Watching Willow Watts: One Country Girl Is About to Discover That Fame Can Cost a Fortune

by Talli Roland

  Willow shook her head. ‘No, but Paula has.’ It was the only upscale restaurant within a thirty-mile radius, and Paula usually made a point of road-testing every man there first – once she finally decided they were date-worthy.

  God, it was weird being together again, Willow thought as they walked to where Alex had parked his car. Everything about him felt so familiar – how her head came to just the right point at his shoulder; his relaxed gait; the gentlemanly way he put his hand on her waist to guide her forward . . . she forced her mind away from the warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of her satin dress.

  ‘Nice car!’ Willow commented as they climbed into his sleek black BMW. Guess some things did change, after all – in London when they were both just starting out, he’d had a beat up VW. If she closed her eyes, she could still smell the cracked leather seats mixed with Alex’s cologne.

  Alex grinned over at her as if he was remembering the same thing. ‘Not mine; a company car. Can’t say I mind, though – it’s nice driving something that doesn’t rattle.’

  Willow laughed. ‘Or needs an oil transfusion every ten miles!’

  ‘Yeah,’ he chuckled. ‘Remember that time we went out for dinner at Gordon Ramsay, and the valet came to tell us our car was leaking brown sludge everywhere?’

  Willow smiled, recalling the next bit of the story. The car had refused to budge when they’d tried to move it, and they’d got on the wrong night bus home and ended up lost in some dodgy part of London . . . She shook her head to stop from going further down memory lane.

  A few minutes later, they entered Stow-on-the-Wold and Alex deftly parked the car in front of the White Hart Inn. The setting sun made the stone buildings glow softly and the scent of the flowers bursting from hanging baskets perfumed the air. Even though they were only a few miles from Belcherton’s packed confines, it seemed a world away. For the first time in ages, Willow felt like she could breathe again.

  ‘Here we are!’ Alex cut the engine and the tension returned as she pictured the two of them sitting down to eat. Clasping her hands in her lap, she tried to keep from biting her nails.

  ‘Can I have your autograph?’ A group of Korean tourists peered in the car window, clutching pens and glossy photos of Marilyn, and snapping pictures with their cameras.

  ‘Sure,’ Willow said, blinking against the flashes. She scrawled the now familiar ‘Marilyn xx’ across the photos, then climbed out of the car and posed with the fans as Alex stood off to the side.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said when they’d gone, kicking herself for apologising once again.

  ‘That’s all right.’ He shook his head. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d be a celebrity, Disa. I mean, maybe a celebrity florist. But Marilyn Monroe?’

  Willow’s heart clutched at the nickname, and she threw him a bright smile to cover the pain. ‘I know!’ she chirped in the high-pitched tone she was perfecting for her fans. ‘But I’m really enjoying it.’ Kind of.

  ‘The new Marilyn!’ The maitre d’s eyes bulged from his head as Alex and Willow entered the restaurant. ‘You’re all anyone’s been talking about lately. If we’d only known you were coming . . .’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Willow said quickly before the man started hyperventilating.

  ‘Let me show you to your table.’ The maitre d’ couldn’t stop staring at Willow, and it was starting to make her feel a little uncomfortable. She and Alex followed the man up the stairs to a dining area that went silent when she entered. One diner even dropped a fork, leaving what looked like fettuccini hanging from her open mouth.

  ‘Er, hello,’ Willow said finally, since they seemed to expect her to do something. Leaning forward, she put her hands on her hips and spun around, throwing the room a big grin and fluttering her eyelashes. One dislodged slightly, swimming into her vision like a sinister caterpillar, but Willow ignored it. The room broke into applause and she threw as much of a curtsy as the dress allowed, then followed the stunned maitre d’ over to the table in the corner. Willow couldn’t help smiling at Alex’s incredulous expression as they settled into their chairs.

  ‘So.’ She met his familiar blue eyes. ‘How have you been?’ Lame thing to say, but she really wanted to know. Were he and Claire happy together? Were they planning for the future?

  ‘I’m good,’ Alex responded. ‘Work’s going really well, and London’s still London.’

