by Jae
“No. I… I thought she was the one. I thought we were happy.” Claire let out a sigh. “Apparently, Abby didn’t think so.”
Lana moved even closer. Now their shoulders were brushing. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Then Lana asked, “Did she tell you why? I mean, was there someone else?”
“Abby said there wasn’t.”
“And you believed her?” Lana asked. Katrina had sworn up and down that the breakup didn’t have anything to do with another woman before admitting that she was going back to her ex.
“Yes,” Claire said without hesitation. “Abby isn’t the type to cheat. She’s one of the most loyal people I know. She supported me when I went back to school to get my doctorate and when I cut back my work hours to write my book.”
Why, then? Lana wanted to ask, but she held herself back. No sense in digging deeper into a wound that obviously hadn’t healed yet, especially since Claire might not even know why Abby had ended their relationship.
Finally, Lana reached over and squeezed Claire’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
Claire squeezed back.
Lana’s fingers chose that moment to stop trembling. She smiled wryly. Who knew? Maybe therapists had that magic touch after all. Then she lightly shook her head. No. Not therapists. Claire.
She hesitated for another second. Come on. One wound for another. It only seems fair. “I was on my way to an audition when it happened. I was singing along to ‘Good Vibrations’ on the radio, hoping the song would send some good vibrations my way for the audition. I never saw it coming. Guess we have that in common.”
Claire’s fingers tightened around hers, but she didn’t say anything, just let her talk.
“An SUV shot out of some side street and sideswiped me. My car spun and bounced around like a ball in a pinball game. By some miracle, I missed an oncoming car and smashed into the guardrail.” She recited it like an accident report she read in the newspaper, trying not to let it touch her, but the technique didn’t seem to help much because her hand was trembling again.
Or maybe it was Claire’s, which was still holding hers.
“I think I might have passed out for a second or so. When I woke up, there was smoke, shards of glass, and twisted metal everywhere. The driver’s side door was crushed against my left side.” She pressed her left arm against her side as pain seemed to flare through it. “I couldn’t get it to open. I tried to crawl out over the passenger seat, but my legs were trapped beneath the crumpled steering column. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t—”
Spots danced in her vision, and a roaring sound filled her ears.
A sharp squeeze to her hand brought her back to the present. “You’re not there. You’re here, with me. Safe.”
Claire was now kneeling in front of her, holding Lana’s hand with both of hers. Her gray eyes, gentle and intense at the same time, peered up at Lana from only inches away.
Was this what she did for her patients when they were having flashbacks? For some reason, Lana didn’t think so.
The pressure on her chest eased. She blew out a breath. “I’m fine. I’m fine now.”
“Yes, you are.” Claire rubbed her thumb across Lana’s knuckles.
Lana hoped she wouldn’t let go anytime soon, because that soft touch gave her the strength she needed to go on. Now that she had started, she needed to get it out. “I don’t know how long I was in the car, trapped and bleeding, but it seemed like an eternity until the firefighters finally managed to cut me out.”
Claire swallowed audibly. “Were you hurt badly?”
“The cut on my arm wasn’t too bad, but my leg was pretty mangled. Shredded muscles, torn ligaments, the works.”
Claire looked down at Lana’s lap. Carefully, as if touching a spooked animal, she placed her hand on Lana’s left leg, right over the scar.
A tingle shot up Lana’s thigh, reminding her that she was very much alive—and so was her libido. She cleared her throat. “I spent three months in the hospital and a rehabilitation center, and even after that, it took me six months to walk without a limp. Well, more or less without a limp. It still acts up when I’m on my feet for too long.”
“So you were out of work for a long time. And I imagine the medical bills piled up quicker than you could pay them.” Claire’s hand still lingered on Lana’s thigh. “Is that why you agreed to be my pretend fiancée?”
Lana nodded.
Claire rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. “Damn. Now I feel like I took advantage of you when you were in a very vulnerable position.”
The words stirred something deep inside of Lana. It was exactly what she had believed of therapists and self-help gurus: that they took advantage of people at their most vulnerable, just for their own gain. But if Claire felt bad about it, she clearly wasn’t one of them. “You didn’t. It was my decision.” She forced a smile. “And like I said, so far, I haven’t suffered too much.”
“Still.” Claire got up from her kneeling position and slid back onto the stool next to Lana’s but kept hold of her hand. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Thanks for biting your tongue and not suggesting therapy again.”
Claire tilted her head and studied her. “What is it with you and therapists?”
Lana shrugged as casually as possible. “I don’t like them. Present company excluded, of course.”
They smiled at each other.
A soft cough came from the other side of the curtain, interrupting their eye contact. “Excuse me?” the saleswoman called. “Is everything all right in there?”
“Everything’s fine,” Claire answered. “But we decided that we want to see a few more dresses.”
Lana grimaced. She was suddenly bone-tired, and the last thing she wanted was to try on more dresses.
“Something with a shorter hem or maybe one with capped sleeves,” Claire added.
