The Wedding Band

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The Wedding Band Page 15

by Cara Connelly


  “You’re crushing her,” Sasha said, laughing. She had a match-­makey look on her face.

  It didn’t bother him a bit.

  Tana called from the grill. “Um, Christy, you happen to know how to adjust the temp?”

  “Be right there.” She knuckled his tickle spot, and Kota let out an unmanly giggle. He morphed it into a growl and added a squint for good measure.

  “Mr. Badass.” She shoved him back with one finger and sashayed across the terrace to school little brother on the Grill-­osterone 5000.

  What a woman.

  “TO THE GRILL master.” Sasha raised her glass to Chris. Candlelight sparked off the bubbles. “The boys are your slaves.”

  Chris grinned. “I rule the grill. And the tit.” Three gin and tonics made her believe it.

  Sasha was on number four. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

  Chris gave Tri a lap bounce. “I know. He went down my shirt the first time I met him.”

  “Get out! That’s bad, even for Kota.”

  Chris giggled. “No, I meant Tri.”

  Sasha giggled too. “I meant Kota. Kota’s crazy about you.”

  “Oh.” That was sobering. Chris glanced at him, horsing around in the pool with Tana. “I don’t think so. He got really mad today when I told him I didn’t love my old boyfriend.”

  Sasha puzzled over that. “There must’ve been more to it.”

  “Not really. I said Jason transferred to the East Coast, and that I realized I didn’t care enough about him to go along. And Kota got pissed and went off on a tangent about me walking out on my kids to follow my own selfish dreams.”

  “Oooh, that explains it.” Sasha nodded wisely. “Kota has abandonment issues. They both do. Because of their parents.”

  “Their parents abandoned them?”

  Sasha smiled, ruefully. “I know you’re not the run-­to-­the-­tabloids type,” she said, making Chris wilt like lettuce. “But it’s not my story to share. Tana didn’t tell me until we’d been together for a year, so don’t be hurt if Kota holds onto it for a while.”

  “We’re not”—­Chris cleared her guilt-­clogged throat—­“we’re not a ­couple. This is just a”—­she fanned her hand, groping for a word to describe it—­“a week.” No arguing with that.

  Sasha’s lips twitched in a smile. “A week is more than enough. When it’s right, you know it. And those two”—­she waved her glass at the brothers—­“are as old fashioned as Grandma Moses.”

  Chris must have looked skeptical, because Sasha leaned in. “I’m serious. They’ve got huge hearts, and they’re loyal as Labradors. I wouldn’t have married Tana if I didn’t think it was for life.”

  “How did you meet?” A juicy sidebar story if she could make herself write it.

  “I work with a program that brings theater to inner-­city schools. Tana came to talk to the kids.” Her brown eyes went dreamy. “He was spellbinding. Had them eating out of his hand. Me too. Afterwards, he bought me a latte. We went out for Italian that night. I stayed over at his place . . . and never left.”

  She chuckled. “Sounds slutty, right? I’m really not. Tana was only the second guy I ever slept with, which makes me a Hollywood anomaly. But as Julia said in Pretty Woman, I wanted the fairy tale.”

  And she’d gotten it. Tana tracked water across the terrace and lifted her out of the chair. “Time to get wet, babe.”

  Sasha’s shriek trailed her as he strode to the deep end and jumped in.

  Kota flicked water at Chris. “I’d do the same, but you’d take a bite out of me.”

  “A big juicy hunk.”

  He shook his hair all over her instead. Tri abandoned ship, but Chris kind of liked it.

  He slicked it back. “Ready to go home?”

  “Tana made pie.”

  Kota’s eyes popped. “Blueberry?”

  “So I hear.”

  He sat down kitty-­corner from her and took a slug from her glass.

  “Hey, get your own.”

  “Nope, I gotta drive.”

  “Right. We wouldn’t want to die in a fiery crash. At five miles an hour.”

