Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I cough. “Since when?”

  She looks offended. “Since forever. I did not talk to the media about this. Okay?”

  My shoulders slump. For all her scheming ways, I believe her. “Well if you didn’t, who did?”

  She wanders back to the kitchen. “Search me. Don’t get too upset about it. It’ll all blow over in the next day or two. Want a coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks,” I reply absentmindedly, picking up my phone and scrolling through the messages from friends and family. I stop when I read one from Savannah.

  I thought you said it wasn’t true

  I swallow, my stomach lurching again. Now Savannah thinks I’m a liar. Scrub that: now she knows I’m a liar.

  Great start to the new sisterly relationship, Grace.

  My phone rings. It’s Sam.

  “Hey, how are you?” he asks tenderly.

  “Okay,” I reply. I turn and walk out of Tiffany’s earshot.

  He sighs. “You read it.”

  ‘Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault. Tiffany swears it wasn’t her. How do you think they found out?”

  “Clearly someone saw us that night and recognised us. God, it makes me so bloody angry.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Me too. I’ve got my friends and family all wanting to know what’s going on. Sam, I don’t want to lie to them again. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “I know you don’t. That’s why this kind of bullshit makes me so angry.”

  I’m trapped: I want to be loyal to Sam, but I need to be honest with my family and friends.

  “Can I at least tell my family? Honestly, Sam, they’re really trustworthy.”

  He looks at me for a moment. “Sure. Of course, you should tell them.”

  I smile, relieved I can tell my family I’m not some kind of sex-crazed home-wrecker. “What can we do about this story?”

  “I know what I want to do,” he says grimly, “but that will end in assault charges.”

  I let out a dry laugh. “Maybe not the best approach.”

  “Look, I don’t have any commitments for the next couple of days. How about we get away from this madness for a while? Just you and me. No paparazzi, nothing but us.”

  Something in my chest contracts. “That would be so nice.”

  “Any ideas where? Somewhere safe and away from people.”

  A grin spreads across my face. It’s Saturday morning so I don’t have any Estil work to do. “I know just the place. Give me half an hour. I’ll let you know the plan.”

  I hang up, my heart soaring at the thought of spending two days with Sam. Alone.

  “You look happier,” Tiffany comments, holding her steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

  “I’m going away for the weekend.”

  “Sounds good. With anyone in particular?” she asks in mock innocence.

  I laugh. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  There’s a knock on the door. It startles us both, making me jump.

  “Who could that be?”

  Tiffany walks over to open the door. “It’s a delivery. I buzzed him up while you were on the phone with your luverrr,” she teases. “Are you expecting anything?”

  She pulls the door open and is instantly blinded by flashbulbs. There must be three or four paparazzi at the door, pushing and shoving one another to get the perfect shot of me.

  “Close the door!” I yell in a sudden panic.

  Tiffany pushes her body against it. “I’m trying!”

  I run over and push with her, both our backs against the door. After a mammoth effort, I hear it click. I instantly lock and chain it, relief flooding through my veins as we both slump to the floor, leaning up against the door.

  “Phew. That was close,” Tiffany says breathlessly. “I won’t have to go to the gym today.”

  She begins to giggle. It’s infectious. Soon we’re both in uncontrollable laughter on the floor. We laugh and laugh, until our tummies hurt and tears stream down our faces.

  “I’m sorry,” Tiffany says once she’s composed herself enough to speak without breaking into peels of fresh laughter.

  I know what she’s referring to. “Why did you do it, Tiff? Didn’t you know how much it would hurt me?”

  She shrugs. “I guess I saw an opportunity. I wasn’t thinking about you. I want to be famous.” She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world to want.

  Having my face plastered over the entertainment section is the last thing I could ever imagine wanting. “I don’t get it. Look at what’s happening to Sam and me right now. Why would you purposefully invite that kind of scrutiny into your life?”

  “I don’t know. Being famous is what I’ve always wanted. Ever since I was a little girl and my mother would enter me in beauty pageants. If anyone would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up I would say ‘famous’ without even blinking. It’s who I am.”

  I shake my head and smile. “We’re so different, you and I.”

  She grins at me. “I guess we are.”

  “What is going on here?” Taylor is standing watching us, a perplexed look on her face.

  “Just some roommate bonding,” Tiffany says, shooting me a sideways grin. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  “No thanks. I’ve got to get to work.”

  I take in her makeup, her figure-hugging dress. “Looking good there, Taylor.”

  She blushes. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Tiffany adds.

  Taylor and I look at Tiffany in surprise.

  “What? She does. Can’t a girl compliment her friend every now and then?”

  Friend? Taylor shoots her a sharp look.

  I start to explain. “It’s just… Never mind.” I don’t want to get into the whole Tiffany-Scott-Taylor debacle right now. I have enough on my plate.

  I stand up, thinking of the getaway holiday I need to plan. “Actually, I’ve got some calls to make to get ready to go away. And I’ve got some paparazzi to avoid.” I extend my hand to Tiffany who grabs it and jumps up.

