by Kylie Scott
EPILOGUE
“I’m not sure about this,” I say, swishing the skirt on my blue evening gown. Without a doubt, I am in full-blown princess mode.
“It’s definitely not the sort of thing you should rush into.” Clem’s mouth flatlines in concern. “We can just pack all of this up . . .”
“Huh?”
“You know, give you more time to think it through.”
Tessa nods. “She has a point. Big life decision happening here.”
“Oh, no,” I say, lifting the bodice on the strapless gown just a little. Nobody wants any nipples making an appearance at inopportune moments. Or at least, not too early in the evening. “I was talking about wearing this over-the-top dress as opposed to say jeans or something. Not about the other thing. We’re full steam ahead on that front.”
They exchange relieved glances. And fair enough too. We’ve only spent the last hour decorating the condo with candles and rose petals. It looks like St. Valentine exploded in here. Add the champagne chilling in the ice bucket and the mood music playing over the speakers and we are good to go.
“Mostly I was just wondering if a more relaxed feel with the wardrobe would be better,” I explain. “Guess I’m just nervous. About everything. What if he doesn’t like it?”
“He’s going to love it. Now kick off your heels,” says Briar over FaceTime. She couldn’t get away from New York due to work, but wanted to participate in the moment.
I do as told, stopping to stretch my toes afterward. It’s grounding, having the cool polished wooden floorboards beneath my feet. Suddenly it feels like I can breathe again. “Oh yeah. That’s better. Good call.”
Briar raises her glass of wine to me. “You’ve never really enjoyed wearing heels.”
“Does anyone?”
Tessa shrugs. “Eh. Depends on the occasion. Just don’t ask me to run in them.”
And then it happens. Keys rattle in the door and Leif walks in, eyes going wide as the romance of the room smacks him upside the head. His cheeks are pink from the ice-cold wind undoubtedly blowing outside. There’s a good reason I’ve got the heat cranked up to make wearing this somewhat scanty dream of a dress okay.
Clem’s brows jump. “You’re early! He’s home early!”
“We’re out of here.” Tessa grabs her hand and they head for the door, squeezing past my boyfriend to get gone, closing the door behind them with a “Good luck!”
“You’ve got this,” says Briar. “Don’t let your anxiety get the better of you. Enjoy the moment and do your thing.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Briar gives me a saucy wink and hangs up.
“What’s going on?” Leif tosses his leather jacket over the back of a chair, giving me a good look-over in the process. It’s crazy, how the sight of him still makes me swoon. How butterflies go wild in my belly when he gives me that certain look. “Did I forget an anniversary or something? Why are you dressed so fancy, baby?”
I smile. “It’s a secret.”
“Huh.”
“I will tell you all in my own good time, however. I’m a giver like that.”
“Okay then.” He gives me a lopsided grin that honest to God makes my knees weak. This man. Happy sigh. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“One of these days I’m going to surprise the shit out of you and turn up in a suit.”
“You’d look awful pretty in a suit. Of course you look awful pretty in anything. Or nothing. I’m a lucky woman.”
He just grins.
“Why don’t you do the honors and pour the champagne?”
“On it.” He crosses to the bottle and the waiting glasses. “You know, the last time you were dressed like that was your happy divorce party going on six months ago now.”
I slump oh so gracefully onto the sofa, accepting my glass of bubbly. A bit too much running around for one day maybe. Though the overall effect of all of our decorating the place is gorgeous and my friends were happy to help. It’s nice to have new and awesome friends. I like it a lot. “It hasn’t been long since all of that, has it? I mean it feels like we’ve been together a long time, but we haven’t really. Everything about us being together used to worry me so much.”
“But not anymore?” He sits beside me, slinging an arm around my bare shoulders and drawing me close. The motive for this becomes obvious when he takes a moment to peek down the front of my dress for various reasons. All of which make me smile.
“No, not anymore.”
“Good.”
“I’m happily living my best life and I hope you are too.”
“You bet I am,” he says.
“How was work?”
“Good. Art was in getting his children’s signatures on his calf muscle.”
“He’s a nice man.”
Leif smiles. “He is. He said to say hi.”
“That’s nice. Gosh darn you’re handsome.”
“I find you awfully fetching too, Anna. Especially all dressed up like you are,” he says. “Though I also like you a lot naked with your hair all rumpled and sleep in your eyes. I’m easy for you like that.”
“Why thank you, kind sir. I put extra effort in because I wanted to make something out of tonight. A surprise something.” I couldn’t keep the answering grin off my face if I tried. So instead I take a sip of booze and get my thoughts in order. Hours have been spent in front of the mirror preparing for this speech, but the words still feel like a jumbled anxious mess on my tongue. “It’s more than just attraction between us, you know? A lot more. You’re my best friend, Leif. You’re smart and kind and you mean everything to me. Life is better with you.”
His gaze warms at the words. “Thank you.”
“The last few months with you have been the best. And that’s wild given how bad the ones leading up to it were. So I pulled on my big-girl panties and made a certain phone call today . . .”
He cocks his head. “Did you now?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I rang your lovely mother and asked for her blessing to ask you to marry me.”