  “Golf cart accidents are no joke.” His cool, wet knee rubbed along her sticky thigh. “But just a heads-­up. Sasha’s folks—­”

  “Don’t tell me.” She dropped her head in her hand. “They died in a fiery crash.”

  “Nope. They were both at the wedding. Her father gave away the bride. But they’re heavy-­duty drinkers . . . even though her brother died in a fiery crash.”

  Chris felt the ache. She eyed Sasha’s drink morosely.

  Kota slid it toward her. “Taste it.”

  She did. Tonic, no gin. “I would’ve sworn she was tipsy.”

  “She gets contact drunk. But she hasn’t touched alcohol in years.”

  “I’m glad. I really like her.” Sasha was kind and down to earth. And if her life looked perfect, especially after marrying Montana Rain, she had sorrow and demons and family trauma just like everyone else.

  And like everyone else, she trusted her friends not to trumpet her business in the Los Angeles Sentinel.

  Chris sucked her lime just to torture herself.

  The newlyweds joined them, Sasha’s dress dripping. “Gotta change before pie.” She bumped Chris’s arm. “Come along?”

  Inside, the big house was like the guesthouse on steroids. Sasha’s bedroom could swallow half of Chris’s wing, with room for dessert.

  “Can you believe it?” said Sasha, throwing out an arm. “The view alone.”

  Chris went to the window. The sun had set. A filament of gold lined the horizon, where indigo sky met inky sea.

  Sasha ducked into a closet, talking to Chris through the open door. “I’m still freaked out by Kota’s thing with the horses. Freaked out in a good way. But still.”

  “It’s amazing, all right.”

  “You’ve got some of that too. That way with animals.”

  Chris scratched Tri’s tickle spot. “I’m going to miss them.”

  “Why? You’ve got Kota wrapped around your finger.”

  If only it was that simple.

  Sasha emerged in a white sundress that set off her olive skin. “Remember what I said? Loyal as Labradors.” She led the half-­mile hike to the kitchen. “Wait’ll you meet Verna and Roy. You’ll want to move in with them.”

  “I already met them. They’re great.”

  Sasha stopped in her tracks. “You met them?”

  “Kota brought Verna backstage, then he took me to see both of them at his house.” She grinned. “Verna’s inquisitive, isn’t she?”

  Sasha’s face lit up. “This is huge. Tana didn’t introduce me for three months. It was the final rite of passage, and I swear, if Verna had gone thumbs-­down, I wouldn’t be standing here. She must’ve liked you too, or you wouldn’t be here either.” She rubbed her palms together, apparently planning the wedding.

  “Hang on.” Hang the hell on. “It was ten minutes, tops.” But Roy did mention a wedding band. . .

  “That’s plenty. Verna knows her own mind.” Sasha grabbed plates, Chris took the pie, and they headed for the terrace. “I can’t wait to tell Tana. He’s been so worried.”

  “About what?”

  “His brother, what else? Kota’s been depressed since we got engaged.” Sasha paused in the doorway. “The thing about Kota is, he’s a tender. You’ve probably figured that out, with the animals and all. But he tends ­people too. His folks, his friends. He’s been tending Tana ever since they were kids.”

  “And now Tana doesn’t need him.”

  “Tana will always need him. Just not in the same way.” Sasha gazed out at the two of them, heads together at the table, deep in discussion. “Right now they’re hashing out Tana’s next move. He wants to direct, but he
’s been waiting for the right script. He thinks he’s found it. So does his agent. So do I. But it’s Kota’s approval he wants.”

  “YOU’RE NOT STILL mad at me, are you, babe?” Kota flicked a glance at Christy’s profile, then back at the bumpy trail. She’d been silent since they left the big house.

  “No, I’m not mad.” She stunned him with a brush of knuckles down his cheek, a tender touch.

  He caught her hand and kissed it, then pressed it to his heart. “Tell me you’re glad you came,” he said impulsively. “To the island. To dinner.”

