want me to have her call you?”
“I don’t know. If you two are . . . uh . . . together, there isn’t much point.”
“Together?” Malcolm said with a hearty chuckle. “Did Ivy not tell you . . . ?” His voice trailed off. “Well, I guess she wouldn’t.”
The loud voice of the airport public announcement system cut into the conversation.
“Wait, Blake . . . are you in the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?” Malcolm pressed.
“LAX,” he admitted with a sigh. What did it matter? He was about to try to get on a flight back home.
“This is going to be awesome!” Malcolm announced.
It didn’t seem awesome. “I think I’m missing something here. You two aren’t back together?”
“No,” Malcolm said. “Ivy isn’t exactly my type. I’m more into tall, dark, and handsome, if you catch my drift.”
“Ohhh,” Blake replied as his response fully sank in. “I didn’t realize that.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Good! It’s kind of a secret, but I’m letting you in on it since you’re practically part of the family now.”
Had he not spoken with Ivy about what happened in Rosewood? The drama? The naked woman? “I highly doubt that.”
“Then why are you in LA, Blake?”
“I’m here to get her back.”
Malcolm laughed low, the sound almost ominous over the phone. “I’ve got the perfect idea. You need to come to the studio in Burbank and surprise her on the show.”
“What?” That sounded like an incredibly bad idea, especially considering the event that broke them up. He was nervous enough about going to see her. Worried that she wouldn’t listen to what he had to say. He certainly didn’t relish the idea of it happening in front of a live studio audience. “I don’t think I want to be slapped on national television.”
Malcolm sighed. “She’s not going to slap you. Trust me on this—she loves you. She’s hurt, but she wants to believe she’s wrong about what she saw. Was she wrong about what she saw?”
“One hundred percent. The only reason I laid a finger on Lydia was to push her away. I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. This is going to end well, I promise. Get a taxi to the Warner Brothers Studio in Burbank. I’ll get you on the list with security. Come to stage fifteen and call me on my cell phone.” Malcolm recited his number and Blake copied it down. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“So I’m just supposed to walk out onstage and surprise her? Tell her I love her?”
“Something like that. I’ve got to talk to the stage manager and get everything cleared with the crew so it’s only a surprise for Ivy. I’m sure they’ll be excited.”
“Malcolm . . .” Blake’s voice wavered with concern. “I need to ask you something.”
Malcolm hesitated before he answered. “Yes?”
“I wanted to ask her to marry me. I have a ring. Should I do it on the show or wait for later?”
“Hmm . . .” he said thoughtfully. “I think that depends on how Ivy reacts to all this. Play it by ear, have it on you. If you go out there and tell her you love her and she gets all teary and says she loves you too, go for it.”
“Okay.” It seemed like showboating, but if the only way to pin Ivy down was to confront her in front of a television audience of millions, so be it.
“Now get in that cab and get to Warner Brothers, quickly. The taping starts at five thirty and you’ve got the infamous Los Angeles traffic to fight.”
Ivy was nervous about tonight’s performance. Maybe even more so than the first time in Rosewood. At least there, she felt like she was among family. Tonight, she was singing into a cold, lifeless camera lens and praying that the emotions would connect with Blake two thousand miles away.
But even worse was having to sit down with the host for a chat. This was her first interview since the release of her song. She had no doubt he would ask who it was about and pry into her sex life. She had made her sex life her business, so everyone felt free to make it their business as well. What was she going to say? That the relationship was already over? That the man she wrote the song about never even heard it?
Malcolm had told her to just smile and be coy about her new love. Her usual tactic was to neither confirm nor deny, and she should stick with that. “America doesn’t need to know a damn thing about your relationship with Blake,” he’d said. And he was right. She knew those pictures of her kissing Blake were likely to come up, but if she acted like things were fine, there wouldn’t be any reason for the host to pry into the dirty details of her breakup.
She had hoped Malcolm would be her support for the evening, but he’d run off while she was doing a sound check.
Ivy paced around the green room, ignoring the child star and his mother waiting their turn to go plug his new movie. They were watching the live feed of the show.
She glanced over at the craft services table, and the mere sight of the food made her stomach start to turn.
A stage assistant in a headset came in the door. “Miss Hudson? I’ll need you in staging in five minutes. Is there anything we can get you?”
“No, thank you,” she said with a curt shake of her head. She doubted there was anything the tiny girl with the clipboard could do to help her. Instead, she sat down and closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths.
