Her confession felt fragile, like a beautiful china cup, offered to him. Now it was his turn not knowing what to say.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, sounding her usual lively self again. “What’s kept you from falling in love? You’ve had ten years to make it happen.”
He stared at her a second. “I plead the fifth.”
“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.” She tossed him a mock-triumphant look, which was very sexy.
“You can get information out of me,” he said, “but it’ll require the right touch. I don’t cooperate easily.”
“Huh,” is all she said. But she didn’t sound angry. She sounded almost intrigued.
He’d poked the bear. She hadn’t ignored him or roared at him to get lost. It had been a gamble, and he hoped it would pay off. Soon.
* * *
Hank and Samantha left Ella at her office with Roberta and Miss Thing, the three of them making up a shopping list for the cheddar pennies. When he shut the front door of Two Love Lane behind him, he could swear he heard Roberta say she’d need twenty pounds of butter.
Twenty pounds of butter! He couldn’t even imagine that.
He’d had a good afternoon, he thought, as he walked back to the set with Samantha.
“Dinner tonight,” she reminded him. “With some studio people.”
“Right,” he said.
“Hank—”
“Yes?”
“We’re peers,” she said.
“Not really. You’ve got a lot more clout in this industry than I do.”
“Well, we make about the same amount of money.”
“Which really isn’t fair to you,” said Hank, “considering how much more experience you have.”
“Agreed,” she said. “But that’s how it is right now.”
“Things are changing,” he said. “Which is good.”
“I know. And I appreciate your professionalism. But I wanted to talk to you about something personal—about Ella.”
“Okay,” he said, feeling a little leery.
“She’s your ex-lover. We all have them. But I sense some unresolved feelings between you two.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t mind admitting it. He was ready to stop running from all his regrets. “We were together ten years ago. And I blew it.”
“You were very young.”
“Yes, I was. But I can’t really use that as an excuse.”
“Sure you can. You were confused. You didn’t have what you needed yet. You had growing up to do.”
“You make it sound … okay.”
“It’s life,” she said.
They walked together in silence.
Samantha stopped a moment to peek into a garden through another magnificent wrought-iron gate. “So do you think she’ll give you another opportunity?”
“No,” he said, admiring the blooms and the carefully trimmed hedges over her shoulder. “I have to create my opportunities.”
“I see.” Samantha turned back to him. “Do you need some help?”
“You’d help?”
She shrugged. “Why not? But if it doesn’t work out between you two, after we stop filming, I’ll be calling. And you’ll say yes to at least one whirlwind weekend on a tropical island with me—as friends—because I worked my ass off trying to help you win Ella’s attention. Agreed?”
He stuck out his hand. “Agreed.”
She shook it, and he pulled her close. “You’re a good egg, Samantha.”
“I know,” she mumbled into his chest. “I’m far more than a pretty face that’s been Botoxed more often than I’d like to admit.”
He pulled back. “I’d never guess. Seriously, I wouldn’t.” He explored her face, not looking for wrinkles but for a sign that she really meant what she’d said. “But tell me this. How can you help me with Ella? I don’t have a lot of time. Less than a week.”
“I’m not going to do anything shady, like pretending I’m after you so she’ll get jealous.”
“Hmmm. Maybe that would work, though.”
“No. It would give me a great deal of pleasure, flirting with you off camera, but we don’t want it to backfire and scare her off. It will be difficult enough for her to see us staging sex scenes together. And kissing on film. I already rubbed that in.”
“You did?”
“Yes, earlier today. I’ll take on the role of burr under her saddle. If she likes you, she won’t cut me off completely when I try to throw you together. I’ll take some pressure off you to get her attention. I’ll talk you up on the set. I’ll invite you both to a dinner party. Let her do some comparisons of you with other men by getting a few of my out-of-town friends to stay, the ones who seem like they have potential at first but the more they talk, the more she’ll realize they’re self-absorbed.” She paused. “You’re not self-absorbed, are you?”
“For a while I was. I thought I was only being smart, putting my career first. But I sacrificed too much, and it got lonely.”
“Self-absorbed people don’t get lonely. You couldn’t have been self-absorbed. You were just young and ambitious. And you were probably too scared to let someone down to pay attention to your heart. Most likely your parents.”
“How did you know?”
“It’s a common story. Anyone else you were afraid of disappointing?”
“Not really. It was mainly my father. He wanted me to go to law school.”
“Ah. My mother wanted me to marry the boy next door, now an excellent butcher in Devon.”
“If I could do it all over again…”
“This is your chance.”
“Ella’s a matchmaker. Won’t she recognize everything you’re doing as a matchmaking strategy?”
“Of course she will. I won’t be hiding anything. She might not like that I’m taking on that role, but how can she stop me from trying? I didn’t get to where I am by obeying other people.”
“I like you, Samantha.”
“Thank you. Have you told her you’ve come to Charleston for her?”
“Yes. I told her.”
“So you’re really not here for the film.”
“I hate to admit it, but no.”
She was quiet. “That’s all right. As long as you do a good job in your role, who cares?”
