Gennie smiled. “Every chance I get. Plus, with Bella and Ben here along with the Bellalicious headquarters, I’ll want to come and see how business is going.”
Cindi raised her eyebrows and slapped the counter. “Oh, it’s going to be something to have our own cosmetic company right here in River Valley. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Bella downed another shot and slammed it on the counter, grinning at Ben. “Come on, baby. I want to say hi to Annie in the kitchen.”
Ben put out his arm. “Come on, then.” He grinned at Stefan. “Happy wife, happy life, right?”
“Not sure how that silly girl’s going to run a business.” Cindi grabbed the empty shot glass and tucked it under the bar.
Gennie chuckled. “She’s smarter than she seems. I’ve known her a long time. I’d trust her with my life, tequila shots or not.”
“Well, that’s the kind of friend you need, for sure.” Cindi fixed her gaze on Stefan. “And for you, young man? IPA?”
“You know how to make a man happy, Cindi. You sure you won’t marry me?”
Cindi flushed and reached for a pint glass. “Oh, hush now, you know I’m spoken for. Anyway, you two drink up, especially since all you have to do is stumble next door to the inn.” She started to fill the beer glass with an IPA from the tap, holding it at an angle so the foam ran off the side. “And Lee’s got it fixed so no paparazzi can get to you tonight. This is a private party for just the cast and crew. Here you go, handsome.” After sliding the glass of beer toward Stefan, she excused herself to take care of a patron at the other end of the bar. Glancing that way, Gennie gave a small wave. It was one of the young production assistants who always had a cigarette tucked behind her left ear and chewed gum as if punishing it for being too minty.
Stefan raised his glass of beer. “To my favorite leading lady.”
“To my favorite leading man.” They clinked glasses.
The evening passed quickly. Too quickly. By twilight, eight inches of snow had covered River Valley and the surrounding mountains. Quite unusual, Lee and Tommy told them, for this time of year. While the unfortunate snowplow driver worked to clear the streets, Gennie and Stefan dined inside the warm restaurant on Annie’s succulent dinner: rack of lamb with mint sauce, a medley of vegetables, rosemary potatoes, and blackberry cheesecake for dessert. Gennie permitted herself full portions and ate as if she were not scheduled to begin filming a new project right after the Thanksgiving holiday. She drank two glasses of wine and felt loose and warm. If only this moment could last forever.
After dinner, several couples rose to dance to Tommy’s band. She stayed in her seat, enjoying his beautiful voice.
Stefan reached across the table, tapping her hand. “Would you like to dance?”
“Dance? Do you dance?” she asked, teasing, knowing full well that he danced. They’d spent many Friday nights on this very dance floor, cutting a rug to Tommy’s music.
“I’ll dance with you, Genevieve Banks, anytime.”
Stefan held her loosely, with only inches between their bodies, as they swayed to the music. She inhaled his spicy scent and wrapped her fingers in his hair. Song after song, they danced together in the far corner of the floor, the world nothing but the two of them. Her heart beat the seconds away until Tommy announced last call and last song.
Stefan’s eyes were soft as he covered her hand with his. “We’ve officially closed the place down. You have to go to bed before you turn into a pumpkin.”
They said their goodbyes to their new friends, promising to visit soon. Gennie managed to keep from crying. She would do that later, in the privacy of her room.
Chapter 2
The hallway of Linus’s Second Chance Inn smelled of new carpet. They walked down the hallway to their rooms, holding hands, fingers intertwined. They stayed next door to each other in the largest rooms at the inn, located on the top floor. Other than her gated home in Malibu, she’d never felt safer.
We have to say goodbye in less than a minute. Stefan has to leave me here and walk away. I have to go inside and take off my makeup and crawl into a cold bed and try to sleep knowing that in the morning, he will not come with coffee and drive me to the set.
Instead, in the morning, the car would come to take her to the airport. By mid-afternoon tomorrow, she’d be with her mother in Malibu.
They were at the door. Number 7. Lucky number 7. She dropped his hand and pulled her key card from her purse, then gave it to him. Stefan took the card, turning it over three times. “Guess this is it.” He smiled.
