“Back where?”
Bella shrugged. “In that dark place.”
“I’m not going back there,” I told her firmly.
“Good. You were freaking me out,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t like you. You didn’t talk, you didn’t smile. You weren’t even interested in the baby cousins,” she said, like that was the saddest thing ever, which it kind of was.
We started walking again. “Why would he do that?” I wondered out loud.
“You haven’t been on the internet at all, have you?” There was no reprimand in her voice for a change. If anything, there was understanding.
“No. I couldn’t face it. Still can’t. Maybe soon. Thank you for looking after all of that for me.”
“No problem.”
Bella had been overseeing my social media accounts, which suited me just fine because apparently I’d been subjected to a number of vicious trolls after the sideshow that was the Oscars and the Swan family allegations. I hadn’t had the strength or desire to face any of it. Bella, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on the challenge.
“He apologized to that guy,” she said, obviously deciding it was time I caught up with what had been happening in the big wide world.
“What guy?”
“The one whose tackle put him in the coma. It was all over the news. Pictures of them shaking hands and smiling. Ignoring the media sideshow, I think the guy genuinely appreciated Jacob’s honesty.”
In spite of myself, I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes and quickly cast my gaze across the street toward the billboard. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
“It is? Why?”
“It was something he needed to do,” I said, hoping my voice sounded normal.
Then, to my amazement, I smiled.
Chapter 45
Work became my focus. When I wasn’t working, I was surrounded by family.
It didn’t ease my heartache completely, but it gave me something other than Jake and my time in Hollywood to think about.
The regular, healthy arguments I had with Arabella helped, too.
“Forget it,” I told her, not even looking up from my laptop.
“Do you know how hard it is to get included in New York Fashion Week when you’re an upcoming designer?” Her fingernails tapped out a quick rhythm as she typed on her laptop on the desk opposite mine. It was early evening on Friday and we’d spent the afternoon in my studio—no longer a workroom, I had a fashion label now—doing some of the business administration together.
“I’ve got a vague idea.”
“The CFDA are even pushing the organizers to accommodate you in one of the better time slots,” she went on, referring to The Council of Fashion Designers of America, which acted as the fashion industry’s governing board. “Because of your connections you’d get plenty of celebrities attending. They love that sort of exposure.”
“There’s no way we could pull it together in time,” I replied, unmoved. “It’s like putting together a wedding, only worse.”
“So?” Bella demanded, her voice raising an octave. “This would be great publicity!”
“Like I need more media attention,” I muttered.
Bella brought her fist down on the coffee table angrily. “You can do this, Ally. I just know you can!”
I flipped my laptop closed with a sigh. “And I know you’d help me, but the brutal reality is I can’t afford it. It can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to run a show. The big labels usually spend millions.”
Bella actually looked like she was close to tears. “It’s not fair,” she said, sniffing loudly. She gave me a sideways glance. “You could ask Lena?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“She’d totally do it, you know she would—”
“No,” I repeated.
“You could repay her,” she suggested. “Think of it as a loan.”
“No, Bella. Please drop it.”
“For now.”
I couldn’t help myself and cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” While I wasn’t going to change my position on New York Fashion Week, I enjoyed sparring with her like this. It was a sign of the way our relationship had evolved. I no longer thought of her as my immature cousin. She was more of an equal now.
“Alright, ready for the next installment of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries?” she asked, closing her laptop.
The Australian television series was set in Melbourne in the 1920s, and we watched it as much for the feisty sleuthing heroine as the breathtaking period costumes.
“Definitely. Let’s grab some supplies from the restaurant before we head back to Mama’s.”
We locked up, clambered down the rickety old steps that came out at the back of the restaurant and went straight to the bar area. Dinner service was in full swing. A steady buzz of conversation and laughter accompanied the sound of clinking cutlery. No one even gave us a second glance, probably assuming we were staff. It was a nice feeling after the constant scrutiny of Hollywood and the welcome home party courtesy of the media two months before. I finally seemed to be fading into obscurity.
I bent down to survey the wine selection underneath the counter, while Bella raided the fridge behind the bar for a non-alcoholic cider.
I was still contemplating the options when an unexpected hush settled over the restaurant. I glanced up at Bella who was standing beside me and was surprised to see her blue eyes nearly popping out of her head. I immediately went to stand up but Bella placed a firm palm on my head and shoved me back down, unbalancing me. I collapsed onto the tiled floor ungracefully.
I glared at her and opened my mouth to yell something uncomplimentary, but she waved an impatient hand at me and put her fingers to her lips.
I frowned at her strange behavior and sighed. Crazy Valenti genes.
Then I thought I heard footsteps and excited whispers.
“Can I help you, young man?” My Mama’s voice was all business. Not quite her usual tone when she greeted a customer.
I heard a man clear his throat. “Hi. You must be Mrs. Valenti.”
I reached out to grip the edge of the bar even though I was sitting down. It had been weeks, but Jake’s deep voice still had the same effect on me.