“Would you have told Isabel and Chad not to hire me if you’d known why I really came?”
“No.”
They were back at the set. It was going to be a long night. An hour and a half went by, and in that time, Hank rehearsed one scene eight times with Samantha, their third one. Then filmed it once, to test the lighting.
So much of movie making was repetition, and rehearsing scenes out of order. It was chaotic. Of course, then the editor and director smoothed out the story.
Maybe Hank’s crazy life could fall into place and become meaningful too. Eventually.
Samantha pulled out her phone during a break. “I have an idea. Let me text Ella and tell her to come visit after her costume fitting. You disappear somewhere. I’ll ask her to go to dinner with us and the studio heads.”
But a business dinner sounded boring. Hank couldn’t make Ella sit through one of those. “I won’t be able to talk to her much with the studio heads around. So why bother?”
“It’s the best I can come up with at the moment,” Samantha said, “considering your parameters. You have to be at that dinner.”
There seemed to be no perfect solution.
The truth was, other people meant well. But no one comprehended the delicacy of Hank’s situation the way he did. No one understood Ella the way he did. And no one cared as much about them as he did.
What should he do?
What should he do?
He raked a hand through his hair. “Pammy is out on a date. An early one. God knows, she might be back by eight.”
“And?” Samantha waited expectantly.
“I’m skipping the dinner tonight,” Hank said. It was a risk, but he was willi
ng to go through with it.
Samantha raised a brow. “How do you propose to explain your absence to the studio heads?”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell them I’m sick. It’s not as if tonight is crucial. I’ve met them before.” Then he got an idea. “Maybe you can tell them you saw me puke. In a trash can. Something gross so they’ll want to change the subject fast.”
“No, I won’t lie for you.”
“Fine. I’ll tell them I puked in a trash can. I’ll even text that little green face emoji to them to prove my point.”
A little dimple appeared in Samantha’s cheek. “Have fun with Ella. I hope Pammy’s date goes well, too, and that she’s out long enough for you to make some romantic strides.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
“I shouldn’t say this, but I like that you’re slacking off on the job. At least it’s just on the schmoozing end. Not the acting end.”
“I won’t let you down there.”
Three hours later, at seven o’clock, Hank walked out the set door and onto the street. He called Isabel, told her he couldn’t make dinner. He was free—
And he’d put Ella first.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ella stood in the kitchen at the carriage house, wearing an apron with dancing cupcakes on it. She held a big wooden spoon and was stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “Hank!” It made him happy to see her eyes light up. “What are you doing here? Did you … do one of the sex scenes today?”
He laughed. “Nope. Not today. Tomorrow we’re doing both. Why?”
“Because it’s, uh, weird,” she said, with an apologetic shrug. “I mean, you and Samantha. I don’t know why. I mean, it’s not the age gap. You’re both beautiful people. Maybe it’s your personalities. I don’t know if they mesh.”
Was that a little bit of personal jealousy he heard? Or was she in acting mode, speaking of the craft and of film essentials, like believable chemistry between characters?
“As long as our characters are willing to jump in the sack, we go along, right?” He’d assume she was speaking from a purely academic standpoint. “I can get you on the set if you want. So you can see how technical it actually is.”
“No, thanks.” She flashed him an embarrassed smile. “Anyway, I thought you wouldn’t be home until really late.”
“I got out early.” He loved how she said “home.” It sure felt like home. He peeked into the pot. It was filled with tomato sauce and some kind of meat. “You made enough for an army.”
“Italian sausage and red pepper sauce, with some portabella mushrooms and a generous splash of vino,” she said. “The nonnas’ favorite recipe.”
“The nonnas?”
She chuckled. “My two grandmothers. They’ve both moved to the States since I last saw you. From Sicily. And I’m so glad they’re here. They make a lot of trouble for Mama. But she loves the challenge and the company.”
“When you say ‘here,’ are they visiting Charleston with your mother? Or are they all in New York?”
She shook her head. “Here. Everyone in New York moved to Charleston within a year of my setting up shop with Two Love Lane.”
“Everyone?” He was shocked.
She chuckled. “Twenty-three Mancinis. Mama’s house is the headquarters of all our get-togethers. Unless we’re at Uncle Sal’s pizza parlor on Wentworth Street. Sometimes he shuts it down just for us, but it’s so popular, he rarely does.”
“What’s it called?”
“Mancini’s, of course. It’s already become a Charleston institution. The college crowd loves it. But so does the older crowd. Uncle Sal makes the best specialty pizzas in Charleston, and he delivers. If he can keep up with the downtown rents, he should be there quite a while.”
“Wow.” Hank was flabbergasted. “I had no idea. Your entire family came south.”
He was happy for her. But on a deeper level, he was panicked. She didn’t need him. She had the entire Mancini family to love her, to support her, and always would, even if by some freak chance, they moved back to New York and she had to fly up to see them all the time.
She would never actually need him.
Ella shrugged. “After Papa died, things changed. He was the patriarch, really, of the American branch of the family. I think everyone wanted a change. They saw me leave the big city and the snowy winters, and they decided to try it too.”
