But it was the only way he was ever going to get any peace.
He didn’t stop to think. As Amos popped his head up and cocked it in his direction, Noah crossed the room in three quick strides and flipped open the lid of his laptop. He started searching, only this time he wasn’t aimlessly wandering headlines in a fog of depression. He needed information.
He googled the title of Amelia’s first book and studied the list of entries to find the movie studio’s official site. He clicked the link, skimmed over the home page, clicked a few more links, and reached for a pad of paper and a pen. Thirty minutes later, he shut the computer’s cover with a snap.
He leaned his head back and drew in a sharp breath. He couldn’t lose his nerve.
He had to see her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Commitment
Amelia, May
Amelia sat with her legs crossed, her right foot bouncing uncontrollably in its Christian Louboutin stiletto heel, the signature red sole bobbing up and down in a rhythmic frenzy.
The shoes were part of the flood of items pressed upon her by insistent publicists, paid for simply by her agreement to wear them when she crossed the red carpet later tonight. The perks of celebrity were incredible, Amelia thought. How easy it was to get sucked into this crazy world.
And she was in it. Man, was she in it.
Neck deep.
Her fingers fluttered to the delicate indention between her collarbones and caressed the diamond that hung there, this accessory not part of the product placement haul that adorned the rest of her body. No, this was all hers. A gift from her very sweet and unquestionably too-generous boyfriend. Her first instinct had been to refuse to accept it—she shuddered to think how much the necklace had cost—but one look at Colin’s face had made her bite back her protest. His eyes had been so excited, his expression so eager, like a little boy on Christmas morning.
This was what she’d signed on for, she reminded herself, as if it were a bad thing. But the truth was, she wasn’t settling into this world without privacy, this world of lavish gifts, glamorous hotel suites, constant travel. Her life, which used to fit like a glove, felt five sizes too big. It was Colin’s world, not hers. She was successful as a writer, sure, but her books weren’t the reason paparazzi followed her every time she left her house or strangers pressed their faces against the glass when she was spotted in a restaurant.
She was regularly ambushed by photographers now. She thought back to three weeks earlier, a few days after the L.A. junket, when she and Colin had attended a promo event together in New York. After leaving the party, Colin stepped away from her for a few seconds to sign an autograph. As soon as his back was turned, she heard someone yell her name and paused to look over her shoulder. A short, chubby, and completely creepy pap was hurtling toward her, and in his maniacal attempt to land a shot, he crashed into her left side. His camera clattered to the sidewalk, where she hoped it had suffered irreparable damage, but not before it collided full-on with her left arm and ribcage. She stumbled a few steps and would have fallen if Colin hadn’t turned back toward her just in time. He caught her in his arms and ducked with her into the waiting car, his crystal eyes shooting daggers at the photographer, who was being led away by a member of Colin’s security team.
She still had a bruise above her elbow, and for a week it had hurt to take a deep breath.
But that wasn’t the worst beating she’d taken in the past few weeks. A new rumor had started up about Colin, this one linking him with his newest co-star, Nathalie Rousseau, after he was spotted with her at a New York nightclub.
Amelia had left him in the city a day earlier for an appearance on a San Francisco morning show. When the photos broke, Nina called her first, and she was still on the phone when Colin beeped in. By then she was already online, and the pictures had already gone viral. When she saw them she felt sick, but he’d smoothly refuted the rumors, and she believed his story. He’d gone to the club to unwind after a day of interviews, and he’d run into Nathalie in the VIP lounge. He’d ducked into her booth, and they’d exchanged hellos, giving each other pecks on the cheek in the process—she was French, after all. Somebody had snapped pictures that made the encounter look more intimate than it really was and others had run with them.
It was a plausible explanation, and Amelia didn’t want to doubt him. But when she studied the photos closely, the kiss sure didn’t look like a peck on the cheek. Nathalie was practically in Colin’s lap, and they appeared to be in a serious lip-lock.
She desperately wanted to believe he wasn’t cheating on her, but even if he wasn’t, she couldn’t help but worry that her life would continue to be like this, one false report of cheating after another. She knew there were thousands—who was she kidding? hundreds of thousands—of women out there dying to take her place. Would Colin always be able to resist that? At what point would one of the stories be true?
The Nathalie incident still wasn’t the worst thing she’d experienced in the past two weeks.
One of the most malicious celebrity blogs had posted an exposé on Colin’s rise to fame that accused him of bedding Amelia to land the role in Shattered to kick-start his movie career. Amelia knew that was ludicrous. For one thing, Colin’s agent had been in talks with the studio before they’d even met, and for another, he was already fifty times more famous than she was. The only true part of the story was that Shattered really had given him the big break he’d needed to move from the small screen to the big screen. Before her books and the ensuing movie franchise, his only silver screen experience was supporting roles in box office flops. The hype surrounding Shattered was a game-changer for everybody involved, and it hadn’t even released yet.
But the article, maligned as it was, had gone viral and given rise to days of speculation among more respectable media about Colin’s motivations for being with Amelia. Since she’d never understood herself what he saw in her, it was enough to plant more doubt in Amelia’s mind.