Lana’s fingers spasmed around Claire’s. “Are you sure? If you’d rather your acquaintances not see—”
“I’m sure if you’re sure.”
Again, their gazes connected and held.
Finally, Lana nodded. If Claire wasn’t afraid to let people see her scars and the tattoo, she sure as hell wouldn’t shy away from it either. Like the phoenix tattoo, her scars were a symbol of survival and strength, something to be proud of, no matter what Hollywood wanted to make her believe. “I’m sure.”
“No problem,” the saleswoman said from the other side of the curtain. “I have the perfect dress in mind.” She bustled away.
“Um, I’d better go too.” Claire pointed toward the curtain. Her fair skin revealed a hint of a blush. Belatedly, as if she had forgotten she was still holding it, she let go of Lana’s hand and slipped out of the fitting room.
Lana slumped against the mirror and stared at the swishing curtain. She’d talked about her accident before, especially with Jill and Crash, but even then, she had avoided going into too many details. Now she had told Claire, of all people, everything. Admittedly, it hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected. In fact, it felt as freeing as the moment the crushed dashboard had been lifted off her.
Did Claire feel the same about finally opening up and telling her the details of her breakup?
Emotional confessions in a fitting room. She shook her head and laughed shakily. Who would have thought?
“I can’t believe you paid that much for a single dress,” Lana said.
Claire put the garment bag into the Audi’s trunk and shrugged. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, but still… Just looking at that price tag made me dizzy.”
The price of the dress wasn’t what made Claire dizzy—although Lana had looked breathtaking in it. What made her mind reel was what had happened in the fitting room.
She really shouldn’t feel so out of sorts. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard somet
hing like this many times before. Over the course of her nine years as a therapist, she had treated several patients with PTSD, panic disorders, or traumatic pasts. Once, she’d even had a patient with a story very similar to Lana’s.
What was different was her own reaction to it. Her patient’s suffering as he had recounted his accident hadn’t left Claire cold, but there had been a professional distance that had protected her and enabled her to do her job without being paralyzed by her patient’s pain. With Lana, that therapist’s shield was thin as an eggshell—and it had crumbled entirely when she had told her about the breakup.
I can’t believe I did that. During her therapy sessions, it was all about her patients, never about Claire as a person. If she revealed bits and pieces about herself, it was only as a carefully used tool.
And maybe she had thought that’s what it had been in the fitting room—just a tool to get Lana to open up too.
But the moment she had started talking, that illusion had disappeared like a mirage.
“You okay?” Lana asked quietly.
Claire realized that she had climbed into the car and was sitting behind the wheel but hadn’t started the engine. “I should ask you that question,” she said, not willing to lower that eggshell-thin shield all the way again. She gestured at the car. After a horrible accident like that, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Lana had avoided getting into a car at all costs. Many of her patients who had suffered traumatizing experiences developed avoidance behaviors like that.
“I’m fine.” A fine sheen of sweat gleamed on Lana’s forehead, but her gaze projected strength. “But maybe…”
“Yes?” Claire wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever Lana needed.
A ghost of a smile creased the corners of Lana’s eyes. “Maybe we could leave the radio switched off, just in case.”
Claire pressed a button on the car’s touch screen, starting one of her ’90s pop playlists. “How about this? No Beach Boys, I promise.”
“Perfect,” Lana said. “Thank you.”
Claire sensed that she meant much more than only the music. She smiled and pulled out onto the street. “You’re very welcome.”
Chapter 11
As they walked toward the entrance of the art gallery, Lana tried to unobtrusively wipe her damp hands on her knit jersey gown.
Claire leaned toward her. “Don’t worry. You look stunning.”
A chuckle escaped Lana. “Well, with what this dress cost, I’d better!”
She peered down at herself. The one-shouldered blue dress left both of her arms bare, and the sheer mesh insets across the bottom gave teasing glimpses of her legs. Normally, she wasn’t one for dressing up, but she had to admit that the dress was beautiful—and it made her feel beautiful.
Or maybe it was Claire’s gaze, which sometimes lingered on her.
What did you expect? Abby is supposed to be here, so of course Claire is going to play the role of the smitten lover. Nothing better to make your ex jealous than to show her that you’ve moved on. That was the reason Claire had asked her to come and had bought this expensive dress after all.
The gallery was packed—full of people in cocktail dresses and tailored suits. Waiters wandered around, offering flutes of champagne and canapés on silver trays.
Lana swallowed. Even with her beautiful dress, she felt as out of place among all these rich, glamorous people as a snake at an arm-wrestling competition.
Claire took Lana’s hand and placed it in the bend of her elbow. “Just follow my lead,” she whispered into Lana’s ear.
Her warm breath against the shell of her ear made Lana shiver. She ignored it. “So you’re the lead actress tonight?”
“Let’s not try for an Oscar,” Claire said, her voice so low that only Lana could hear her. “All we need is to make it through this evening without Abby or anyone else suspecting that we’re as fake as…”
“My grandmother’s teeth,” Lana said when Claire paused, looking for the right comparison.
