Red Carpet Kiss

by Melissa Brown

  “I will, I promise.” Elle ran her fingers through her hair, finally allowing a satisfied smile to pull at the corners of her mouth.

  “By the way, sleeping through the award nominations? So unlike you. I thought you’d be up hours ago, cleaning out your cabinets or something.” Whitney chuckled into the phone. Whenever Elle was nervous, she had to keep her mind busy. Cleaning, rearranging, organizing were some of the things she ran to when anxious. Because of this, her cabinets were extremely well organized.

  “I know, I’m shocked myself. So what did I miss?”

  “Nolan and Gina are up for Best Actor and Actress. And now Best Drama. Maybe we’ll grab it this year.”

  Elle released a sigh, not even realizing she was holding her breath. This was their second nomination for the award given by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. They’d lost the previous year to a stellar drama in its final season. They hadn’t stood a chance. But this year . . . well, this year they had a shot.

  “This is . . . wow, this is phenomenal. Any tough contenders for the spot? I missed the other nominations.”

  “Yeah, a couple. But I think we can take ’em, especially after last week’s Nielsens. Maybe Nolan will win this year, too. God, he’d be so happy.”

  “Gina would, too.”

  An uncomfortable pause passed over the phone. “Well, yeah.”

  “Things still weird between you two?” Elle asked.

  “She’s just a bitch on a mission to erase my existence from the planet. Seriously, she hasn’t made eye contact with me in months . . . even when I apologized. Whatever, I’m over it. But speaking of her crazy ass—do you mean to tell me she’s been nice to you?”

  Elle chose not to share Gina’s antics regarding a proposed showmance with Luke. If she did, she knew how Whitney would react, and she wanted to hold on to her good feelings regarding the nominations. “Well, no, but she’s the star of my show. I have to try, no matter how much she pisses me off. The show comes first, you know that. We’re losing Nolan, there’s no way I’m losing her, too.”

  “You’re a better person than I am, my dear.” Whitney laughed. “Enough about her. We should celebrate tonight. Drinks? Dinner? Dancing? All of the above?”

  “I wish I could. But I’m actually seeing Troy tonight. He’s taking me to see a Beatles cover band at Levitt Pavilion.”

  “Ah, Vegas is stepping it up, huh?”

  Whitney didn’t sound impressed. Elle knew her best friend’s claws came out when it involved Troy. Yes, she finally understood his reasons for leaving Elle the way he did, but as time had gone by, she reminded Elle of his decade-long absence from her life, and that if she hadn’t walked into his restaurant, who knows how long that absence would have continued? Whitney didn’t trust him, but Elle felt she was simply showing her preference for Luke.

  “Wearing your Team Luke shirt this early in the morning, huh?” Elle teased.

  “You better believe it. Speaking of that sexy man, how does he feel about this date with your ex-husband?”

  Elle sat up in her bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “He’s fine with it. In fact, he’s been so great about this whole thing—so patient.”

  “Just don’t push it. He’s still a man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Elle grimaced. She didn’t want to think about Luke growing tired of her or walking away from what they were building. The idea sent uncomfortable adrenaline into her empty belly.

  “Men don’t share. He’s crazy about you and I know that’s the only reason he’s putting up with all of this.”

  “I can’t help it, Whit. I have to know if something’s still there after all this time.”

  “I know, I get it—closure, unfinished business, yada yada yada. Just . . . be careful, okay? I don’t want you to lose out on Kingston. I have a good feeling about him.”

  If only things were that simple. She wished she could echo Whitney’s sentiment, but something in the pit of her stomach said the opposite. She knew the Hollywood bug had bitten him slightly, and she was hesitant to relax completely, not knowing what could be thrown their way. No matter her intense feelings toward the actor, her guard was still up, keeping him at a slight distance. Whitney made her wonder if, even without the complication of Troy, that distance could be their undoing. She pushed that thought down in her subconscious and quickly changed the subject.

  “Speaking of good feelings, I keep meaning to ask you about last Wednesday.”

  “What about it?” Whitney’s voice was unexpectedly sharp, defensive, very un-Whitney.

  “Um”—Elle paused—“nothing, I just . . . it sounded like you were having a good time in your office and I . . .”

  “Oh, that? That was nothing.”

  Whitney was never one to hold back when it came to her dalliances. In fact, Whitney was never one to hold back in any aspect of her personal or professional life. Elle was taken aback, and unsure of what to say. So she let it go. If and when Whitney was ready to talk about it, Elle was confident she would. They said their awkward good-byes, and when they hung up, Elle turned on the television, hoping to catch the commentary from the anchors on the Today Show.

  “A big day for Elle Riley and the cast of Follow the Sun, garnering three Golden Globe nominations,” the smiling male anchor with deep-set dimples said to his coanchor.

  “I’m crazy about that show,” his coanchor said, her eyes wide. “The tension is insane.”

  “My wife loves it too.” The handsome anchor smirked. “She takes complete control of the television every week. If I make a noise I’m in trouble.”

  The female anchor laughed with exuberance. “Looks like it’s the one to beat.”

  Elle sat on the edge of the bed, smiling from ear to ear. She could only hope their predictions were correct.