The fact was, they were living in a pressure cooker. And that meant she was no closer than she’d been weeks ago to answering Colin’s question about their living arrangements.
Twenty-four hours earlier, they’d been having what could almost be described as a normal evening. They’d met in L.A. after a hectic few days on opposite coasts, determined to get in a tiny sliver of relaxation before the chaos of the Hollywood premiere. He had again dismissed his staff, not an easy thing to do the night before the premiere—his manager was almost impossible to shake—and he and Amelia snuggled together on one of the huge modular sofas in his media room. Theater, she corrected herself. Might as well call a spade a spade. The in-home theater was so state-of-the-art he could easily charge admission.
Two-thirds of the way into Casablanca, which Colin put on just for her, he paused the film—freeze-framing a larger-than-life image of Bogart and Bergman gazing at each other with expressions of hopeless longing—and turned to face her.
Startled, she met his gaze in the light reflecting from the 110-inch screen. He stared at her for several seconds.
“You’re killing me,” he said. “I’m trying to be patient, to give you space. I know things are nuts right now. But I keep waiting for you to bring it up, and it’s clear that you’re not going to.” He paused. “You don’t want to live here.”
It was a statement, not a question.
She bit her lip as she raced to formulate a response. The silence in the room was distracting, and she looked down, away from him.
“Why not?” He tipped her chin up so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered.
“Why, then?” he asked in a hurt tone, and she realized her reaction had confirmed the answer she hadn’t been able to voice. “I want you here. I want you all the time.” He paused again. “Don’t you want me?”
She would have smiled at the puppy-dog earnestness of his expression if the conversation hadn’t been so serious
. Of course she wanted him. Who doesn’t? she thought dryly. And he knew that. He used that.
But do I want all of this? She gazed beyond him to their luxurious surroundings. Did she want paparazzi constantly breathing down her neck? Talk shows having field days at her expense? Did she want to move across the country, leave behind her old friends, her old life? And even if she did want those things, could she trust Colin? Really, truly trust him? Her uncertainty around that question weighed more heavily on Amelia’s mind than any other factor in her decision.
She made several unsuccessful attempts to form words. She wanted to open up to him, to voice her concerns and let him talk her out of them, one by one, in that rational, compelling way of his. But she couldn’t. Not with the unnerving way his eyes were holding hers, waiting.
She bit her lip. When she answered him, her voice was low. “Yes, Colin. I want you. You. Isn’t that enough?”
She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, and the tension in the room slowly dissipated. But she knew the conversation wasn’t over. It was just on pause, like the movie he’d eventually restarted. Then the next afternoon—a few hours ago—he’d presented her with the necklace. Was it because they’d sort of had their first fight? Probably. That thought increased her guilt.
Her fingers continued to caress the smooth, hard surface of the stone. She was sitting in Colin’s marble foyer on a gilded bench with a padded velvet seat, waiting for him to come downstairs. As she glanced up the sweeping stairway, light from a massive crystal chandelier glinted off her beaded dress and bathed the room in a warm, prismatic glow.
Her foot still bounced frenetically. She was so tense from all of this premiere stuff, it was no wonder she and Colin were experiencing friction. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed nervous, too. She was glad the premiere was almost over. By this weekend they’d be seeing box office numbers.
That thought didn’t bring much relief when Amelia considered its implications.
She could scarcely fathom the idea that her books were what had generated this madness. The money the studio had sunk into the production, the cast and crew that were assembled, the months of preparation…it made her head swim, and she was paralyzed with fear at the idea of failing everyone. What if the movie tanked? What if it was such a disaster that it hurt Colin’s career instead of helping it?
She thought her head might explode from the anxiety. Quickly she scanned her brain for thoughts to replace those of empty theater seats, of scathing reviews…and what she thought of was Noah.
Earlier that day Reese and Brooke had arrived in L.A. to attend tonight’s premiere. Amelia had sent a car to pick them up, and she’d met them at the spa on the ground floor of their hotel. While the three of them spent two and a half hours getting pampered from head to toe, Noah’s name came up in conversation. Reese had heard from her mom—who’d heard from Noah’s mom—that Noah had broken up with his girlfriend.
“Why are you telling me this?” Amelia complained to Reese. As if she needed another complication in her life. And yet, the most complicated thing about it was that it shouldn’t be a complication. At what point would hearing Noah’s name not tie her stomach into knots and send her thoughts into a tailspin?
Reese studied her face, and Amelia could tell it gave away too much.
“I think you should talk to him.”
“Not this again.” Amelia sighed. “Reese, it ended a long time ago. We ended a long time ago. I can’t talk to him. Besides, he might have broken up with his girlfriend, but I have a boyfriend.”
And I love him, she added silently. So why should I care whether or not Noah’s single?
She was focusing all her energy into not answering that question when her phone buzzed beside her, snapping her back to reality. The car would arrive any minute, and Colin was on his way down. She uncrossed her legs, her right foot tingling from being locked in wired movement for too long.
