I sat back in my chair, running my thumb along my jawline. Pressers were long, grueling, and exhaustive work having to be “on” all the time. The last thing I wanted to do was be away from my wife for an extended period of time, but I did have my responsibilities.
“I want a light presser schedule for The First Lights—the absolute bare bones that I am allowed.”
She shook her head. “Matthew, the biggest movie of your career, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
I didn’t think I would be able to get out of that, but it was worth asking . . . pleading. “Donna, can’t you at least try to get me out of a lengthy press tour?”
“The press will want to talk to you about the role, since it is out of the norm for you—romance and drama,” Donna explained, resting her arms on top of her desk. “Look, I am all for you and Tinley saving your marriage, but there are some obligations that you just can’t abandon. Have you tried asking your wife if she’d like to accompany you?”
It was a possibility, I suppose Tinley and I could try that approach again.
“People would love seeing you two together on the red carpet. At least think about Venice.”
My head snapped up. “What are you talking about Venice?”
“The First Lights is in the running for the final selection at the Venice Film Festival.”
I ran a hand over my mouth. “After all this time, are you shitting me?”
“You deserve it,” she said, shuffling papers on her desk. “I’ll make you a deal, you work on your marriage, and I’ll try and keep your schedule as light as possible—but, you’re going to Venice.”
I stood and buttoned my jacket. “Thanks, Donna, you’re the best.”
“Yes, I am. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
CALIFORNIA WAS ALL SUNSHINE and warm salty air, where East Harbour was still thawing out from the winter months. It seemed we’d departed just in time, because the entire weekend called for rain. Alex told us we had to visit Charlemagne Winery, which was owned by his friend Ethan’s family. Apparently, the Italian and California/French varietals were award winning.
The car engine hummed beneath me, and I watched the California landscape whizzing past. This part of the drive was ugly. It was concrete and trees twined around chain link fence.
“That’s the tenth time you’ve looked in my direction in the last five minutes.”
“I’m just checking on you,” Matthew said, switching lanes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrugged. “Talk about what?”
“We’ve been on the road for over an hour and you haven’t said anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for my bottle of water.
Silence filled the car, and I stared out the window fingering the delicate chains around my neck. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed California, and our Malibu home was one my favorite places on Earth, mostly because we made it a home together.
After we’d gotten engaged, Matthew put his bachelor pad on the market and we found our beachside bungalow together. It held so many memories. I remember the night we moved in, the moving truck broke down and everything Matthew owned was sitting in a parking lot outside Duke’s Barefoot Bar in Malibu.
We ended up driving to Target to buy an air mattress. Luckily, I had already brought over some essentials after we closed on the property—toilet paper, towels, wash cloths, cleaning supplies, paper plates, and we had our toiletries. We got a bottle of red wine and ordered a pizza that night. Aside from the terrible back and neck pains the next day, it was a memory that I treasured—roughing it with Matthew in our furniture-less home. Everything arrived safe and sound the next afternoon, but I thought for sure Matthew was going to cry.
“You cried.” Matthew shifted his body, his hand slipped to grip the bottom of the steering wheel.
I swallowed a drink of water. “Yeah, but, this time was different. I think I was finally letting go of the pain or maybe saying goodbye.”
Matthew looked at me, and I caught my reflection in his aviator sunglasses. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I believe that I am.”
The low hum of Tim McGraw and Taylor Swift’s voices carried through the speakers. It was kind of the perfect melody for the moment. The words wrapped around me—highway, dry your tears, without you.
“You know, as I was looking around the empty room, I kept thinking, my baby isn’t here. My baby—girl or boy?”
Matthew’s hand drifted to my knee giving it a squeeze. “You think about that?”
I lifted a shoulder, bopping my head in a nod. “Yeah, even though he or she isn’t here, my baby . . . our baby is with my mom.”
“I think about that too.” Matthew admitted.
As I layered my hand on top of his, I turned in my seat. “I figured that you did. When you left after Christmas, I missed my period.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, and I thought I might be pregnant again. I took five tests,” I admitted. “They were all negative—all that anger and sadness bubbled and coiled inside me.”
I explained my breakdown and confessed to all the baby clothes that I’d kept in the guest room.
He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
My heart skipped a painful beat, regret filling me at the weight of the situation. “I want you to know that I never blamed you.”
“And I never blamed you, Tinley. I hurt too, every day, but I never blamed you. I pretended that I was fine, tamping down everything inside, instead of making a real effort to talk to you.”
Matthew and I were in the same place. Our hurt, our pain, our sadness, all muddled together and we were unable to organize our feelings, much less process those emotions.
“Do you think our baby was a boy or a girl?”
My eyes flicked up to see the blue of the ocean coming into view. “A girl, but since you asked me and now I see the blue of the ocean it has me thinking otherwise.”
“I think a baby girl too.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, and my fingertips traced over his knuckles.
“Yep. I believe that she is probably having tea parties in heaven with your mom and my grandmother.”
