by Liz Johnson
Eleanor shrugged, twisting off the cap on her bottle of water. “He’s somewhat handsome, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Sarah dropped the Rubik’s cube in her lap and grabbed Eleanor’s arm. “You’re a bad liar. Or blind.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this to a teenaged patient, but the girl deserved some fun and distraction. And besides, she truly was a bad liar. “Fine. I’ll admit, he’s got quite a bit of charm.”
“Come on, Princess Eleanor, you’re still not being honest. Admit he’s hot.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her smile dropped. “Wait. You know I’m a Princess?”
Sarah picked back up the Rubik’s cube and rolled her eyes. “I’m twelve, not two. I told you I read magazines.”
“And you’ve been sitting here with me, like nothing was unusual?”
“It’s no more unusual than you sitting here with a bald chick.”
Interesting point. Eleanor took a sip of water. Sarah was much more astute than she’d been as a pre-teen.
“You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?”
Eleanor sprayed water in the most unladylike way.
Miles looked up from the coffee table across the room, a grin breaking across his beard. He whipped off his beanie and pantomimed wiping his mouth with it, then pointed to his chest. She looked down. Water dribbled across the front of her long-sleeved tee, creating dark spots. She brushed at them to no avail and grinned sheepishly back.
“Oh, hey. That’s it!” Sarah snapped her fingers, sitting upright on the couch. “I just figured out who Miles looks like. I can’t remember the name, though.” Her voice pitched louder as she closed her eyes, twisting her lips to the side. “Come on, think. Think!”
Across the room, Miles’ face washed pale.
Eleanor looked back and forth from him to Sarah. Why did he look so nervous? And who was Sarah talking about? “Are you referencing a celebrity again?”
“Yes! You know, that family that’s all dark and gorgeous? And their dad is always causing trouble and the kids are always having bar fights?” Sarah’s eyes popped open and she pointed. “He looks like that guy!”
Miles slowly stood, shaking his head.
Sarah’s gaze widened in recognition. Eleanor followed her stare as Miles quickly shoved his beanie back on his head.
The beanie he rarely took off. In fact, had she ever seen him without it?
It’d fallen to the floor during their kiss…as soon as he’d let her go, he’d put it back on, despite the warmer temperature inside the Snowflake Cottage.
She squinted, her heart pounding an unsteady rhythm as she studied the man she thought she knew. Sarah was right. If he shaved his beard…if he grew out his hair…He’d look exactly like Liam Neal.
No. He’d be Liam Neal.
Chapter 10
She hadn’t spoken the entire ride back to the Snowflake Cottage.
Liam parked the limo and got out to open Eleanor’s door, but she’d beat him to it, brushing past him toward the front porch as the evening winter breeze stirred. “Eleanor, wait.”
She spun to face him, fists clenched at her sides, face flushed. “Why? Did you find a few more lies to tell me?” Her tone fell flat with anger, but her eyes contained only hurt.
He held up one hand. “Technically, I didn’t lie. I never said I wasn’t Liam Neal.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Wrong point to make. He swallowed. “Look, I get I should have told you sooner. I wanted to—in fact, I was going to at Target, but you never even questioned why I was handing out credit cards like candy. I figured when you asked, I’d spill the beans then.”
“Consider them spilled—and rolling all over the floor.”
Humor…was that a good sign? He took a tentative step toward her, and she immediately stepped backward. Okay, nope. “Besides the lying part…what else are you thinking?” He could easily fill in those blanks for her, the ones he’d dreaded all along. That he wasn’t good enough for her. That his family was too tumultuous for them to have a chance…
The wind tugged a strand of hair across her eyes and she moved it back with an abrupt motion. “I don’t know what to think. First, you’re Miles Channing—wherever you concocted that name from.” She waved her hand through the air, as if swatting away other potential aliases.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Actually, Miles was my grandfather’s middle name, and Channing is my sister’s middle name.”
