“Do you love her?” she asked softly.
Marc stopped where he stood. The truth burned behind his eyelids. “Yes. But she’ll never forgive me…” he managed to say before his voice failed him.
“Do you deserve to be forgiven?”
What kind of question is that?
He stomped toward the bed, tossed his clothes on it and stared down at the mess he’d made of not only this wardrobe, but his life. “No.” Raising his head, he looked at Elaine. “I’d do anything to change the events of that day, but I can’t.”
The woman who looked so much like Gina nodded as if she understood, and then she turned to leave.
“Elaine?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder.
“Tell her I’m sorry…” A deep straining sadness welled inside him. Inhaling, he held his breath, releasing, “And, that I love her,” on an exhale. Before she could see his pain, he turned away. Clearing his throat, he began shoving his clothes into the bags.
When the door closed he was alone. Truly alone.
* * * * *
Out of breath and blinded by tears, Gia staggered to a halt before the rushing stream. Frogs croaked nearby, but they were just white noise. Her head was filled with memories she tried to forget. Angrily, she swiped at the waterworks that refused to stop flowing down her cheeks. When nothing slowed them, she raised her face to the gray sky, closed her eyes and allowed the trickle of cool drops to mingle with her tattered emotions. Anger, humiliation and grief warred inside her.
She sniffled, attempting to rein in the tears. Her breakup with Doug or any other man hadn’t left this hollowness, this wretched pain that burrowed so deep into her bones she wondered if she would ever be able to shake it.
“Gina?”
Her heart stuttered.
God. Not now. She couldn’t face Marc. Not in this condition. Slowly she turned around, but it wasn’t Marc.
An unladylike snort surfaced. Her chin quivered. “Daddy.”
A troubled expression greeted her as he opened his arms and she flew into them, nearly knocking him down. He stumbled but embraced her tightly, securing them both. As she buried her face into her father’s shoulder, more tears surfaced, falling one right after another.
In the hush of the forest, Gia cried, allowing her father to comfort her.
For the longest time, no words were exchanged between them. She continued to weep while he held her like he had when she was a child. In the protective shelter of her father’s arms, she could almost believe he could take the pain away—make everything better. But unlike the many other times he had consoled her, everything would not be okay—not this time.
Marc had betrayed her.
How much time passed, she didn’t know. The next thing she realized, her mother had joined them.
“There, there, sweetheart,” her mother cooed, patting Gia softly on the back. Silence stretched between them until her mother spoke again. “You love him, don’t you?”
“No.” The blatant lie was muffled against her father’s shoulder.
Gia knew she wasn’t fooling her parents when her mother eased her out of her father’s arms. Elaine’s soft hands cupped Gia’s face, empathy swimming in her mother’s moist eyes.
“Momma.” Gia choked on the endearment. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.”
“Oh Gina.” A tender chuckle rose. “Loving someone isn’t easy.” Her mother pulled Gia into her embrace. A pregnant pause followed before she said, “Honey, I spoke with Marc.”
Oh God, no.
“He appeared genuinely saddened. He said to tell you he’s sorry and that he loves you.”
The knot in Gia’s stomach twisted another turn.
“What did the bastard do?” her father growled.
“Paul.” The censorship in her mother’s tone quieted Gia’s father.
Easing out of her mother’s arms, Gia inhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home.” She looked from her father to her mother, hoping they would understand. There was no way she could go about the family and pretend that everything was all right. “Would you mind too much if I left tonight?”
“Gina, can you forgive him?” her mother asked.
“No, Mom.” Gia fought for a smile that didn’t quite make it. “I just want to go home.”
Chapter Twelve
Five weeks had passed since that dreadful day in Oregon. Gia sat slumped in a chair watching the sets of Starlight emerge. Crevices appeared in some of the smaller boulders allowing ferns and other vegetation to push through their surface. Moss crawled over rocks and tree trunks as if it was alive, seeking, searching for a place to rest. Night flowers pushed up through the grass, the feathery petals fluorescing beneath ultraviolet lighting. The thermostat had been lowered, cooling the air to set the mood for the next scene as ribbons of fog began to form. Was the scene real or a three-dimensional hologram?
Dressed in a costume of sheer, iridescent material clasped at one shoulder by a golden brooch and cut so it flowed sensually down to her ankles, a shiver assailed her. Rubbing her palms up and down her naked arms, she released a heavy sigh.
She should be happy, but…
Another deep exhale pushed from her diaphragm.
Several days after Gia had returned to Hollywood, she had met with Starlight’s producer and her attorney. Doug wasn’t quite out of the picture yet and it grated on her that he would receive a percentage of the profits. But her attorney was working on their final separation.
Gia would give anything not to hire a personal assistant, but she knew it was impossible. She needed help, even if she didn’t want it. Later today she and her attorney had several interviews with potential candidates. This time she would be more particular and make sure their relationship stayed in the confines of business.
As for Marc—
“Miss Easton?” The soft voice of her makeup artist caught her attention. Tracy approached with a brush and palette in her hand. She shifted from one foot to the next, trepidation in her youthful gaze. “I need to apply a little more makeup beneath your eyes.”