  “What a perfect night for this.”

  The sun had already set when they arrived at MacArthur Park. In his hands, Troy carried a steaming hot pizza fresh from the oven of Anthony’s Pub. Over her shoulder, Elle carried a tote bag with two bottles of merlot, a blanket, and everything else they needed for their dinner. At Troy’s suggestion, they arrived early. The cover band was gaining in popularity, and since all shows at Levitt Pavilion were free of charge, it would be a crowded Thursday evening. As they approached the pavilion, couples, families, and other large groups of people seemed to have the same idea. The show wouldn’t start for an hour, and it was already crowded. By the time the band took the stage, it would be packed.

  “I think you’ll love these guys. They’ve been at it for years.”

  “Kinda like that band in Chicago—I’m blanking on the name. Remember them? We saw them the summer after junior year. God, I can’t believe I can’t remember their name.”

  “American English.”

  Elle tapped Troy’s shoulder playfully. “Yes, that’s it. They were so good.”

  “These guys are just as good. Although they don’t have the mop tops.”

  Elle scrunched her nose. “I loved the mop tops—it made them authentic.”

  “These guys have more of a Sergeant Pepper look.” He gestured to his chin. “Long hair, beards, goatees.”

  “Got it.”

  When they reached an unclaimed area of grass about twenty yards from the stage, Troy stopped. “Does this work?”

  Elle nodded and removed the blanket from her tote. Together, they spread the blanket over the warm grass. Elle was dressed in the most 1960s-chic outfit she could assemble. Cropped pants with a sweater set the color of pink lemonade. Large sunglasses à la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s rested on the bridge of her nose. Her hair was pulled up into a modern beehive as she embraced the time period and music she adored.

  “You know, you’re looking pretty hip this evening. I forgot you like to dress the part for these things.” Troy’s smile appeared genuine, as if he was reminiscing over Elle’s small quirk. She loved that she could evoke pleasant memories for Troy, not just painful ones.
r />   They finished their pizza as the band took the stage. Elle sipped her wine as she sat cross-legged on the blanket. Troy was seated with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows. They drank and chatted through the show. When the unique chords were struck for “I’ll Follow the Sun,” they were quiet. Troy narrowed his eyes at her; he opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. Elle looked down at the blanket, recognizing that look in his eyes. He was holding something back. Troy didn’t know why she had selected this song as the basis for the books and the show, since he was unaware of his role in the creation of the plot. Or that he had been her muse for ten years. But still, tension lingered between them, and Elle wondered what Troy was thinking.

  When the song ended, the band took a short intermission, and the two sat in silence on the blanket. Mothers escorted their children to the bathroom; some couples were packing up their belongings to avoid the traffic after the show. But Elle and Troy said nothing to one another. They simply stared ahead in silence.

  “So,” Troy began, clearing his throat. “Why that song?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The title of the show . . . and your first book.”

  Elle removed her sunglasses and raised an eyebrow. A nervous chuckle escaped Troy’s lips. “You got me. I looked it up on Amazon.”

  “Do you really want to know?” Elle’s brow was knitted. She hated that every evening spent with Troy seemed to go back to their heartbreak. Would they ever be able to move forward?

  “Yeah, tell me.” Troy was trying to appear nonchalant about the entire thing, but Elle knew better. He wanted to know.

  “It’s what I imagined you would say to me . . . after Vegas.”

  “Oh.”

  Troy knew the lyrics, of that Elle was certain, but she was nervous and felt the need to elaborate. “It’s about this guy, right? And he’s angry, he’s really pissed at this girl who wouldn’t commit to him. So he leaves and he’s not coming back. And he wants her to know it.”

  “I know the song, Elle.” Troy’s voice was deep, strained.

  “Sorry. Of course you do. It’s just . . . of all the songs we both love, that one is how I imagined you felt about me.”

  “Like I wanted nothing to do with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Troy pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “We should go. Are you ready?”

  “But it’s only intermission.”

  “I think we should go somewhere private.” Troy paused. “To talk.”

  And there it was. She knew what was coming next. They’d go back to his place, where he’d officially break things off between them. He’d cite the lyrics, and thank her for reminding him of the pain he’d felt for years. He’d tell her he never wanted to see her again—that being near her was just too much. He was too angry, and always would be.

  The drive back to his house was maddening for Elle. She wanted to scream, to beg, to cry, to do anything to slice the tension in two. But she was too afraid. And deep down, she knew Troy had something to say to her. She needed to give him the opportunity to be heard.

  When they entered his apartment, Troy offered her another glass of wine. She walked around his home, wondering if this would be the first and last time she was welcome there. It was the epitome of a bachelor pad. The walls were bare, save for an eight-by-ten school portrait of Payton. Elle walked to the photograph and studied it. She was a beautiful girl with a smile that was the mirror image of her father’s. Her eyes were just as deep in color, and her hair was the color of cinnamon, tucked into an adorable shoulder-length bob.

  “Payton goes to private school?” Elle remarked, observing the girl was dressed in a uniform for her photo.