  And Claire? Willow was dying to ask, but no way would she show her desperation for information on that front. ‘Great.’ Dropping her head, she studied the menu, trying to think of something more to say.

  Alex reached over as if he was going to touch her hand, stopping a few inches short of her fingertips. ‘Look, I’m sorry to just turn up like this. I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not,’ Willow said, fervently hoping all that make-up was hiding the heat spreading across her cheeks.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw our firm’s bid for the new Belcherton tourist centre,’ Alex continued. ‘I thought it looked like an interesting project, of course.’ He paused, and Willow tried hard to breathe despite the pressure building in her chest. What the hell was wrong with her? They were just two old friends, having dinner. Nothing more.

  ‘Yes, interesting,’ Willow managed to echo hoarsely.

  ‘But if I’m really honest . . .’ Alex’s voice trailed off.

  Willow held her breath. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I was more interested in seeing you again.’

  The pounding of her heart was so loud now Willow could barely hear anything. What?

  ‘I know a lot of time has passed, and we’ve both moved on to other things’ – he raised an eyebrow and scanned the Marilyn gear – ‘but I never felt good about how it ended with us. Have you ever wondered what might have happened if we’d just, you know, maybe tried a bit harder to stay together?’

  Willow crossed her arms over massive bosoms as Alex’s words swirled through her head. Could they have tried harder to stay together? If she’d gone down to London more often, or he’d travelled to Belcherton on weekends . . . would they have been able to maintain a relationship? Distance aside, though, there was still the small matter of Claire. Willow might have put everything she had into keeping things going, and Alex still could have chosen that woman. Trying harder wouldn’t have solved that issue.

  ‘Excuse me, Marilyn?’

  Willow’s head jerked around as the maitre d’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘Yes?’ She gave herself a mental shake and forced a smile.

  ‘Um, the manager wanted to know if he could get a photo with you,’ the man said. ‘You know, to put on the wall. So far, we’ve got the Toon Brothers, Iron Joe and even Lettie Porchetti!’

  Willow hadn’t heard of any of them, but she was so grateful for the interruption she would have agreed to almost anything right about now. ‘Of course.’

  The maitre d’ motioned eagerly to the manager. He slung an arm around Willow’s waist and as they posed for photos, Willow’s mind churned with how to respond. As much as she longed to tell Alex how much she’d missed him, now was not the time to undo years of hard work getting over him. He was in London, a partner in one of the most prestigious architectural firms and, from what she had seen, had wasted no time replacing her. Reopening her Pandora’s box of emotion now wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

  Willow sat down at the table again. ‘I think it’s best if we don’t look back,’ she said finally, struggling to get the sentence past the hard knot in her throat. Although her heart protested each word with every beat, Willow knew she was doing the right thing. Besides, there was nothing to say Alex had come here for anything other than a little bit of nostalgic reminiscence. He did have Claire.

  For a split of a second, Willow thought she saw something like pain flash across Alex’s face but an instant later it was gone, replaced by the usual calm expression.

  ‘The future’s so bright, y
ou gotta wear shades?’ he quipped, smiling over at her.

  ‘Something like that,’ Willow mumbled, lowering her head to focus again on the menu.

  *

  Jay strolled down the high street, spirits high after his meeting with Simpson. The old man had jumped at the chance to nab more publicity for Belcherton through the Marilyn Mania Festival. He hadn’t even batted an eye when Jay outlined the costs involved, saying the council was so happy with all the added tourism to the area, they’d more than likely agree to cover any up-front fees. And since the profit margins were so high, it was practically a no-brainer. Even a country hick like Simpson could see that.

  Jay narrowed his eyes as he spotted Willow’s buxom form coming toward him, along with a man he didn’t recognise. The man was walking close to Willow in a familiar manner that suggested the two of them hadn’t just met. Who the hell was that? Willow had never mentioned any boyfriend. Even though they weren’t touching, Jay could almost sense the energy snapping between them.