A grin lit up Claire’s tense face, and Lana was struck again by how attractive she was when she smiled.
“Something like that,” Claire said.
Lana didn’t need to act to cling to Claire’s arm. With her free hand, she reached for a glass of champagne one of the waiters held out to her on a tray.
When he offered a glass to Claire too, she shook her head.
She had declined the champagne at her boss’s party too, Lana remembered. “Don’t you like champagne?”
“I do, but I don’t want to drink tonight.”
Because she wanted to keep a clear head while meeting Abby again, possibly for the first time after the breakup? Or because she was driving and wanted Lana to feel safe in the car with her? The longer Lana knew her, the more she could glimpse the kind, compassionate person behind that proper, uptight facade.
They walked around the room with its blindingly white walls, stopping every now and then to look at a painting or so Claire could exchange air kisses and small talk with one of her acquaintances. In the blur of introductions, Lana soon lost track of who was who, but she doubted that it mattered. None of these people seemed like close friends of Claire’s.
Lana kept looking around, scanning the room for any blonde who could be Abby. She had gotten only a glimpse of the photo on Claire’s nightstand before she had snatched it away to hide it from Jill. The gallery was full of beautiful, sophisticated women, so Lana wasn’t sure she would recognize Abby if she saw her.
“She’s not here,” Claire said as if sensing what Lana was doing. Claire’s relief was almost palpable.
Lana lightly patted her arm. “Maybe she’s heard that you’re dating someone new and wanted to avoid running into you and your stunning new girlfriend.”
“Don’t forget modest new girlfriend,” Claire added with a smile.
“Hey, you were the one who said I look stunning.”
Claire tilted her head in silent acknowledgment.
“In case I haven’t mentioned it before, you clean up pretty well yourself,” Lana said.
That was the understatement of the century. Claire was wearing a strapless black satin dress that showed off her smooth shoulders, delicate collarbones, and toned arms. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a sleek chignon, but a few strands were strategically left curling around her face and elegant neck, keeping her from looking too austere. Lana wasn’t surprised to see her draw gazes from the art lovers all over the room. She had to admit that she was struggling not to stare too.
It wasn’t just the dress that caught her attention. The way Claire moved—that characteristic mix of efficiency and grace—fascinated her too.
“Thank you,” Claire said in a clipped tone.
Did she think Lana was complimenting her only because she felt their contract required her to do so? Or was she just tense because Abby might show up?
They wandered over to the middle of the room, where a large painting hung on a detached white wall. The canvas was painted in a blood-red color, with ugly green and brown splashes spilling over the red.
Lana stared up at it. That thing was supposed to be art? “Um,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “what is the artist trying to say? It looks like a cat threw up all over a red carpet or something.”
Claire sent her a disapproving glare, but one corner of her mouth twitched, giving away her amusement.
Before she could answer, an older woman stepped next to them and gazed at the painting too. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“Yes.” Lana made good use of her acting skills to produce an enthusiastic smile. “It’s so…” Um…red? What else could she say about this painting?
“Expressive,” Claire threw in.
Did you get a list of vocabulary to use in situations like this once you earned your first million or something? Not that she had any clue if Claire ha
d that much money.
Lana nibbled on a stuffed mushroom and some smoked salmon crostini from a tray while Claire talked about art with the stranger.
Finally, the woman walked away.
Phew! Lana nearly wiped imaginary sweat off her brow, but then she remembered that she was wearing makeup and let her hand drop back down.
“Think you can brave this crowd alone for a minute?” Claire asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Sure.” Lana let go of Claire’s arm. “I’ll stay here and, um, enjoy this amazing work of art.” Grinning, she pointed at the cat-vomit-on-red painting.
“You mean enjoy the stuffed mushrooms.” Claire gave her a teasing nudge.
“That too.”
“All right. Enjoy the food. Be right back.”
With her back to the painting, Lana watched her cross the room, admiring the graceful way she moved. Once Claire had disappeared into the crowd, Lana turned toward the tray with the stuffed mushrooms.
“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?” someone said from behind her.
Lana turned.
A stunning stranger stood in front of her. Blonde hair fell in shimmering waves down onto shoulders left nearly bare by the spaghetti straps of her slim-fitting green dress.
Lana squinted at her. Was this stranger flirting? Usually, thin, attractive, well-off women like that didn’t give her the time of day.
“I mean, you aren’t looking at the painting, so you’re obviously not here for the art,” the woman added.
Lana shrugged. “To be honest, I’m more of a pears and horses woman.”
“Pears and horses?”
“Yeah, you know, paintings of pears or horses that you can actually recognize as pears and horses.”
“Ah. So you’re not into abstract art.” The woman smiled. Her blue eyes twinkled.
“Not really. Plus it’s pretty hard in here to even see the paintings without being hit in the face by a twenty-pound Prada bag.” Lana gestured at the packed room.