Had Gia been that hard to deal with over the last couple of weeks, to put the wariness in the young brunette’s eyes?
Did she really have to ask?
Last night after filming, she had overheard the boom boy whisper something derogatory to one of the cameramen. He used the words prima donna in reference to her, which Gia had never been. Yet there was no denying she hadn’t been herself since returning to Hollywood.
Still, she couldn’t be that bad—could she?
Tracy lightly dabbed at the dark smudges and bags that never seemed to go away beneath Gia’s eyes. Sleep had eluded her. When she did doze off, dreams of Marc haunted her. The thought slid under her skin, sending a tremor through her.
“Are you finished?” Gia snapped.
Tracy eased back. “I’m sorry, Miss Easton, but—”
Gia’s eyelids slid closed. “No, Tracy. I’m sorry. Please continue.”
Okay. Maybe she was as bad as the rumors suggested.
Clenching her jaw, digging her fingernails into the armrest, she waited until the woman eased back before she opened her eyes.
“Thank you.” To Gia’s shame, the flat expression of appreciation lacked sincerity, but she couldn’t help it.
Tracy’s smile was hesitant at best. Without a word, she slipped away.
Dammit. Gia couldn’t go on like this.
Rotating her head side to side, she listened to muscles and tendons pop. She was so keyed up, she worried whether she could make it through the next scene without blowing it—all because of a man.
A man whose memory continued to haunt her.
Dismayed, she shook her head, but squared her shoulders and sat up straight, composing herself. She had no one to blame but herself. It had been her decision not to be notified if Marc called or arrived outside her home or studio. The truth is she couldn’t bear the thought that he wouldn
’t attempt to contact her. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, except it did hurt like hell.
Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.
Gia should have known better than to act out of anger only to risk damaging herself more than the source of her pain. Within the span of five weeks, everything had changed. She couldn’t sleep, she’d lost ten pounds and she’d evolved into a raving bitch, both at work and at home.
“Gia, are you ready?”
Jerked from her wonderings, she glanced up at Thomas Solar. The most sought-out producer in the United States had asked for her as his leading lady in this production. She should be thrilled, but she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.
Funny how the excitement had dimmed from when Doug first delivered the news until now. Starlight was just another movie and she was just another actress in the long list in Hollywood and New York.
Tom extended her his large hand. “Luv, is something wrong?” His English accent and charming good looks did nothing for her. Nonchalantly, she scanned his broad forehead and the curlicue of dark hair that graced it. There was really nothing special about him, except that he held her career in his palm. A puppet master. He pulled the strings and she danced to his tune.
What a life.
Without hesitating, she took his hand and allowed him to assist her to her feet. What she hadn’t expected was to end up chest to chest, hips to hips with the man, looking up into his lustful brown eyes.
“Dinner tonight.” The thickness in his brogue revealed he was looking for more than a dinner partner tonight.
Are you kidding?
Gia barely kept the words contained as she slid out of his embrace. This was not what she needed, another man from Tinseltown knocking at her door. Her life was already a mess, her emotions a disarray, walking the thin line between love and hate.
Managing a small smile, she stepped back. “Dinner?” She paused, allowing sufficient time to pass to give him the impression she was actually considering his offer. Gia wasn’t a fool. Offend the producer and she was asking for more trouble than it was worth.
“Oh!” Feigned disappointment raised her perfectly sculpted brows. “I’m so sorry. I have a meeting with my attorney tonight.”
Tom stepped closer, forcing her to take one backward. “Can’t you get out of it?”
She placed a palm on his muscled chest. “Wasn’t it you who insisted that I find an assistant as quickly as possible?” Gia tossed his own words back at him.
“Maybe another time—another night.” His invitation hung between them like a sensual trap she wasn’t willing to get snared in.
Still, she couldn’t outright turn him away. “Maybe.” It was the best she had to offer.
Pulling back her hand as he attempted to grasp it, she rushed off before anything else could transpire between them. She needed to focus on the upcoming scene. Her character was a fairy queen longing for love lost. The dramatic irony hit so close to home, sadly it would make it all too easy for Gia to relate to.
At the border of the stage, she stopped and took a breath, finding the similarities within her that aligned with her lonely, tortured character. Both of them had tasted love, betrayal and loss, but in Crytaline’s case she would rediscover the man of her heart—Gia would not.
Happy-ever-after endings weren’t for everyone, especially her.
In the background, she heard chatting, cameras shifting, people taking their seats, and then quiet surrounded her.
When the director yelled, “Action!” she raised a slippered foot and entered the set.
White filmy fog swirled around her knees. The long gown she wore slid like silk, soft and sensual across her skin, to brush the ground. Artificial moonlight made the material shimmer with the soft colors of the rainbow. Head down, she allowed the heaviness in her heart to sink to her feet, making each step appear weighted, difficult. Sorrow reached up and pulled her deeper and deeper into character.
When Gia reached the agreed upon mark in the choreography, her shoulders fell. Slowly she raised her face to the dark sky and the single star that glowed brightly.