  “I . . .” She hesitated. “Everything’s different than I expected.”

  “In what way? What’s different?”

  “You. Me. Everything.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

  “How are you and me different?”

  “You’re not an asshole. And I am.”

  What the fuck?

  “You’re not an asshole,” he said. That much he’d swear to.

  “You don’t really know me, Kota.”

  “I know plenty. I know you were pissed off when we got to the big house, but you put it aside for Sasha’s sake. I know my brother thinks you walk on water. You love animals and they love you. My folks like you. Hell, Ma even asked you to lunch.”

  None of that seemed to help. In fact, she pulled her hand from his grasp and sat on it.

  He didn’t know what to make of her. In his book, it was a magical night. He’d begun to believe that everybody was right; he truly was smitten with her.

  He struggled to keep his tone light. “What else you got?”

  “Nothing. I got nothing.” It came across dolefully.

  He stroked her hair. “What happened, honey? Did Sasha say something to upset you?”

  “Sasha’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Like it was tragic.

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  Instead of answering, she buried her nose in Tri’s neck. And Kota’s heart, so full a moment before, shriveled like a raisin.

  When they got inside, he took her shoulders. “Sweetheart. Talk to me.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And she left him standing alone, with the best night of his life in pieces at his feet.

  I’M AN ASSHOLE, I’m an asshole, I’m an asshole.

  Chris typed it line after line. It was that or nothing, because about the wedding, the newlyweds, and the honeymoon, she couldn’t summon a word.

  Talk about writer’s block.

  Stepping away from the blinking cursor, she stood in the center of the room, not knowing which way to turn. Out the window, only black. As black as her heart. As black as ink on a page.

  Out the door, only pain. She couldn’t face Kota. She’d starve to death in her room, because she couldn’t look into his eyes again.

  She tried rolling her neck, but it was practically paralyzed, as if her head was a bottle cap screwed onto her shoulders by the strongest man on earth.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked Tri.

  He licked her chin, a kiss she didn’t deserve.

  “Why aren’t you with Kota? He rescued you. He rescued me.” She gripped her neck with one hand. “But this time he took in a traitor, didn’t he? A spy. A sneak. What would Verna say about that? What would any of them say?”

  She released her neck to shove her hand through her hair. “What would Mom say? Damn the torpedoes and get the story, that’s what she’d say.”

  Or would she?

  Chris’s pulse picked up speed. “Wait a minute. Mom never lied for a story. She never pretended to be someone she wasn’t.”

  She paced the room. “Mom had pride. Self-­respect. She got the story through grit and determination, not deception and deceit. She was a credit to her profession.”

  Stopping at the window, Chris ignored the darkness outside, staring at her reflection instead, seeing Emma in the depths of her own eyes.

  “My God.” The truth crystalized, clear as a diamond. “Mom would hate this. She wouldn’t be proud of me at all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  SCONES. LIGHT AND airy, with currants and nothing else, the way God intended them.

  Chris took two, poured a big mug of coffee, and headed for the swing.

  Kota was already there, mug in hand, a stack of papers on the seat beside him. His smile made her newly freed heart flutter like a hummingbird.

  He moved the stack to his lap and she sat beside him, curling one leg under her butt.

  “These scones are outrageous.” She polished off number one right down to the crumbs on her chest.

  “Glad you like them.” There went that smile again.

  She wanted to return it wholeheartedly, but she couldn’t do that quite yet.

  First, she had to come clean.

  In the wee hours of the night, she’d almost convinced herself it wasn’t necessary. Wasn’t it enough that she’d resolved to quit her job at the Sentinel rather than write the wedding story? Kota never had to know she’d deceived him.

  But daylight revealed the holes in her logic. For one, if she got involved with him, he’d eventually learn of her double identity anyway, in a way that would surely cast her in the worst light.