Warmth blossomed in my chest. “That’s a sweet thought, Matthew.” In that moment, I realized we could have saved ourselves some heartache if I’d just opened up, or let him open up before now.
We spent the afternoon touring around Carpinteria, where we stopped off at the Island Brewing Company. Then it was on to Solvang, also known as “California’s Little Denmark.” It felt like another country. The streets were lined with colorful Scandinavian-style buildings and monuments and sculptures closely resembling those found in Copenhagen.
“Remember the panzerotti?” I asked.
“Yum, how could I forget?” Matthew’s shoulder bumped mine.
“Well, you’re about to try, aebleskiver.”
“Sounds interesting,” Matthew said, opening the door to the restaurant.
“When in Solvang, you must try the aebleskiver or appleskives—a pancake like puff pastry smothered in jam and powdered sugar.”
“Lead the way, Missus Barber.”
We headed north, sufficiently stuffed with jam coated pastries. I loved being with Matthew, I almost forgot what it was like to be out in public exploring the world together. It’s a luxury the two of us don’t get that often. No one in Solvang seemed to care that a movie star was occupying the space of their quaint little town.
“I don’t know,” Matthew said, “The pancake ball things were good, but I am partial to the panzerotti.”
I started laughing. “Pancake ball things, that reminds me of Alec Baldwin on SNL and his Schweddy Balls.”
The next thing I knew, Matthew was whispering into my ear and urging me to wake up. “We’re here, Tinley.”
My eyes peeled open. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not very long, like an hour-ish.”
“Where are we?”
Matthew maneuvered the car up a long winding road. “This is a place called Prins Lane Paradise. I brought you here because of this,” he paused, and handed me his phone. “This place has an entire art gallery featuring local artists—photography, sculptures, and even jewelry, but the entire property is a structural work of art.”
Matthew nodded towards the house. “Shall we?”
“Is this a hotel?”
“No, it’s a private estate, but the owners are very big supporters of the arts. I thought you might like to see their collection.”
We entered the house, and my eyes were drawn to the breathtaking view of dazzling white coastline. Light spread over every surface, walls of uninterrupted glass showcased a shimmering sea of blues.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“Yeah, and it’s all ours for twenty-four hours.”
Matthew put our bags in the master suite and then we hiked down to the private beach. We trekked across the exceptionally well-manicured lawn down to the water. I breathed in the salt and sand letting it all wash over me. We took the long way back through the palmy gardens that led to the pool that was beautifully hidden under a canopy of trees and colorful flowers.
“I talked to Donna the other day,” Matthew said, twisting his platinum band.
We stopped in front of the pool. “Oh, about what?”
Reaching out, Matthew laced our fingers together. “Taking a step back and paring down my schedule.”
I shook my head. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that we need to live under the same roof for more than a few hours or even a week or two. We’ll find our balance and then take it from there.”
I swallowed thickly. “And you’re absolutely sure that this is the right move for you?”
He stepped closer, so that we were a breath a part. “It’s the right move for us—for our marriage. You want this too, right, Tinley? Tell me that you want us.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “I do.”
“Then that’s all I need.” His hands dropped to my waist.
“What about a baby?”
“I want what you want. When I married you, I wanted everything that came with that—a home, a family, a life together for the next seventy years.”
My eyes dropped, and I studied the ripples of the pool. “I might not be able to give you children.”
“And if that life,” he said, smoothing his hands up and down my arms, “includes one without children, then it’s the life we were meant to have—it’s our life and as long as I’m with you, I’ll be the happiest man on the planet.”
“How will you fill your days? I think you’ll hate not being busy.”
“Tinley, you’re doing it again—trying to push me away.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “I put a lot of thought into my decision. This isn’t something I’m taking lightly.”
“So, you did a pros and cons list?”
I laughed. “I didn’t on paper, but in my mind I did and I got some advice from a friend.”
My brows arched, and my heart thumped out of sync. “So, this is happening?”
Matthew nodded his hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “Yep, you’re probably going to get sick of me.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But that’s when I’ll just go to my gallery.”
“I think that I’m going to take up painting,” he joked. “Nudes, maybe photography would be better.”
The overwhelming feeling took hold, tugging and pulling at my need for him. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, charging its way through my heart.
“I love you.” His lips met mine for a long slow kiss.
“I love you, Matthew,” I said, squeezing his hand. I needed him. I needed to feel his skin against mine. “So, would you like to get started on making a baby?”
“I would,” he whispered against my lips.
THE SUN SHONE CRISP in a cloudless sky as I trekked up the sidewalk to Tinley’s gallery, White Ashes. It was hard to believe that summer was coming to an end. My first work-free summer and I’d spent most of my days sailing, surfing, and helping Tinley at the gallery. The place was closed since she was prepping for the annual Elizabeth Atkinson Foundation for the Arts Celebration.