Marc. Light and airy, his name whispered in her mind, causing the muscles in her face to harden to stone. For a brief moment, she stood as still as a statue. Her pulse beat a frantic rhythm, pounding in her ears, while the emotion in her chest became thick and daunting. The brittle composure she held crumbled on a strangled gasp that parted her trembling lips and made her chin quiver. Pain and suffering roared up inside her, building at an alarming speed. Tears sprang from her broken heart, blooming in her eyes before silently rolling down her cheeks.
Gia remained unmoving, shadowed in the glow of that one star that represented hopes and dreams—impossible to reach—her own will-o’-the-wisp.
When the director yelled, “Cut,” her tears began to fall like raindrops.
Blinking, she tried to stop them, but it was no use. Not even the clapping and praise slowed them. It felt as if a boulder sat on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. People crowded around her, congratulating her on her performance, but she couldn’t break the link between her and her character.
“Excuse me.” Gia weaved in and out of the throng, hurrying off set, heading toward her dressing room. Breathless, she pushed open her door and bent at the waist, attempting to calm herself.
It took a moment to regain her composure, and when she did, the first thing to penetrate her senses was the strong scent of roses. The flowery aroma made her head rise. She straightened to her full height, staring through a veil of tears.
In the center of the room, a large pearly vase stood three feet tall with an array of long-stemmed red roses, petals spread wide to reveal their beauty, while a single white rosebud lay cuddled in the middle. A gold card hung from the streaming white ribbons circling the vase.
On leaden feet she drew closer. The moment her fingertips stroked the card, the red roses shrank to form perfect buds surrounded by green leaves, while the white rose’s stem inched taller, standing out from the rest. Yanking her hand back, she watched in disbelief as white, snowy petals began to bloom, forming into the most perfect rose she had ever seen. Something bright and shiny caught in the reflection of the overhead lights and speckles of colors danced across the walls.
Gia stepped closer to examine the center. Her breath caught on a gasp.
Inside the satiny flower sat a large stone—a diamond, maybe four to five carats in size. She reached for the precious jewel, but didn’t realize it was a ring until it lay in the palm of her hand.
Shocked, Gia glanced back at the vase and the dangling card.
Who would send her such an expensive gift?
With trembling fingers, she opened the card only to discover it was blank. A spark of brilliance flashed from the center of the white rose and a weakened hologram shot from the middle of the flower to the floor before her. Gia startled, almost jumping out of her skin and releasing the card. As the translucent image continued to grow in strength, she moved closer and closer until it formed into a three-dimensional figure—Marc.
Gia’s heart fluttered. Trepidation slithered across her flesh. Did she have the strength to resist him—even his hologram?
Dressed in a black tuxedo similar to the one he had worn that night at her parents’ house, he was staring at her. Sexy eyes of emerald green sent a shiver throughout her.
The image appeared so alive—so real—that her heart jumped into her throat.
And then a soft smile spread across his face. That single dimple creased his right cheek as his mouth turned sensual.
Like all the times before, something inside her melted. Dragging in a shaky breath, she cursed her reaction.
“Gina.”
His deep, low voice sent her senses reeling.
When his perfect image flickered, Gia gasped. She stepped closer as if her mere presence could stop him from disappearing. As the picture grew steadier, she released a tight breath and then once again damned herself for her
foolishness.
“The red rose has long symbolized beauty and perfection—the image of the woman who has captured my heart and soul, who now holds the key to my happiness.”
Pulse racing, she closed one hand around the ring so it bit into her palm.
Gia couldn’t let him do this to her. She wouldn’t believe his sweet, sweet words that even now slowly began to fill the emptiness she had felt the moment they had parted in Oregon.
“The white rose represents innocence and purity. I have broken your trust and diminished the value of our relationship. For that I am deeply, deeply sorry. Yet,” he continued swiftly, “the white rose is also associated with new beginnings and marriages. It is a symbol of honor and reverence and an expression of remembrance.”
Marc’s hologram appeared to move closer. Gia could swear she heard him breathing. She felt his touch as if he were smoothing his hand lightly across her cheek. Even his masculine scent seemed to come out of nowhere to wrap around her, holding her in the illusion.
“That isn’t real,” she mumbled beneath her breath. Nothing about Marc was real. Nothing.
“Do you remember our time together?” His tone lowered, teasing her resolve. Something shimmered in his eyes as if they were precious gems trapped beneath glass.
Gia swallowed hard, mentally struggling against his magnetic pull. He had betrayed her. He didn’t love her. Yet it would be a lie to say she didn’t remember.
Each day she spent yearning for something—someone—she couldn’t have. Her nights had become hellish, a fight to forget and move on, but she had failed, miserably.
The truth was she loved him. Missed him.
Again Gia felt his phantom touch. Unconsciously, her head fell backward, allowing his caress to soothe her battered soul. Dragging in a breath, she raised her gaze to his, then stiffened and stepped away.
“Gina, I can’t forget the scent of you, the touch of your skin, the arch of your body or your soft whimpers and cries when I make love to you.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. Almost as if he stood behind her, his lips pressed against her ear. “Allow me to honor and revere you as you deserve.” The image before her slid to one knee. He held out open arms to her. “I love you, Gina. Say you will forgive me, that we can start anew, as husband and wife. Marry me.”
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