Beside me, the man freezes. “You did what?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I did . . . I’m just surprised.” He blinks. “Anna, baby, I thought you didn’t want to get married again. You were pretty damn against the idea if I remember correctly.”
“No, I didn’t. Because I didn’t see how I could ever trust someone like that again. Didn’t know if I could ever feel that secure and happy, you know?”
“That makes sense.”
“But I do feel that way. With you.”
He exhales. “Wow. I’m so glad to hear that.”
“And I was wondering if maybe you feel that way with me?”
The corners of his lips edge up again. “I most certainly do. But we can keep going on as we are if you’re not comfortable with more.”
“That’s what I’m telling you, my love. I am comfortable with more. I’m comfortable with all of it when it comes to you.”
He just shakes his head in wonder. But he still hasn’t said yes. This is an important point.
“And when we were doing our rewatch of The Twilight Saga last week, I happened to notice how you kept watching me out of the corner of your eye during the wedding scenes,” I say.
“Anna . . .”
“And that look on your face when Bella was walking down the aisle. It made me think that maybe I’d been a bit selfish ruling out marriage.”
“I told you,” he says. “I had something in my eye. That’s all.”
“Sure. Okay. It’s a beautiful vampiric cinematic moment and no one would blame you for getting caught up in it.” I set my glass aside and turn to face him more fully. His expression is grave, his focus entirely on me. I grab hold of his hand, holding on tight. “But also, as I just explained, my reasons for ruling it out didn’t really add up anymore.”
Nothing from him.
“So I’m asking you to marry me.”
St
ill nothing from him.
Oh, God. My hands are a sweaty mess. “If you would like to do that maybe?”
“Anna.” His throat moves as he swallows. “Are you certain that’s something you want as opposed to being something you’d tolerate to make me happy? Because it’s kind of a big deal. We’d be legally bound together.”
“I know.”
“Even if we ran off to Vegas and kept things on the down low, it’d be a big deal amongst our family and friends.”
I frown. “Yes. I know. People will have opinions. That’s what you’re hinting at, right? Most will be delighted, but not necessarily everyone. Thing is, as I said before, I don’t care. I refuse to care. I love you and I don’t mind who knows it. At the end of the day, this is about you and me and fuck everyone else.”
“Fuck everyone else?”
“Yes.”
He blows out another breath. “So that’s what the candles and rose and fancy dress are about?”
“It felt like it should be a big moment, you know?”
“I know.” His smile is gentle and sweet now. “And I appreciate it. I just don’t want you doing something to please me that you’re going to regret.”
Now I’m really losing my nerve. Mostly on account of me running out of words. Maybe he’s trying to let me down gently. Maybe I was wrong and we’re not there yet. But no. Leif loves me and I’m certain of that. I trust him. Though maybe this isn’t what he wants at all. A wedding and marriage and things changing again so soon.
“You’re frowning,” he says. “Stop that.”
“Of course I’m frowning, you haven’t said yes yet.”
“Huh?” he asks, brows drawn together. “Oh. Yes, of course. I thought that was obvious. I’d love to be your husband. It’d be an honor and a duty and a pleasure.”
“Thank goodness for that,” I mumble, my shoulders deflating.
“You were worried?”
“Just a little.”
He laughs, planting kisses on my forehead. “Please. I’m a fool for you. There’s no way on earth I’m not marrying you given half the chance. So long as it’s what you really want.”
“It really is.” I rest my cheek against his shoulder with a smile. “I promise.”
His big hand cups my face and maneuvers me into position for a long and deep kiss. A soul kiss. My absolute favorite. The scent of him and taste of him and just everything about him is the best. He still goes to my head like fine wine and he always will. Therapy has helped a lot with his nightmares. It’s also helping me get a grip on life, the universe, and everything. Neither of us will ever be exactly what we were before the accident, but that’s okay. Starting over taught me a lot, but without a doubt, he’s one of the amazing things to come out of everything. One of the things I’ll never stop being grateful for. While I know I could live without him, that I could have rebuilt my life alone if I had to because I’m strong enough and good enough, that I didn’t have to is a blessing I’ll never take for granted.
Just when I thought it was impossible, he made me believe in love again. I really am a lucky woman.
Continue reading for a sneak peek of
FAKE
SNEEK PEEK OF FAKE
CHAPTER ONE
He slunk into the restaurant mid-afternoon wearing his usual scowl. Ignoring the closed sign, he took a booth near the back. No one else was allowed to do this. Just him. Today’s wardrobe consisted of black jeans, Converse, and a button-down shirt. Doubtless designer. And the way those sleeves hugged his biceps . . . why, they should have been ashamed of themselves. I was this close to yelling “get a room.”
Instead, I asked, “The usual?”
Slumped down in the corner of the booth, he tipped his chin in reply. For such a tall guy, he sure went out of his way to try to hide.
I said no more. Words were neither welcomed nor wanted. Which was fine since (A) I was tired and (B) he tipped well for the peace and quiet.
Out back, Vinnie the cook was busy prepping for tonight, his knife making quick work of an onion.
“He’s here,” I said.