  For another, even if they never got off the ground, she’d gone a long way toward sacrificing her integrity. She needed, desperately, to reclaim it.

  Nope, there was no getting around it. Even if Kota voted her off the island, she had to tell him the truth. And she would.

  After breakfast.

  Biting into scone number two, she pointed her chin at the pile on his lap.

  “Scripts.” He fanned a few pages without enthusiasm.

  “The usual?”

  “If it works, don’t fix it.” He shrugged like he didn’t care.

  She peered at the one on top. “Edge of Destruction. What does that even mean?”

  “It means Sasha’ll love it.”

  She studied him over the rim of her mug. “You could go back to school.”

  He smirked.

  “I’m serious. How long would it take to become a vet?”

  “Five years. I’d be forty.”

  “And if you don’t go to school, how old will you be in five years?”

  That seemed to stump him. She shook her head. “Never mind, you’re not smart enough after all.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “I never looked at it that way.”

  She licked her fingers, watching him from the corner of her eye as he thought it through.

  She saw the moment he rejected it. The spark went out of his eyes. “Too many commitments,” he said. “My next three films are lined up.”

  “What would it take to get out of them?”

  “The Western starts shooting next month.”

  “What about the other two?”

  He rubbed his neck. “I could wiggle out of the last one. It’s not set in stone. But the second one . . .” He shook his head. “There’s too much riding on me. Too many ­people.”

  “Okay, so the Western and the next one would take you through next summer, right? You could start school in the fall.” She held up her hand before he could object. “I know, you’ll be forty-­one. Either way.”

  He looked at the pile of scripts like he’d gladly set them on fire. But he said, “In five years I can bank two hundred million. My body’s worth a lot more than my brain. And money can do a lot more than one vet.”

  “If I can paraphrase, saving one vet won’t change the world, but it’ll change the world for that one vet.”

  That got a laugh out of him. She could see he wasn’t ready to sign on yet, but she’d planted the seed.

  “How about you?” he said, rocking the swing with his foot. “Em told me you don’t perform mu
ch anymore. Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I got tired of living out of a suitcase. I wanted to put down some roots.”

  “Get married? Have kids?”

  She gave him the eyebrow.

  He winced. “Too soon?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I’m sorry I went off on you.”

  “So you said. I accepted your apology. But once burned, twice shy.”

  He nodded and dropped it. “So why not perform in L.A.? No suitcase.”

  She looked out to sea. “I’m concentrating on other things. Writing the biography.” Her journalism career was dead in the water, but she’d redeem herself with a Pulitzer Prize–winning tribute to her mother’s career.

  “How can you not sing?” he asked. “It’s like Rembrandt refusing to paint.”

  “That’s sweet, but talk about a whopper. Besides, I still sing with Dad sometimes. In fact, I recently did a ritzy celebrity wedding. You might’ve heard about it.”

  “Was that you?” He eyed her up and down, raising her temperature.

  She sang a few sultry bars of “Fever.”

  His eyes glazed.

  “Just because I have it,” she said, “doesn’t mean I have to sell it.” She aimed a pointed look at his chest.

  “You think I should waste all this?” He drawled it out, with a lazy half smile.

  Her turn to eye him up and down. “I see a nanogram of fat hanging over your waistband. It’s all this lounging around. Shouldn’t you be pumping iron?”

  His smile widened to a grin. “Wanna watch?”

  “Pfft, why would I—­okay, yeah, I do.”

  He dumped the scripts on the floor. “Come on then. I’ll show you how the big boys do it.”

  The gym consumed more than half of his wing.

  “Holy shit.” She turned a full circle. “You use all this stuff?”

  All this stuff included a Nautilus circuit, racks of dumbbells, a dozen futuristic cardio machines, an obstacle course with scaling walls and climbing ropes, and a full-­sized trampoline surrounded by mats.

  “I do a lot of my own stunts.” He vaulted onto the trampoline, jounced a few times, and held out his hand.

 

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