When the time came, she went out to staging. A few hair and makeup people encircled her and touched up the work they’d done earlier. The sound crew brought out her lapel microphone, getting her wired up with a battery pack. Last came the assistant with her guitar. She slipped it over her head and tried to shake out the tension in her shoulders.
“Stand by,” she was told.
“Please welcome Ivy Hudson!” she heard the host say. A roar of applause came from the crowd.
Ivy was ushered out onto the stage. She gave a wave to the crowd and the host as she took her mark in front of the band. The lead guitarist started the song and when her cue came, she sta
rted singing. This time, she focused on the camera. She tried to imagine Blake’s face instead of the lens and she sang as though he were standing right there.
When she was done, she winked into the camera and smiled as brightly as she could. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, although she wasn’t sure if it was because of her performance or the big light-up signs that said APPLAUSE overhead.
The host was seated on the far side of the stage behind his trademark desk. Ivy slipped out of her guitar and handed it off before taking a seat in the first red leather guest chair.
“Welcome, Ivy. We’re glad to have you come see us tonight and sing your new song.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“Now, let’s talk about this song. It’s a big departure from your usual sound. It’s a great tune, but it’s quite a bit more romantic than songs you’ve done in the past. What’s going on there?”
“It is a new sound, and I’m really excited to share my new album with my listeners. Relationships have their ups and downs. It’s true that most of my songs have focused on the downs, but I wanted to capture some of the good times, too. ‘I’ve Never Stopped Loving You’ is just the first of many great new songs inspired by my time back in my hometown.”
The host leaned in and cocked a curious eyebrow at her. “Time spent with a certain ex–football player, I hear. Blake Chamberlain, perhaps?”
Ivy tried not to flinch at the sound of his name. Instead, she smiled and nodded. “Have you been reading the gossip blogs, Jimmy?”
The talk show host hid behind his note cards with embarrassment. “Yes. It’s my dirty little secret. I can’t get enough of all the nasty details of people’s lives. So tell me, is this song about Blake Chamberlain?”
“Now, you know I never answer those questions,” she said in a chiding tone.
“Well, you know I’ve got to ask. I have to say, though, that if this new song is about Blake Chamberlain, it’s certainly a far cry from the last song he inspired.”
The crowd laughed. “I mean,” he continued, “every man in America felt bad for that guy when ‘Size Matters’ came out.”
“That is true,” she said, artfully dodging the question. “They’re very different songs that came from very different places in my life.”
The host tapped his cards on the desk and sat back in his chair. “Well, you know what I’ve always wanted to know? I’ve always wanted to know what Blake thought of all that. So you know what? Let’s bring him out here and find out!”
Ice water shot through Ivy’s veins. Every head in the audience, along with her own, turned toward the velvet curtains. A moment later, Blake came through looking more devastatingly handsome than ever before. He was wearing a navy suit with a light blue shirt beneath it that precisely matched his eyes. Eyes that were focused on nothing but her.
There was a smile on his face, but she could tell he was tense. She understood. Her own body was frozen, every muscle perfectly still to keep her from reacting to his arrival. The cameras were on her; they were waiting for her to react. Should she pretend she was happy and give him a hug and kiss? Ignore him? Give him a polite handshake when he sat down beside her?
She opted to stand and give him a hug like any other old friend she hadn’t seen in a while. Blake reached across the desk to shake the host’s hand, and then took a seat beside Ivy.
“So, the infamous Blake Chamberlain!” Jimmy began. “You look like quite a large man. You played college ball for Auburn and played in the NFL for the Texans before your knee injury. Not an average man in the slightest sense. I take it ‘Size Matters’ was just a metaphor?”
Blake laughed. “I’m not going to talk about the size of my anything on national television.”
Ivy smiled but tried to stay out of the discussion for now. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to all this. Had the talk show flown Blake out here? How would Kevin not tell her about this? This wasn’t one of those daytime shows where they spring your long-lost daddy on you.
“But we all saw the video, right? The one from a week or so ago where Ivy announced all sorts of positive things about your, uh, ‘package.’ Did that make up for some of the embarrassment brought on when the song came out? I mean, that had to be rough on your ego, even if you were packing a deadly weapon in your BVDs.”
Ivy held her breath and waited for Blake’s answer. If he just came on the talk show to publicly call her out for her man-bashing ways and embarrass her, this would be his opportunity. “I actually prefer Fruit of the Loom,” Blake joked. “But seriously, there wasn’t any reason for Ivy to make up for anything. She wrote that song because I’d hurt her and took advantage of her love and trust. I deserved everything and anything she said about me back then.”