  “Yeah.” He handed her a fresh glass of merlot. “Have a seat, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Troy walked to his iPod, which sat on a side table next to the couch. Within seconds, the Beatles were singing into the small apartment. He then joined her on the couch.

  Elle glanced down at Troy’s hands, wrapped around a glass of scotch. His fingertips were trembling against the glass. She braced herself for the end of whatever this was.

  Troy took a deep breath and placed the glass on the table. “I have to tell you something.”

  Elle, preparing to become emotional, set her glass next to his on the coffee table. “All right.”

  “I should have said this sooner, I should . . . but tonight, when you told me about the song, I just . . . I knew it. I knew it was time.”

  “I understand . . .” Elle began. Troy looked at her with confusion, tilting his head slightly. “I should go.”

  He reached for her, grabbing her arm. “No, please. Let me say this.”

  “Look, I get it, okay? It’s too painful, you can’t be around me because it reminds you of what I put you through. I was hoping we could . . . God, I don’t know what I was hoping for.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she felt like that girl on the other side of the door all over again. The feet were about to shuffle away and she would be left alone with her pain and regret.

  “I’ve seen every episode.”

  Shock traveled from her brain to her toes. “What?”

  “Your books, your show—I lied to you when I said I didn’t know anything about them. I read every book. Twice. Years ago when they were first published.” His eyes were glassy but determined as his hand traveled from her forearm to her wrist. “And I’ve seen every episode of your show. It’s us, Rigby. It’s about us.”

  Elle was stunned. Her brain fought to find the right response, but nothing seemed quite right. She was elated, yet confused. He cared enough to read her novels, enough to watch the show. Troy still cared. He didn’t hate her. He didn’t bring her there to cut off ties. He was confessing . . . to caring about her.

  Without allowing another thought to creep through her already muddled brain, she lunged at Troy, her mouth crashing into his. His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her to his chest. Her fingers ran greedily through his silky hair. He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Elle moaned as his hands moved from her back to her chest, pulling at her sweater, stripping it from her body. His mouth moved to her exposed shoulders, the heat of his tongue waking her cool skin. A shudder ran down her spine and instinctively, she dropped her hands to clutch at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, exposing his tan skin. Her eyes gazed down at his firm chest and abdomen.

  “I knew you still had a six-pack,” Elle whispered with a smirk, her fingers grazing the rock-hard muscles of his midsection. Troy eased Elle onto the couch, her legs wrapped around his waist and her pelvis tilted up toward his hips. She was losing herself in him. With every kiss, every touch, every moan, lick, and nibble, she was completely lost in Troy Saladino.

  “God, I want you,” Troy murmured into her ear, his hand cupping her breast, the tips of his fingers squeezing her supple skin. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you.”

  She’d missed him, too. Far too many years had gone by, too many moments without one another, too many soured memories filled with heartache and remorse. As much as his touch made her body come alive, her brain was turning on her as she processed his words.

  He didn’t realize?

  Elle had spent ten years missing Troy. She was so fully aware of her heartbreak that she created an outlet in which to deal with her grief. And he was just now realizing how much he missed her in return? Elle broke their kiss, pushing her hand into his chest.

  “Wait, what? You didn’t realize? But you said you watched the show, you read the books . . . I don’t get it—”

  “I just meant . . . you know.” Troy eased himself to a seated position on the couch. The expression on his face turned from lustful to guilt-ridden. “I was bitter and I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I walked away, I made a choice. If I admitted to myself I missed you, then where would I have been?”

  “Miserable.” Elle sniffed, holding back tears. “Just like me.”

  “I never wanted
that—for you to be miserable. You have to believe me. I thought I needed a fresh start.” Troy tucked some crazy, loose hair behind Elle’s ear. His touch was comforting yet perplexing.

  “And now?” she asked, her heart completely exposed with that question. She was giving Troy control, allowing him to squash her heart once and for all.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Elle bit her lip and closed her eyes, accepting the honesty of his answer. After all, she could relate to his response. She herself was torn between two men. If Troy asked her to choose right then and there between him and Luke, she wouldn’t be able to make that choice.

  Troy continued before she could respond. “I have to be honest. Part of me wants to steal you away from the rest of the world. Make a new home, start over together, leave everything behind, ya know?”

  “And the other part?” Elle deadpanned, bracing herself for the brutally honest answer she knew would leave his lips. She knew it was coming.

  “The other part wishes you’d never showed up at my restaurant.”

  “But you knew I lived here. You watched the show, you read the books. You knew I was here.”

  “I was here first.” He swallowed hard, his eyebrows arched. Elle knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel; he was just stating the facts. He moved here with Payton long before her show was picked up by the network.

  “Doesn’t part of you wonder if it was all serendipitous? I mean, what are the chances of us both being here . . . in California?”

  “Is that why you’re here? Because you think this is fate or something?” Troy looked annoyed with her, like she was foolish or silly for believing in such things. Yes, it went against her nature. Normally, she believed strongly in having control whenever possible. Leaving her heart and future to fate was completely out of her comfort zone. But when it came to Troy, most things were. He pushed her, challenged her like no one else.

  “Would that be so terrible? To think all of this was somehow meant to happen? That we weren’t ready for each other in our twenties? That maybe we just needed more time?”