She didn’t seem to care as she railroaded ahead. “You’re charming and endearing and you’re buying gifts for sick children and baking cookies with me and kissing—” She interrupted her own sentence with another hand swat. “Now you’re Liam Neal.”
He rocked back on his heels and risked a smile. “Hey, the first part sounded pretty good. Let’s go back to that.”
Her lips pursed.
Okay, so she wasn’t amused. “Look, I know.” He let out a long breath. “It’s a lot to take in.” It still was for him, too, after all his recent life changes. He wished he could cut off a branch or two of his family tree, but his reputation clung despite his efforts to separate himself from the drama.
“I can’t believe it.” Eleanor’s voice pitched in a kind of hushed, horrified awe. “The Liam Neal of Hollywood.”
He bristled, wishing she’d stop repeating his name. “It’s not like I’m in the movies. It’s just where I live.”
She didn’t seem to hear him—or maybe didn’t care. “Liam Neal. The guy who totaled his car drunk driving last year and got into how many fights in the weeks before?”
A million defenses rose to the surface, ones she wouldn’t hear or accept any more than the media had. Those publicized fights were completely misconstrued. Either he’d been protecting his sister from stalkers or protecting himself from drunken idiots trying to get fifteen minutes of fame. But heroics didn’t sell nearly as well as scandals.
She shook her head before he could decide if it was even worth explaining. “Liam Neal—a womanizer with a corrupt family and a constant presence in the tabloids.”
Ouch. So that was how she saw him, even after the past few weeks they’d spent together? He shifted his weight and his chest tightened with anxiety. “Low blow, Princess.”
A bit of her fire seemed to extinguish as her rounded shoulders slumped. “Isn’t it true?”
“Which part? That I’m sleazy or that my family sucks?” He closed his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t answer. The truth flickered right before her, but she couldn’t see it. Or make that, wouldn’t see it. No one would. “I’ve turned over a new leaf, okay?”
She crossed her arms. “Since last week when I saw you in the magazines?”
Ouch times two. No matter how potentially justified her response, his defenses rose. “Don’t believe everything you read. Why do you think I was slapping tabloids out of your hand in the general store?”
“Obviously to keep your secret longer.”
He’d heard enough. After their time together she still stood before him, the voice of the entire world. The voice of judgment. The voice of condemnation. He’d never be able to prove himself in a way that was acceptable, and deep down, wasn’t that his biggest fear? That he’d be stuck being Liam Neal forever?
Anxiety meshed with frustration, and his temper lit and shot like a flare. “You know, I thought you, of all people—Princess—would understand wanting to hide your identity for a while. You’re trying to escape yours altogether. I’m just taking a break from the spotlight, to rally my family after Dad’s latest bunch of crap and figure out what to do from here.”
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her finish.
“You think I enjoy any of this? You think I enjoy being the sole voice of sanity in my family?” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Well, I don’t. My family skeletons are so extensive, they take up an entire graveyard. I’ve changed—drastically. But no one believes me. Not you, not my father, and not
the media.”
Eleanor tilted her head, her eyes once brimming with hurt now engulfed in sympathy. He didn’t know which was worse.
“Stop looking at me like that.” His anger waffled, and he needed it. It was the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely. His family had been right.
He’d never escape who he was.
“Liam.” Her expression shifted, still offering mercy but also containing a little bit of duh. “How does anyone have the chance to believe you’re different when you’re hiding out in an east-coast Christmas town?”
He opened his mouth to argue but she kept going.
“All the good things you do around Tinsel are completely anonymous. Which makes you noble, but invisible. Without positive press, how can they tell anything has changed?”
He shut his mouth. She was right.
Dang it.
He got back in the limo and slammed the door.
“Remind me, who is this Liam Neal again?” Mrs. Hough reached across the leather love seat and handed Eleanor a napkin, followed by a sugar cookie topped with red and green sprinkles. They were curled up on the couch in the common room again, like the night Eleanor and Miles had their snowball fight.
Had it really been only two weeks ago?