A smile split Vinnie’s face. He was a huge fan of the man’s action films. The ones he’d made before hitting it big time and taking on more serious dramatic roles. Him choosing to visit the restaurant every month or so made Vinnie’s life complete. Especially since the restaurant, Little Italy, was the very definition of a hole in the wall. Not somewhere generally frequented by the Hollywood elite. Meanwhile, I was less of a fan, but still a fan. You know.
“Get him his beer,” Vinnie ordered.
Like I didn’t know my job. Sheesh.
He was busy with his cell by the time I placed the Peroni in front of him. No glass. He drank straight from the bottle like an animal. Just then, a woman in a red sweater dress and tan five-inch-heel booties strode in through the front door.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I said.
“I’m with him.” She headed straight for his booth and slid into the other side, giving the man a dour look. “You can’t just walk out, Patrick. You’re going to have to choose one of them.”
“Nope.” He took a pull from his beer. “They all sucked.”
“There had to be at least one that would do.”
“Not even a little.”
She sighed. “Keep this up and you’ll be obsolete by next week. Beyond help. Forgotten.”
“Go away, Angie.”
“Just another talented but trash male in Hollywood. That’s what they’re saying on social media.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Liar,” she drawled.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Obviously they knew each other, but he did not seem to want her here. And she really wasn’t supposed to be here. Vinnie had okayed after-hours entry to only one person. On the other hand, if I asked her to leave, she’d probably sic her lawyers on me. She looked the type.
The woman spied me hovering. “Get me a glass of red.”
“She’s not staying,” countermanded Patrick.
Angie didn’t move an inch. “They were all viable options. Pliant. Young. Pretty. Discreet. Nothing weird or kinky in their backgrounds.”
“That might have made them more interesting.”
“Interesting women is what got you into this mess.” The woman frowned, taking me in. Still hovering. One perfectly shaped brow rose in question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to sigh and give me a nod. He was so dreamy with his jaw and cheekbones and his everything. Real classic Hollywood handsome. Especially with his short light brown hair in artful disarray and a hint of stubble. Sometimes it was hard not to stare. Which is probably why his personality tended to scream “leave me alone.”
I headed for the small bar area at the back of the restaurant to fetch the wine like a good little waitress.
“We shouldn’t be discussing this here,” said Angie, giving the room a disdainful sniff. Talk about judgy. I thought the raw brick walls and chunky wood tables were cool. Give or take Vinnie’s collection of old black-and-white photos of Los Angeles freeways. Who knew what that was about?
Patrick slumped down even further. “I’m not going back there. I’m done with it.”
“This isn’t safe.” Angie looked around nervously. “Let’s—”
“We’re fine. I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You just got dropped from a big-budget film, Patrick,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “The industry may not find you bankable right now, but I’m sure gossip about you is still selling just fine. This week at least.”
A grunt from the man.
“The plan will work if you let it. Everything is organized and ready to go. It’s the perfect opportunity to start rewriting the narrative in your favor.” She jabbed a finger in his direction to accentuate the word “your.” The woman clearly meant business, and then some.
I set the glass of wine down in front of her and returned to my place at the bac
k of the room, polishing the silverware and restocking the salt and pepper and so on—all the jobs best performed when things were slow. And while it was nosy and wrong to listen in on other people’s conversations, it wasn’t my fault the room was so quiet that I could hear everything they said.
“None of them felt authentic,” he said, stopping to down some more beer.
The woman snorted. “That’s because none of them are.”
“You know what I mean.”
“When you first came to me you said you wanted to become a star, make quality films, and win an Oscar. In that order,” she said. “As things are at present, you may be able to resurrect your career to some degree through the indie market. Pick up roles here and there and slowly build yourself back up. But that’s going to take years and you’ll likely never be in the running for the golden statuette. You can kiss that dream goodbye.”
Patrick ran an agitated hand through his hair.
“You worked your ass off to get this far,” she said. “Are you really going to give up now?”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Liv is busy saving her own ass and you’re unwilling to set the record straight. Not that anyone would even necessarily believe you at this point. So our options are limited.” She picked up her wine, taking a delicate sip before wrinkling her nose in distaste. Since it came out of a box, that wasn’t much of a surprise. She’d only asked for a glass of red; she hadn’t specified quality. “I know you were hoping it would all die down, but people are still talking. And with social media how it is, this was the worst possible time to get caught up in a scandal. However, there is hope. We can still salvage things if you’d just work with us. But we need to act now.”
Patrick declined to respond.
It had been all over the internet a month ago. Photos of him leaving Liv Anders’s Malibu residence at the crack of dawn. And it was clearly a morning-after picture. Totally a walk of shame. He’d been all disheveled and wearing a crumpled tux. Liv being half of Hollywood’s current darling couple was part of the problem. Along with Patrick and Liv’s husband, Grant, having just done a movie together and supposedly being best buds. That Patrick had spent his earlier years dating a string of models and partying hard didn’t help matters either. His reputation was well established. Headlines such as “Patrick the Player,” “Walsh Destroys Wedded Bliss,” “Friendship Failure,” and “Not So Heroic Homewrecker” were everywhere. Maybe it had been a slow news week, but the amount of hate leveled at him was surprising.