Tinley’s father ended up buying a property in Hawaii and he and Gianna settled into the island life. As for my own family, my father had somewhat retired from ranching, and Nathan stepped into his shoes . . . boots.
I stepped inside, and walked up the stairs to Tinley’s office. She sat behind her desk, her long blonde hair cascaded over her tanned shoulders. She looked up at me, her blue eyes beaming with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, getting up from her seated position.
“Would you believe that I was just in the area and thought I’d drop by?”
She wrapped her arms around my waist. “This is a nice surprise.”
I pressed a kiss to her lips. We’d spent the summer reconnecting, finding our way back to one another. There was an adjustment period, and figuring out how to navigate living with one another day in and day out, but we slipped into our marriage with a renewed purpose.
“Did I tell you that your friend, Jackson, is going to donate some pieces for the foundation? And he wants to sponsor a maritime art installation.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, my hands pushing beneath her grey crop top.
The First Lights was set for a premiere at the Venice Film Festival over Labor Day weekend and then it would release in theaters next April. Grady and I were about to launch One Harbour Entertainment and we scored a release deal with Avalon Films. We were in talks to produce a film about a country singer and his band’s rise to stardom.
Tinley was focused solely on the foundation and the gallery. For the most part, she was resolved to not go back to acting unless the right project came along. Never say never, right?
My wife gripped the hem of my shirt as my lips coasted against the nape of her neck. Teasing her, I glided my fingertips along her ribcage and to her breast. Tinley arched into my touch.
“Are you looking for a little afternoon delight?” she asked.
I laughed. “Now who’s the one with the unoriginal lines?”
Her blue eyes smoldered. “You should worry less about the words, and more about how fast you can get out of those clothes.”
“Right here?”
She nodded. “Right now.”
In between kisses, we managed to strip out of our clothes. I tossed mine onto the chair and turned back to face my wife. She was all over me, hands gripping and pushing back onto her desk. I took her face in my hands, kissing her deeply, thrusting my tongue deep inside her mouth.
Tinley’s fingers dug into the muscles of my back. Gripping her hips, I hoisted her up and planted her on the edge of her desk. Giving my cock a few strokes, she angled her hips spreading wide for me.
“What do you need?” I asked. “Anything you want, beautiful, it’s yours.”
“I just need you,” she replied, her voice cracking as I pushed into her. “Matthew.”
“Fuck, yes,” I groaned, feeling her nails scraping along my neck.
Tinley shifted her hips, and I had her on her back thrusting deeper. She arched and cried out, “Matthew, you feel so good.”
Leaning over her, my fingers dug into her hips. “Do you know how much I love you?”
She trembled under me, papers and pens were flying everywhere. “Oh, Matthew, I have an idea.”
She said it like we were having a casual conversation over breakfast. I slowed my pace, and studied her face. “What is it, darlin’?”
“Fuck me in my ballet studio.” It wasn’t a question, it was a request.
I hauled her up off the desk, and we raced down the hall to her studio. The shock of cold from the concrete twined its way up my spine.
She pushed open the door, and flicked on the lights. My wife grasped the barre and bent at the waist.
Jesus Christ.
I loved that aft
er all these years, she could still surprise me. Somehow I knew that things would always be like this between us. “Where do you need me, beautiful?” I asked, digging my fingers into her waist.
She stared back at me in the mirror. “I need you inside me, Matthew.” Her hand lifted from the barre and she reached for me. I pushed inside her, moving slowly at first and finding our perfect rhythm. I folded myself over her back, my teeth scraped over the shell of her ear.
“I love you, Matthew.” Her voice was breathy.
Tingles radiated and I felt the deep ache of her orgasm taking hold. I rocked my body against hers, feeling her pussy squeezing my cock.
“Yes, just like that,” she gasped.
My eyes met hers in a blistering heat, and she was moaning and bucking back against me, overloading my senses. I exploded inside her and came with a thundering roar. My arms twined around her waist as I pulsed inside her, and I wanted to stay like this for the rest of the afternoon.
Naked and beautiful, she stood before me, a lazy grin crossing her lips. “I love you.” Her hands laced with mine. I brushed the hair away from her face and dipped my head to meet her lips. I kissed her softly and slowly.
“Do you know how you tell real love?”
She smirked. “Does anyone?”
Nodding, I brought our connected hands to my mouth, kissing the inside of her wrist down to her palm. “When you come out of the darkness into the light still holding hands.”
Four months later
OUR HOUSE WAS FILLED with noise—one barking dog, two kids running up and down the stairs as their parents tried wrangling them. Laughter and music filled every corner. Glasses clicked in celebration of another year gone by. Conversations flowed as freely as the whiskey and champagne.
“I’m so happy this year is over,” Holliday said over her champagne glass.
“You say that every year,” Harlow chided, sliding her long auburn waves over her shoulder.
Grady appeared by her side in an ink black suit. “And every year you tell me that you’re going to marry me,” he pointed out, and dropped a kiss to her cheek.
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