Eleanor plucked a loose green sprinkle from the napkin and set it on her tongue, letting the sugar dissolve. If only her haphazard emotions would do the same. Miles’ big monologue lingered in her ears, and she deserved every word he’d spilled before revving away in the limousine.
Still. He’d held back the truth, and in her book that was the equivalent of a lie. “If you open any magazine you have in the foyer, you’ll see. Liam Neal is famous—which is a bit of an understatement.”
Mrs. Hough frowned as she nibbled her cookie, this one with red and green iced stripes. “But aren’t you, too?”
Eleanor blinked. Touché. “Well, yes, I suppose.”
“So, what’s the problem with famous?” Confusion netted the older woman’s dark eyebrows together.
Eleanor hesitated. “It’s not that, per se.”
“Then it’s what?” Mrs. Hough took another bite of cookie, her eyes widening in curiosity.
That was the question, wasn’t it? She believed him when he said he had planned on telling her—so she must not be only angry about the lie. And Mrs. Hough had pointed out that Eleanor, too, was famous, so it couldn’t be that, either.
It was more so the type of famous.
“Miles—I mean, Liam—and his family are more along the lines of notorious.” Eleanor took a bite of her cookie, but couldn’t even appreciate the sweetness because of the sour anxiety bubbling in her stomach. “He has a bad reputation.”
Mrs. Hough nodded slowly. “But is it earned?”
Miles’—Liam’s—voice rang in her mind. Don’t believe everything you read. “I’m—I’m not sure.” Regret began a slow seep into her heart. She’d overreacted and ran him off, and now she might never know the true Miles.
The true Liam.
Oy. Would she ever get that straight?
She shrugged. “I don’t know that it matters now. He’s somewhat…upset.” Also another understatement.
“Aren’t you, too?”
Yes. But why? An uncertainty floated through the myriad emotions vying for first place in her heart. Anger. Jealousy.
Jealousy? That was unexpected. Of what?
Then she knew. She was jealous, because she liked Miles.
Liam.
And because she was nothing like the girls he’d been publicly paired with over the years. Which meant she couldn’t possibly be his type. So did that mean that their connection…their spark…their kiss…had been a farce all this time, like his identity?
She couldn’t bear the thought.
Mrs. Hough continued with her counsel, oblivious to the war waging in Eleanor’s heart. “So, the way I see it, you’re both upset, and you’ll both come around when you’re both willing to talk. Simple as pie.”
Eleanor nodded slowly, still shaken by her revelation. Jealousy was new—and she didn’t like it. “Perhaps.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“Yes.” Eleanor paused, tracing the top of her cookie and unwilling to meet Mrs. Hough’s inquisitive gaze, lest the wise woman see right through her into the mess of her thoughts. She took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to be deceived.”
“He did deceive you.” Mrs. Hough nodded. “For whatever the reason—noble or not—he did. But is it unforgiveable?”
She paused, then shook her head. “Of course not.” She’d never been the type to harbor a grudge, which is probably why she’d held her breath in Brightloch for as long as she had. Until one day, she couldn’t breathe at all and had to either escape or collapse.
“Do you think, deep down, that’s the truest part of his character? Deceit?”
There was no hesitation this time. “No. He’s quite endearing, and thoughtful, and sweet.” And a wonderful kisser. Her cheeks flushed. That fact was irrelevant for this conversation. “He said he’s not the Liam of the tabloids anymore—that he’s changed, but no one is giving that any merit.”
“Honor rarely sells magazines.” Mrs. Hough dusted cookie crumbs from the blanket in her lap. “It’s entirely possible the media has twisted what they’ve seen.”
Wasn’t that the case with so many of her royal friends, even the ones who lived aboveboard, as she strived to do? Without a publicity team working tirelessly on their behalf, there was only so much hiding one could do. It was a bit of a miracle that Eleanor’s presence in Tinsel had stayed off the radar this long. But perhaps also the local media ban was to thank for that.