He wondered if she’d left because of what had happened between them.
She looked up at him. “I know you’re wondering if I left New York because of our breakup.”
She read minds very well. “I did wonder,” he said. “And if I had anything to do with it, I feel terrible. And I’m sorry.”
Her mouth quirked up in a semblance of a smile. He saw the sadness still there, after all these years. “When we broke up,” she said, stirring slowly, “I was shattered for a while. I quit auditioning, and I moved home with Mama to figure out my life. I decided, for me, the best thing was to leave New York. I love Charleston, and Macy was here, so I came and taught at a children’s theater. It took me a while to get situated, but when Greer moved back and Two Love Lane happened, everything clicked.” She put the spoon down on a bread plate and looked up at him, her expression brighter. “It was the smartest decision I ever made, to move to Charleston. And now everyone in my family lives here, and honestly, I can’t regret what happened. It was for the best, in the end. I feel very lucky.”
For the best. Those were hard words to hear.
He didn’t know what to say, so he just went with whatever came. “After we broke up,” he said, playing with the spoon on the bread plate, “things clicked for me in acting, as you say they did for you with Two Love Lane.” He decided to leave the spoon alone and instead leaned back on the counter, his arms over his chest. He looked at the cupboards opposite him, their dull gray faces, the worn corners. “I got famous. And rich. I was offered great roles—fulfilling ones.” He paused. “But I’m still waiting.”
“For what?”
He flicked a glance at her. “To feel lucky.”
Their gazes held. Did she understand? He was the luckiest actor on the planet. But he wasn’t the luckiest man. Not by far. He couldn’t be. Not without her.
That was it. That was really it.
But he couldn’t say that. He’d come across as narcissistic. Cocky. Maybe a crybaby, even. She didn’t deserve to have him dump his regret on her.
“Oh, Hank.” Ella shook her head and stirred her sauce. She looked briefly up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” he said, “although I don’t deserve any sympathy from you.”
She lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Sympathy doesn’t need to be earned.”
He wanted to ask her, Did love? Did love need to be earned? What could he do to win her love? He so wanted to reach out and touch her hair. To kiss the top of her head. To pull her away from that stove and into his arms.
“You’re right that I’m feeding an army tonight,” she said. “The whole Mancini clan is heading to Mama’s so we can all hang out with the Sicilian relatives. They’re here on a visit. It’s one reason I’m staying here. I gave four of them my apartment for the next week.”
“That was nice of you.”
“And Pammy was nice to let me stay here.”
“I’m glad you decided to.”
She gave the contents of the pot another stir. “I’m in charge of the sauce tonight, and it’s got to be good. Mama wants me to be a better cook. And you know what? It’s kind of fun.” She looked up at him with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.
“How many people will that feed?” he asked.
“About thirty,” she said. “We’ll have close to that number. You’re welcome to come, you know.”
She said it with genuine warmth and enthusiasm, which Hank appreciated. It was a step in the right direction, was it not?
Even so, his heart sank a little because tonight he definitely wouldn’t have her all to himse
lf. And then he got a brilliant idea … he remembered Mama Mancini. She’d been a lovely, warmhearted woman. He’d never met the nonnas. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get some people in the family on his side, he’d have better luck getting a second chance with Ella.
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thanks.”
And instantly got nervous. He’d played a Mafia guy in an Oscar-nominated movie (along with the film’s nomination for Best Screenplay and Best Director, he’d been nominated for Best Supporting Actor). The character had been a real loser. Italian stereotypes in Hollywood abounded. He’d never really noticed until he’d read a few articles and letters in the last couple of years in Variety and the Hollywood Reporter. They’d been written by Italian Americans who were fed up with Italians being portrayed as gangsters and lowlifes in cinema and on television. They’d had enough of The Godfather and The Sopranos and movies like the one Hank had been in. They wanted something fresh, something that didn’t smack of old prejudices against the Italian immigrants who’d flooded New York in the early twentieth century at the same time movies were taking off.
Would the Mancinis hold that Mafia role against him? Even more important, would they despise him for breaking Ella’s heart?
Of course they would. He remembered how protective Ella’s sisters had been when he’d met them the first time. Ella had taken him home to meet her family. On that visit, he’d seen a picture of her father, too, in a frame on the wall in their living room in the Bronx. Mama Mancini had said to Hank, “You’re lucky he’s not here to grill you.” She’d chuckled fondly. “He was very protective of his girls.”
Hank remembered telling her she had nothing to worry about. And Ella had come up to him then and wrapped her arm around his waist and said, “Papa would have loved Hank, Mama. He’s looking down right now with approval. I can feel it.”
Ten years later, Hank realized none of the Mancinis would care that he was a movie star. Usually, that would make him happy. Except they were the one group he longed to impress—to deflect, actually, with his celebrity. Instead, the only Hank Rogers they cared about was the one who’d hurt Ella a long time ago. She was their beloved sister, niece, daughter, and granddaughter, a professional actor who’d left her dreams behind in large part because of him.
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