  “I’ve got an idea. How about I talk to them? I can arrange to meet them downstairs. That way you can escape and they’ll be none the wiser,” Tiffany suggests.

  A rueful smile spreads across my face. “And you’ll be the centre of attention again?”

  She shrugs, grinning. “What can I say? It’s a win-win.”

  “Okay,” I concede. “Can you tell them you’ll meet them in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Of course. That gives me enough time to get camera-ready.”

  I roll my eyes. Tiffany is beautiful, whether she’s dressed up to the nines or just rolled out of bed.

  “I’ll get myself packed up and ready to go. And Tiff? Thanks.”

  We hug, our friendship moving back on track.

  Taylor clears her throat. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  We both grin at her.

  “Come with me. I’ll explain everything as I pack.”

  * * *

  “Where are we going?” Sam’s voice rumbles through me as we sit together in the back seat, our thighs touching.

  Jimmy is driving us through the city, the people and buildings a blur out the window.

  “My family has a beach house in Hawke’s Bay, about a four hour drive north of Wellington. My parents said we could use it for as long as we need. I told them about you and me.”

  “How was that?” he asks.

  “Surprisingly good. You know, other than having to sit through the whole dad protecting his daughter speech.”

  He chuckles his eyes sparkling. “He wouldn’t be your father if he didn’t.”

  “I guess. I trust them completely: they won’t tell anyone about us.”

  “I’m sure.” He smiles at me, giving my hand a squeeze.

  I check where we are out the window. “Excuse me, Jimmy? Can you please stop at that rental car place up ahead?”

  “Certainly,
Miss,” he replies in his habitual courteous tone.

  “You’ve rented a car?” Sam asks in surprise.

  “Yes. I booked it in my roommate Taylor’s name. The one you haven’t met. The nice one.” I grin at him. “She was happy to help us out. I thought that way we can’t be traced.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You’re better at this than you realise,” he says, admiration in his voice.

  Fifteen minutes and a fair bit of lying about why the photo on ‘my’ driver’s license doesn’t look like me, we’re in the car, heading north.

  I tell Sam about my newfound sister, Savannah.

  “And you had no idea she even existed?”

  “No, isn’t that crazy? She said my mum has no idea either.”

  “That’s going to be one awkward conversation.”

  A shot of worry hits my chest. “I don’t know what to do. I keep thinking if I was in Mum’s position I would want to know. But Savannah was born three months after me, almost to the day. He wasn’t exactly the doting father-to-be, considering what he must have been up to.”

  “That’s got to be difficult for her.”

  I let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now, I want to focus on getting to know her. It’s not every day you get a new sister.”

  “Exactly.”

  I think about her text message to me this morning. She must think I’m a piece of work, swearing there’s nothing going on with Sam, then this new story about us breaking this morning. I resolve to meet up with her when we’re back in Wellington and explain everything—and hope she understands.

  “Now, tell me about where we’re going.”

  “It’s a place I’ve spent many summers in. It’s at a beach called Waimarama in Hawke’s Bay.”

  “Weimaraner? Like those big brown dogs?” he asks.

  I chuckle. “No, not like those big brown dogs. Waimarama. It’s a Maori name. I love it there, although you may find it a little rustic after what you’ve been used to.”

  Sam lets out an easy laugh. “My life has hardly been five-star hotels, personal drivers, and red carpets. Well, not until the last couple of years, anyway.”

  “No?” I question with a grin, keeping my eyes on the road. “I thought you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”

  “If you call a council estate in Glasgow a silver spoon, then yes, you’re absolutely right.”

  I glance at the dashboard clock. “We have about four hours. Tell me all about it.”

  We share our life stories: how he grew up with a single mother, how he was bullied by a boy called Magnus Pilkington when he was ten, how he always knew he wanted to be an actor, even as a young child.

  “It makes me so angry the way the media depicts me as this privileged gentleman who went to expensive schools and eats off bloody gold plates every night, like it was a natural progression for me to become a famous actor. It was bloody hard work to get where I am today and I’m not ashamed of where I’m from.”

  I look at him out of the corner of my eye as we speed along the road. “I bet your family is really proud of you.”

  His face lights up. “Yes. My mum, Kathleen, she watches anything I’m in, always calling me to tell me how proud she is. We talked just this morning. I get the feeling her friends are a little bit sick of hearing all about my acting exploits.”

  “That’s so nice. Is she still in Glasgow?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t live in the place I grew up. After I’d been on Portal 51 for a while I saved up enough to move her into a house. To start with she would walk around the outside walls, touching them, basking in the fact she didn’t have to share them with other households. It was the first time in her life she’d had a garden, the first time she didn’t have to put up with other people’s noises and smells through the walls, floors, and ceilings.”

  I smile. “You’re a good son.”

  “You’d do the same, I’m sure.” His voice is soft, like poured honey.

  My body responds in an instant. I grip the steering wheel, focussing on driving.

  “You’re proud of where you’re from, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “Damn straight I am. I left and went to drama school but it still shaped me, made me the person I am today.”

  We stop and don our disguises to buy something to eat—meat pies and cans of Coke, truly the food of champions—at a one-horse town about half way to the beach.