She stretched it out as she waited and relaxed her tense features into a smile for Colin when he appeared at the curve of the stairwell. The grin that spread across his face when he caught a glimpse of her in her Chanel dress—tightly fitted, with an overlay of antique lace and delicately beaded straps—caused her smile to widen and become genuine.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said in a husky voice, running down the bottom few steps and offering a hand to help her up. He pulled her against his side and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek—careful, she noticed, not to mess up her expertly made-up lips.
He’s used to this, she thought. And she wasn’t. She tried not to dwell on the thousands of eyes and camera lenses that would be trained on them tonight. He held the door open for her, and she passed through it ahead of him, walking slowly down his front steps in her impossibly high heels.
Together, they entered the limo that would usher them to the red carpet. To screaming fans. To waiting interviewers. To a night of indescribable pre-movie mayhem that thrilled and terrified Amelia to her core.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Home Matters
Two days later, she woke to the familiar trill of her own alarm clock. She reached over to turn it off and then let her head fall back onto her pillow, relishing the feel of her own mattress, her own sheets. She breathed in deep as she looked around at her cream walls, her quirky, curated hodge-podge of furnishings that spoke volumes about who she was. I haven’t lost myself. The relief of that thought nearly choked her with emotion. Her life was so different now. Better in most ways, worse in a few, but mainly just…different. She was different.
In the past year she’d learned so much about herself, about what she liked and didn’t like, what she wanted. The harder people pulled on her and the more she was given, the more she realized how much the simple things in life meant to her—the people who loved her, the comforts of home. For so long, she’d been running away from things or chasing things. And now she knew—knew—she had everything in life any normal person could want. She recognized it, felt it, forced herself to drink it in.
So why was she still running? What was still missing? Life is funny, she thought. You chased something so hard for so long, and then once you finally had it, you didn’t enjoy it as much as you thought you would because you were already chasing the next thing.
She rose from her bed, pushing these thoughts from her head as she tugged at her sheets and coverlet, reveling in the simple act of arranging pillows against the headboard.
Unfortunately this was just a short stop on her publicity schedule. She’d only get one more night in this warm, cozy nest before she’d have to fly away again—literally—for more events and more interviews. But at least she was here now. At least, in a couple of hours, she’d get to hang out again with Reese and Brooke. Amelia was picking Brooke up at the airport and then meeting Reese for lunch before the three of them got ready for a different type of premiere, one that hovered closer to the bounds of Amelia’s comfort zone.
She took another long look around her room, savoring all the little details she’d missed these past few weeks. Her eyes lit on a quilt Brooke had made when she briefly took up the hobby—it was folded over a bench Amelia had bought at a yard sale and reupholstered herself. Under the window was the old French armchair Laura had passed on to Amelia when she’d bought her house. Its fabric was a little worn, a little dated, but she couldn’t bring herself to replace it—it was a little piece of Laura, and she was instantly transported back to her grandma’s sitting room every time she looked at it. She studied the dresser she’d found in a Midtown antiques shop. Its robin’s-egg blue paint was scuffed and dinged from years of actual wear, not from a distressed factory finish. It was real, she thought. Nothing glossy, nothing phony about it.
This room, this whole house, was real, and it was her. All of her recent, frenzied travel had made her homesick, which she knew was making her overly sentimental, but she could see herself in every inch of the space that surrounded her.
She pictured Colin’s poli
shed master suite, which couldn’t be more different than this cozy, cluttered room. I could never feel comfortable in that gigantic house. This is where I belong.
She knew it, and being here, she felt it with a calm certainty. Still, she’d been considering Colin’s proposition. More than considering it—she’d been trying to force herself to want what he was offering.
But the simple fact was…she didn’t.
And she knew nobody would understand that, not Brooke, not Reese—well, maybe Reese—but nobody else. She knew millions of women would kill to be in her position, and she felt like maybe something was wrong with her that she hadn’t jumped to claim this amazing prize life had offered her. But she didn’t want it. And trying to force herself to want it felt like trying to cram her foot into Cinderella’s slipper when she was really just another guest at the ball. Like forcing herself to be someone she was not.
But I love Colin. Don’t I? And if I do, shouldn’t he matter more than me? Her cheeks burned as she realized with a start how selfish she was being. The feeling was fleeting, though, because Colin was being selfish, too.
He didn’t get it. He was so accustomed to getting his way that he didn’t understand in the slightest why she wouldn’t drop everything she knew to rush across the country and live with him. For a few seconds she simmered in the unfairness of his expectation. Why was this so important to him, anyway? She thought about the stories she’d read that accused her and Colin of using their relationship to further their own careers—him to sell more movie tickets, her to sell more books. She knew that wasn’t her motivation, but what were Colin’s motivations? Was he with her because he truly loved her, or was it something else? Her mind flashed to those photos of Colin snuggled up with Nathalie in the New York club. No matter where she lived, Colin would be away from her most of the time. Would he spend those hours away from her breaking her heart behind her back?
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