The host seemed surprised. This must not be the scandalous conversation he’d been hoping for when he’d brought Blake on the show. Ivy had a hard time disguising her surprise as well. She wished she knew what the hell was going on.
“Now, Blake, you just heard Ivy’s new song. What do you think about it?”
“I think it’s the best thing she’s ever written,” he said without the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Do you think she wrote this one about you, too?” the host pressed. “That naughty little minx will never admit what song is about what guy.”
At that, Blake smiled. “I don’t know if it’s about me or not. I think every red-blooded man in America would like to think that song is about him. Who wouldn’t want the love of a beautiful, talented woman like Ivy Hudson?”
A few men in the crowd cheered and the audience applauded along with them.
“I have to say, though, I really identify with this song. Ivy and I have had our ups and downs like any couple. I’ve been a jerk on more than one occasion. I would be thrilled to know that despite that, she still loved me, because I’ve never stopped loving her, either. I am very much in love with Ivy Hudson and have been since I was sixteen years old.”
The audience reacted with an audible “aww,” followed by more applause. It was a little surreal to have some kind of Greek chorus following the drama of her love life.
“Wow!” Jimmy said. “I think that’s the first time I’ve had someone declare their love for a guest on my show. Ivy, what have you got to say to that?”
That was a really good question. She glanced at Blake beside her. He was smiling nervously, his eyes pleading with her for an answer that didn’t make him look like an ass in front of all these people.
“I’d say he picked a fine time and place to tell me that!” Ivy laughed nervously. What was she supposed to say? That she loved him? She did, but they had some serious issues to talk over first.
“There’s something else I’d like to tell her, if you don’t mind, Jimmy.”
“Be my guest,” the host said, beaming with excitement.
Blake stood up, then lowered down onto his good knee in front of her. Ivy’s heart started beating with the rapid fire of an automatic rifle. Her mouth dropped open as Blake reached into his lapel pocket and took her hand in his.
“Ivy,” he began, “you are the most important woman to ever be a part of my life. I didn’t realize how miserable I was all these years without you until I had you back. We’ve only had a short time together again, but it’s been more than long enough for me to realize that I want to have you in my life from now on. I don’t care where we live or how we make it happen, but I need you. I love you. And I want you to know that I would never do something to deliberately hurt you, despite what you might think.”
Ivy looked into his blue eyes and saw the sincerity of his words reflected there. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too. But was she a fool if she did? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . .
“Nothing happened with Lydia,” he mouthed silently. Neither the cameras nor the microphones could pick it up. Blake squeezed her hand. “I swear it.”
He opened the ring box then. It wasn’t the standard
jewelry-store type of box. It was an older, carved wooden jewelry case, like something from another era. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a large diamond cocktail ring. It was a peculiar style, obviously vintage. There was a large round diamond in the center surrounded by a ring of platinum in a Grecian-style square wave design. at was surrounded by another ring of smaller diamonds that continued down and around the platinum band itself.
It was a one-of-a-kind ring, and yet it was hauntingly familiar. Where had she seen it before?
“This was my grandmother’s engagement ring,” he said.
Ivy suddenly remembered seeing the ring when she had tea with Miss Adelia at the mansion. She had always worn that ring, even years after her husband passed away. Ivy would’ve sworn that his grandmother would be buried wearing that ring.
“When I told her I loved you, she took it off her hand and gave it to me. It brought her and my grandfather nearly fifty wonderful years together. I’m hoping that you and I will have that, and many, many more. Ivy Grace Hudson . . . will you marry me?”
For the first time since she walked out onstage that night, the entire room was silent. She could’ve heard a pin drop if it weren’t for the distracting tattoo of her heart rapidly pounding in her ears. The rhythm of it was remarkably similar to the “ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod” spinning through her brain. He’d just proposed to her on television. On television!
And yet, it didn’t make a bit of difference where they were or who was watching. He could’ve proposed in his fishing boat on Willow Lake without another human around for miles. She loved him. Despite everything, she loved him and he loved her. She wanted to marry him.
“Yes!” she shouted, surprising even herself with the volume and enthusiasm of her response. Her hand was shaking like a leaf as Blake slipped the ring onto her finger. Once it was secure, she grinned and leaped out of her chair and into Blake’s arms. The crowd roared with applause and cheers that blocked out anything she and Blake might have wanted to say in the moment. That was okay. What she wanted to express didn’t require words.
Facing the Music: A Rosewood Novel Page 27