  The pair stopped in front of Willow’s house and Jay quickened his pace. Whoever this bloke was, no way was Jay going to let him get his claws into Willow. He needed her one hundred and ten per cent dedicated to him, especially with the coming festival. Sure, he’d signed her up to an iron-tight contract, but he knew from experience that women in love could do funny things.

  ‘Baby!’ Jay burst out of the shadows and strode over to where the two of them stood, slinging his arm around Willow’s waist and pulling her up against him. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’ The man took a step back in surprise, his gaze flitting back and forth from Jay to Willow.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Jay asked, sliding his hand up and down Willow’s arm and smugly noting the look of irritation that scudded across the man’s face.

  ‘Oh, this is, uh . . . an old friend, Alex Fielding,’ Willow mumbled, staring at the ground.

  Christ, he was going to have to teach her not to mutter like that. An old friend, as if. Looked like Jay had done the right thing, stepping in. ‘And what brings you to Belcherton?’ he asked, trying to get as much information on this Alex as possible.

  ‘My architectural practice is bidding on the new tourist centre,’ Alex answered, taking another step away from Willow. ‘And you are?’ There was a slight edge to his voice.

  ‘Jay Bellamy. Willow’s agent . . . and more.’ He tugged Willow even closer, then leaned over and kissed her noisily on the lips. ‘Nice to meet you.’ Jay stuck out his hand, noting Alex’s firm grip and Patek Philippe watch. Rich tosser. Well, soon Jay would have more money than ten of him together.

  Alex glanced over at Willow, eyebrows raised. ‘Nice meeting you,’ he said, although Jay could tell by the way his lips tightened it was anything but.

  ‘So where is your firm based?’ Jay asked. The further away from here, the better.

  ‘Grant & Associates is in London,’ Alex said distractedly, looking at his watch. ‘I’d better get going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Bye, Willow.’ He took off down the busy road before she even responded. Just in case he turned around, Jay grabbed Willow and embraced her passionately.

  From now on, Jay would have to be extra vigilant. All it took was one man sniffing around his prize bitch, and all future hopes would be ruined. Old boyfriends were the worst when it came to influence; he’d nearly lost Jorgie back in the early days when her ex tried to persuade her to move to Australia with him. Jay had put an end to that fast – just like he’d stop this dead in its tracks before it went any further. Sure, the man had backed off when he’d noticed Jay in the picture, but Jay wanted to be certain he stayed away for good.

  Jay smiled down at Willow as his mind ticked over. An architect, eh? Imagine if his firm did win that bid. It wouldn’t do to have a big-shot from London hanging around here, day after day. How could Jay get rid of him?

  His grin widened as an idea formed. Bright and early tomorrow, he’d track down the number to Grant & Associates and tell them he had evidence their partner in Belcherton was already arranging kick-backs from local contractors in exchange for their work on the building – or something along those lines. Of course they’d investigate and find it wasn’t true, but in the meantime they’d have to pull Alex off the project.

  Bye bye, old friend, Jay muttered to himself, reeling in Willow for another kiss to seal the deal.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  STARS DOTTED THE CLEAR night sky as Betts and Dickie crept into the house. It was almost two a.m. and hours past Betts’s bedtime, but she’d never felt more alive – not even when she’d won a genuine used Marilyn Band-Aid in an eBay auction. Her eyes scratched with tiredness, but every time she glanced at Dickie, the adrenaline pumped and her body started tingling. For the thousandth time, Betts reminded herself Dickie was a recent widower, firmly closed for business in the love department. But he hadn’t seemed closed for business, a small bit of her protested as images of the past few hours floated through her head.

  Dickie had looked so spiffy in his crisp white shirt and tie, and walking through the yellow fields to a nearby country pub was like something out of a fairy tale. The pub had been wonderful, too: one of those thatched roof ones Betts had only seen on the History Channel. Inside, low beams criss-crossed the ceiling and paraphernalia from the past few centuries filled every corner.