“Yes,” my mother replied briskly. “How can I help you?”
“I, ah, I’m here to see Ally. Is she here? I’m Ja—”
“I know who you are. And no, she’s busy. She’s working.”
“Oh. Right. OK. In the restaurant? Well, can I wait then? I don’t want to disrupt things.”
Bella let out a quiet snort. Although I couldn’t see anything other than a shelf full of wine, I had the feeling a Hollywood megastar setting foot in the restaurant had more than ‘disrupted’ things.
Jake must have glanced Bella’s way because I saw her eyes widen.
“Actually,” Jake continued, “would it be possible to grab a table if you have one? I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Ally no longer works in the restaurant,” my mother said, completely ignoring Jake's request for a table. “She runs her own fashion label now.”
There was a pause. “I know. It’s awesome. I’ve been reading about her in the media.” I heard pride in his voice and I closed my eyes.
It sounded like the old Jake—the easygoing, genuine Jake—and I inhaled a shaky breath. What was he doing here? I hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet, but his presence alone was killing me.
“Yes, it is awesome, isn’t it?” Mama’s words held a definite challenge.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered. I had two choices. Stand up and face Jake like a big girl, or remain behind the bar, cowering pathetically.
I opted for the latter.
“So is Ally still in Providence?” Jake asked.
“What business is that of yours?”
The whispering in the restaurant intensified. Stand up, Ally, just stand up. But it was no good. My legs had turned to
Jell-O. I wasn’t even sure if I had legs anymore.
“I, ah, I’d like to talk to her,” Jake said, sounding more and more like an awkward teenager instead of a man of thirty-five who was one of the most famous, self-assured actors in the world.
“Why?” my mother demanded.
There was a beat of silence. “I’d like to apologize.” He said it so quietly I almost missed it.
“Apologize?” I jolted at the change in volume, Mama’s voice booming in disbelief around the restaurant. “I don’t think so, young man. I think it’s best if you leave. You’re disturbing my customers.”
The stillness that followed was loaded with anticipation. The customers were waiting, just like Bella and me, with bated breath.
“I don’t think so. I’d prefer to wait,” Jake said eventually.
“No apology can make up for the way you treated my daughter.”
The clientele started whispering again.
“That may be so,” Jake replied smoothly, “but I have to try. Ally deserves that much.”
“I’ll tell you what Allegra deserves . . . ”
Bella and I looked at each other in horror. This was bad, so very bad. Mama was using my full name, which she rarely did, and she was rolling her r’s in true Italian style.
“Ally deserves a man who trusts her,” Mama told him, and I prayed to God she wasn’t close enough to spit on him or thrust her finger into his muscled chest. “She deserves a decent man who remains by her side no matter what the world throws at her. A good man, a kind man, the sort of man who supports her through thick and thin. You, young man, are not that sort of person.”
Bella had reached down to clasp my hand and I clung to her like my life depended on it. Oh my God. My Mama, my tiny Italian Mama, had just told the world’s hottest Hollywood heartthrob that he wasn’t good enough for me.
Jake cleared his throat for a second time. “I know that,” he said gruffly, emotion making his voice sound thick. “But I want to try to be that for her. I want to be that man. If she’ll let me.”
“Then stop pretending to be someone you’re not.”
There was a long pause. I jumped when I heard the door to the restaurant rattle open and bang shut again. The restaurant erupted into applause.
Bella tugged on my hand so hard I was forced to stand up or else my arm would be ripped from its socket. I stood up and rubbed my shoulder, meeting Mama’s eyes as I did so.
She shrugged. “It’s up to you if you want to talk to him. I’ve said my piece.” Then she stalked off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Bella, what happened after Mama told him to stop pretending? Why did he leave?” I asked, confused.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It was really strange. His face kind of went pale and I swear it looked like his eyes were tearing up. Then he turned around and left. Actually, I don’t think he’s gone.” She stopped talking and pointed. “He’s standing outside.”
I steadied myself on the edge of the bar and cast my gaze out the front windows. Bella was right. Jake was leaning against the picket fence overlooking the street.
“OK,” I said, more to myself that anyone else.
Feeling unsteady on my feet, I came out from behind the bar and walked to the entrance, everyone’s eyes on me. When my hand settled on the door handle, I hesitated.
“Don’t take any crap from him!” a lady called out. “You heard your Mama. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I managed a weak smile. “Thank you,” I called back, then pushed open the door.
Jake stiffened when he heard me, but didn’t turn around.
“I see you’ve met my mama,” I said, sounding way more together than I felt.
“Yeah. She’s . . . something.”
“She is,” I agreed, studying his back in the moonlight. His shoulders were as broad as ever beneath his black T-shirt, but they looked as if there was a heavy weight pressing down on them.
“I like her.” He still didn’t turn around.
“You do?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. She doesn’t take any crap. Same as my mom.”
“Why did you leave?” I was determined not to be moved by his reference to his deceased mother.
“Because I didn’t think crying in front of all those people would do my reputation any good.”