“It’s so hard to know what’s true right now.” Eleanor set her uneaten cookie on a napkin on the coffee table. “Everything feels so mixed up and frenetic. Like a winter storm.”
Mrs. Hough tossed aside her blanket and let it fall to the sofa as she made her way to the shelf of snow globes above the fireplace. “This has always been my favorite.” She picked one up and brought it to Eleanor. “It reminds me of Tinsel.”
She wasn’t sure why the sudden change in subject, but regardless, Eleanor carefully took the fragile globe and studied the tiny town inside. There was even a gazebo and miniature string lights. She smiled, admiring the little trees and bushes by the store fronts. “It looks just like Tinsel.”
“Well, go on. Shake it.” Mrs. Hough fisted her hand on her hip as she stood above Eleanor and motioned with her free hand.
Eleanor gently shook the globe and watched as tiny white flakes whirled around the tiny unsuspecting town.
“Looks like a northeast blizzard—overwhelming and dizzying. But watch.” Mrs. Hough perched on the edge of the couch by Eleanor and waited, pointing as the last of the fake snow finished falling on the various buildings. “Now it’s still. Peaceful and calming.”
Mrs. Hough gave her a knowing look as she took the globe back from Eleanor. “When the frenzy settles, it leaves behind something beautiful.”
Ah. So it hadn’t been a change of subject after all.
Chapter 11
Christmas Eve crept in like a winter fog, and still no word from Liam. Four days, and not a single means of contact with him. She’d phoned the chauffeur company to request a ride two days prior, hoping to pick up a Christmas gift for Mrs. Hough, but the company had sent a different driver. Liam was nowhere to be found. For all Eleanor knew, he’d gone back to California.
So, she fought the holiday blues by humming along to Bing Crosby on the record player, stringing yet another strand of popcorn tinsel as she sat by a roaring fire in the common room of the B&B, and ignoring the ache in her heart from lack of closure with Liam.
She shoved a needle through a piece of popcorn. She was alone on Christmas, and it was entirely her fault. She’d chosen to leave Brightloch for the holidays. Sadly enough, she’d probably feel equally as lonely, only in a different way, had she been spending Christmas Eve
standing by the elaborately decorated tree in the castle surrounded by the Queen and their doting staff, missing her dad. Missing the concept of real family.
Missing the future she didn’t seem meant to have.
She pulled the thread through the popcorn. But she had to go back, didn’t she?
The answer she’d been avoiding this entire holiday filled her senses with an undeniable presence. She might not feel heard in Brightloch…but if she never returned, she’d be mute forever.
She shoved the next handful of popcorn in her mouth, not bothering to turn from her cross-legged position on the floor by the tree as footsteps shuffled in behind her. “I still have plenty of hot chocolate, Mrs. Hough.” She mumbled around the food in her mouth, gesturing toward her half-empty mug near the bowl of cranberries. Her stomach, already jumbled with anxiety, couldn’t take another drop of sugar.
“Say it, don’t spray it, Princess.”
A piece of popcorn shot to the back of her throat. Coughing into her elbow, she turned to see Liam standing in the doorway of the common room, leaning against the frame. His broad chest was draped in a black leather jacket, and he was sans beanie, his hair intentionally tousled and gelled, his beard neatly trimmed. A plastic bag dangled from one arm.
She wanted to run to him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to slap his arm for scaring her.
She settled for swallowing the last kernel of popcorn and clearing her throat. “Good evening.” She tried to spear another piece of popcorn, but her hands trembled too badly to line up the needle.
Liam ambled into the room. “Good evening? That’s all I’m worth to you now?” The twinkle in his eyes suggested a hint of jest, though his words sounded heartfelt.
Had he missed her too?
He set the plastic bag on the ground by the tree and shrugged out of his jacket. “You probably won’t even share your popcorn with me.”
“Please, by all means.” Avoiding his eyes, she handed over the needle and thread as he eased down onto the floor next to her. This close, she couldn’t risk looking directly at him. Her emotions still tumbled all over the place, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d—