  Away from Belcherton and the ghost of his wife, Dickie was like a new person – animated and full of life. They’d laughed, drunk a lot of wine, and sat in the garden at a picnic table until the landlord kicked them out. Then Dickie had blagged a bottle of wine and two glasses, produced a blanket from goodness knows where, and they’d lounged in the warm summer night, just talking for hours. Betts hadn’t done that since she was a teenager. Before they knew it, it was well past midnight and time to head home. They tiptoed in as if they were teenagers returning late from curfew.

  ‘Shhhh!’ Betts giggled as Dickie almost tripped over a wrinkle in the carpet. Goodness, that wine had gone right to her head. They stole up the stairs, Betts holding onto the railing to steady herself. She was so happy – and tipsy – that she almost felt like she was floating. Dickie stopped outside her room and turned to face her.

  He was so handsome, she thought, taking in his dear face, beard, and those wonderful wrinkles by his eyes. Her cheeks heated up, and she leaned closer and closer until . . .

  Stop right now, you big ol’ fool, Betts scolded herself, moving quickly away from Dickie. What on earth was she thinking? Stretching her lips in a grin, she patted Dickie’s arm in a ‘just friends’ way. ‘Well now,’ she said in her best jovial voice. ‘That was a great night, wasn’t it? Totally awesome, as my kids would say.’

  Dickie cleared his throat and stepped back, likely thanking his lucky stars he’d escaped her embrace. Her heart dropped as she recalled Gord saying kissing her was like being slobbered on by an overeager dog.

  ‘It certainly was. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Dickie said. ‘Or rather, today. Good night.’ The wrinkles by his eyes crinkled up again as he smiled, and Betts barely managed to stop herself from reaching out and touching them.

  ‘Good night,’ she mumbled, closing the bedroom door behind her. She was just about to get into bed when she spotted a sheet of paper on the bedside table.

  Your daughter phoned, the message said. There’s been an emergency and you should ring her straight away.

  Emergency? Ring straight away?

  Betts stared at the words as if she couldn’t quite process them. Given that she’d had more wine than ever before in her life, that was a definite possibility.

  Panic rising, Betts scrambled back downstairs to use the ancient landline. Was Lucy okay? She’d never forgive herself if something had happened while she was out cavorting like an adolescent, mooning over some man she didn’t stand a chance with.

  And what was she doing out here, anyway, so far from home? Maybe she did belong closer to her family.

  Fingers shaking, she dialled Lucy’s number, holding her
breath. It was just after nine p.m. back home.

  ‘Hello?’ Her daughter’s voice came on the line.

  ‘Lucy? Honey! Is everything all right? I just got your message now.’ Betts could barely get out the words fast enough.

  ‘Relax, Mom.’ That sarcastic, patronising tone learned from Gord echoed across the Atlantic.

  ‘Relax? I got a message there was an emergency and to call right away!’ Irritation stirred inside.

  ‘Emergency?’ Lucy sounded as if she was straining to remember. ‘Oh. Oh yeah.’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Stupid waiter got grease on my designer blouse when I was out at the BBQ Shack. I remember you had one of those home remedies. What was it again?’

  Betts took a deep breath and tried to keep the rising annoyance in check. This was why her daughter had called, claiming an emergency? Not to talk to her; not to say she missed her . . . but wondering how to remove a grease stain from a blouse?

  ‘I’ve got to go, Lucy. It’s the middle of the night here.’

  ‘But Mom–’

  For the first time ever, Betts hung up on her daughter. She stood still, staring at the receiver. It wasn’t entirely her kids’ fault they treated their mother the way they did – or, as much as she hated to admit it, Gord’s fault, either. If she’d stood up for herself every once in a while, they might have learned not to take advantage.

  This was Betts’s time now. Her time to do what she wanted. She might still have a lot to learn about men, but by George, she wasn’t going to let anyone treat her like their own personal doormat any longer.

  *

  Willow sighed as she strapped on her butt cushion and inserted a handful of tissue into her bra, trying to get psyched up for another day ahead as Marilyn. Jay had given instructions to meet him at the information centre that morning for some ‘exciting news’. Patting tan foundation under her eyes to hide the dark circles, Willow wasn’t sure how much more excitement she could take.