“Crying?”
“Yes.” He turned around and I saw his blue eyes were red and watery.
I took a step back, the full impact of seeing him again taking effect. My stomach twisted violently and I balled my hands into fists, partly out of anger and partly because I needed to stop myself from touching him. Maybe it was a defense mechanism but my next words weren’t exactly sympathetic. “My mama made you cry?”
A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Yeah, she did. For a moment I thought my mom was haunting me.”
“What?”
He sniffed and swiped at his face to remove the evidence of his tears. “She said the same thing to me right before that game. The game where I ended up in a coma.”
“Oh.” Well, that explained his reaction. I was still too hurt, too raw, from his past treatment of me to sympathize with him properly, though.
“And she’s right,” he continued.
“Who? Mama?
“Yeah. I have to stop pretending and be true to myself. I thought I had because I was doing what I really wanted to do, but I haven’t. I’ve let the movie studios define me, as well as the fans and other celebrities—even, it shames me to admit, my family. I thought my success as an actor would prove them wrong, but all it’s done is made me bitter. I’m not taking the roles I want to. I’m not being the actor I want to be.” He paused and frowned, glancing uncertainly in my direction. “Except for you. I was never pretending when it came to you,” he said softly.
A wave of anguish crashed over me, so strong and deep I couldn’t speak. But I damn well wasn’t going to cry, either.
“And then I ruined it,” he continued. “Because for one second I was stupid enough to believe you were pretending, too. That everything we had wasn’t real. There’s no excuse for the way I treated you, the way I betrayed you. All I can say is I was blinded at that point. By fear, by insecurity, by doubt—all of it. It was only afterward I began to see that the only real thing in my entire life up until now has been you. Oh, and maybe my mom.”
“I didn’t let myself love you,” I blurted, then put a hand to my mouth.
Jake sighed and walked slowly over to me, like he was scared I might run at any second. He stopped when we were only inches apart. “I know. And while it hurt, I understand why.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Because of who I am.”
“No,” I corrected. “It wasn’t because of who you are, it was everything else. The Hollywood lifestyle, the constant scrutiny, the pressure to be someone I’m not. It got to me. I started to feel trapped. I don’t know how you live that way. Everything about it is just so unreal. It scared me senseless because on one hand I felt like we fit, but the rest of it didn’t.”
Jake looked at me, his face so stricken that I wanted to reach out to stroke his cheek. But I didn’t.
He turned away and stalked toward the fence, grabbing onto it until I could see his knuckles turn white in the dim light. “And you don’t want that life. I get that.”
“Maybe it’s because you didn’t believe in yourself,” I suggested, feeling bolder. “And nor did I. Oh, I talked tough, but I never really thought I deserved to be successful or that I deserved you.” There, I’d said it. As bitter as our parting had been, I’d had a hand in it too because I’d never thought we would last or that I belonged in his world.
“Of course you deserve to be successful,” he said, still looking out at the street. “You’re an amazing designer. But you’re right. You deserve better than me.”
“Jake—”
“I was wrong to come here. I can’t give you what you need.” His arms tensed as he leaned on the fence, his str
ong biceps flexing. “It was arrogant of me to think I could.”
I stared at him in dismay. He was right. I knew he was right. Our lives were too different and I’d never wanted to exist in his world or to live that life. Yet, until I’d heard him say it out loud, I hadn’t realized I’d still held on to a small glimmer of hope.
He pushed away from the fence and ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Shit. I haven’t changed one bit have I? I came here thinking I could get you back, that an apology and an apartment in New York would make a difference. Of course you don’t want any of that. It’s so movie-star of me, it makes me sick.”
“What did you say?” I took a step toward him.
His hand paused mid-air. “Which bit? That I’m an asshole movie star?”
“No, not that part. I already know that. Something about an apartment in New York?”
He shrugged, a sheepish expression on his face. “Yeah. I bought a place in New York.”
“Why?”
“Because too much time living in LA has turned me into someone who can’t tell the difference between the real world and make-believe. And I figured you’d probably want to be based on the East Coast so you could be closer to your family.”
“You did?”
“Family’s important to you. And I’m talking to my brothers again.”
I gaped at him. “Not the brother?”
He grimaced. “No, not Joel. I tried that, but it didn’t go well. The other two, Brad and Morgan. I’ve spent some time with them and their kids back in West Virginia. It’s nice.”
Automatically I went to reach out to touch his arm, but dropped my hand, feeling stupid. “That’s great, Jake. I mean that.”
“I know you do. And I’ve got you to thank. If you hadn’t barged into my father’s funeral and forced me to stand beside my family I . . . I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Probably hidden up the back,” I retorted.
“Are you sure you don’t like the limelight?” he teased. “You seem drawn to it.”
We both laughed softly, but when our eyes met again our laughter faded.
He dropped his eyes again. “And I’m sorry about what I said before. About you turning up to the funeral as some sort of—”
Heartthrob (Hollywood Hearts, #1) Page 32