  “What’s the food like in Scotland?” I ask. “I haven’t heard great things.”

  “You mean the traditional stuff? Pretty bloody ghastly, unless you like sheep’s intestines, that is.” He grins at me across the café table.

  “Mm. Sounds delectable.”

  “I’ll make you porridge the way we Scots have it for breakfast, if you like.”

  “How’s that?”

  “With salt, instead of sugar.”

  “Ugh, that sounds horrendous.”

  “You’ll grow to love it.” He flashes me his gorgeous grin.

  A couple of hours later we arrive at the beach house in mid-afternoon. I park the car in the garage, away from prying eyes. Not that there are exactly many people around to pry: Waimarama Beach is definitely on the small side.

  Once inside we open the curtains and windows and let the brilliant Hawke’s Bay sun stream in. I watch self-consciously as he looks around the room, at the loud seventies kitchen, the patchwork quilt my mum made about a million years ago draped over the back of the sofa, the pictures of our family pets, past and present, adorning the walls.

  “This place is perfect,” he declares as he slides his hands around my waist, pulling me into him.

  I look up into his eyes, bluer than the ocean, and my breath catches in my throat.

  “Grace,” he says with such tenderness my knees go weak.

  He leans down and kisses me. It’s soft and tender, full of the promise of things to come. It leaves me dazed and breathless, wanting more. Oh, so much more.

  Suddenly nervous I ask, “Do you think we should switch our phones off?”

  “Why?” He doesn’t let me go.

  “So, they can’t trace us here.”

  His laugh rumbles through my chest and down through my body. “The paparazzi are after us, Grace, not the FBI. I’m not sure they have the power to track us through our mobiles.”

  “Oh,” I reply, sheepish. “I didn’t know.”

  He smooths my hair away from my face. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Love?

  My heart gives a little squeeze.

  “I… err…” Great. It appears my vocabulary is failing me once again.

  “Why don’t you show me around?” he asks, looking about the room.

  “Sure.” A tour of the house: that I can do.

  “This is the living room, dining room and kitchen, as you can see. Down here,” I say, walking down the hallway, “is the bathroom.”

  I swing the door open and he peers in. I watch as he takes in the ’Seventies wall tiles, the orange splashback behind the sink, the cork tiled floor.

  “It’s, ah, lovely,” he comments, suppressing a grin. He reads the sign above the cistern. “’If it’s yellow let it mellow, if it’s brown flush it down.’”

  I laugh. “Septic tank.”

  “Ah.”

  I shake my head, returning his smile. “As I said, it’s not exactly The Ritz.”

  He takes me by the hand and leads me to the room at the end of the hallway.

  “What’s this?” he asks as he opens the door onto the master bedroom. “Ah, a bedroom. With a big bed.” He turns to face me, still holding my hand. “Is this where we’ll . . . sleep?” he teases.

  My body gives a pleasurable squeeze. “Yes,” I reply, breathless.

  “I’ve got another idea.” His eyes darken with desire.

  Without another word, he reaches down and unbuttons my cardigan, sliding it off my shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor. He reaches b
ehind me and unzips my dress, slipping his hand inside to caress my back. I breathe in his luscious scent, closing my eyes as I concentrate on his touch.

  He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. “Is this okay?”

  I swallow. Hard. Okay? It’s mind-blowingly fantastically incredibly freaking amaze-balls.

  “I think we left ‘okay’ behind a long time ago,” I breathe, my heart hammering.

  I reach up and pull him down into a deep, sensuous kiss, as my need for him becomes a throb.

  “Good,” he mutters against my mouth. “I’ve got a few things I want to do to you in that room.”

  He pulls my bra off, dropping it at our feet. My breathing rapid, we both watch as he traces his long, tanned fingers over my breasts. He teases my nipples, sending exquisite shivers skating down my body, hitting their target between my legs.

  His progression is slow, deliberate, erotic. God, I can’t get enough of this man.

  He slips his T-shirt off over his head. I reach out and stroke his firm, angular chest, watching as his flesh goose bumps with my touch. He leans down and picks me up, carrying me into the bedroom. Placing me on the bed, he slips my panties down until I’m lying naked in front of him.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. He pushes my legs apart, kissing my inner thighs higher, higher, higher.

  Oh, god.

  We make love all afternoon on the old, rickety bed, laughing as it creaks and squeaks as we explore one another’s bodies, revelling in our time secreted away from the world.

  Eventually, sweaty and satisfied, we lie, still tangled together, catching our breath.

  “That was—” he begins.

  “Perfection,” I confirm, my head resting on his broad chest.

  He laughs. “I think you might beat me in the perfection stakes. I mean, look at you.” He pulls away from me, his eyes scanning my body. “You’re so beautiful.”

  He smiles at me and I feel it right down, deep in my bones.

  This is it. This is where I want to be. I know it more than I’ve ever known anything in my life.

  And I wish it could last forever.

  Chapter 18

  IT’S BEEN LESS THAN twenty-four hours since our arrival at Waimarama Beach and it’s fair to say we’ve spent most of that time either making love or recovering from making love before we make love again.