“My car comes at eight a.m. tomorrow,” she said.
“And the princess needs her sleep.” He turned away, inserted the card into the lock, and went inside the room. She watched him from the doorway. He opened the closet first and peered inside, then looked in the bathroom and finally the bedroom. “All clear.” He flipped on the gas fireplace. “Come. Get warm.” As the flames caught, she moved to stand next to him, warming the back of her legs. He grasped a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “The time went too fast.”
“It did.”
“We just need to talk Richard into directing another film with us, eh?” Stefan said “eh” and pronounced sorry with a long o, except when he was on script. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“It has to be in the next five years, or it’ll be too late for me.” She made a cutting gesture at her neck. “Five years until I turn forty. I’ll be dead to Hollywood.”
“You’ll work as long as you want, Gennie.”
“I hope so. It’s all I have.” Why did I say that out loud? Confessions like that could give Stefan ammunition. If work was all she had, then why not allow for their relationship? Surprisingly, he didn’t say anything. The late hour and the wine had made her vision dimmer than usual, as if minuscule gray matter covered everything. Make sure you say everything you want to say before he walks out this door. “I’ve never worked with anyone better.”
All pretense had left his face. He gazed at her with stark vulnerability. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re not just an action hero star. You’re the real thing. An artist. You’re going to be nominated for Vice, just you wait and see.” His performance as a gritty cop addicted to painkillers was already getting Oscar buzz.
Grimacing, he shrugged his shoulders. “My team’s lobbying for a nomination, which makes me feel ridiculous and hopeful at the same time. It’s terrible to want something so much. I’m not proud of it—this desire for outside affirmation, eh?”
“As an artist, it’s impossible not to feel that way. Anyway, I was intimidated to work with you.” Stop stalling and let him go. You’ve tortured him enough.
He grinned. “That’s only because you heard I do my own stunts.”
She laughed. “Well, yes, that was part of it. That and your propensity for brawls with the paparazzi.”
“You know they deserve it.”
“I do.” She tugged the collar of her sweater. “I am jealous of how the crew liked you better than me. That’s never happened before.” After two days on set, he knew everyone’s name, how many kids they had, if they preferred wine or beer. His trailer door was always open and the refrigerator stocked with drinks. “Not to mention that you can switch from shouting at a football game in your trailer to filming an intensely emotional scene without missing a beat.”
“I’ve never grown out of my schoolboy ways.”
When he leaves this room, he will start the rest of his life. He’ll meet someone and marry her and have a family. I’ll be nothing but a distant memory. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.” Her voice caught. “You’re such a good man. This is all me. Please know that.” Eyes stinging with unshed tears, she looked down at her hands to avoid his gaze. Do not cry.
“Thank you, sweet Gennie.” He took her hands, kissing each one in turn, before letting go. “I’m going to miss you.”
She brushed his crow’s feet with the tip of her fingers. Her
hand drifted down his cheek. “Me too.”
“One more day with you only leaves me wanting one more. I’m in love with you. Head over heels.”
She searched for the words that would help him understand. “I wish I could give you what you want.”
“Do you know what that is?”
“It’s what every man wants. A woman who can give herself emotionally and physically. I can’t do either.” I might break into hundreds of pieces, like a snowball thrown against a tree.
“I’d do anything to make you happy. Anything. Love is about compromise.”
“You think that, but after time you’d see it’s not enough.” Moody, her ex-husband, had tried. For an entire year, he’d sacrificed his own needs to make their marriage work. As much as he’d loved her, he could not remain married to a woman incapable of physical intimacy. He’d cheated on her while he was on tour with his band. Who could blame him? He was a rock star. Women threw themselves at him every night. Finally, he could no longer resist. The same would happen to Stefan. And like Moody, it would devastate him.
“What happened to you?” Stefan asked
She turned away. “I don’t talk about it.”
He grabbed her hand. “You’re not the only one with a secret.”
Whatever your secrets, they are not like mine. “Please, don’t make this harder.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll let you get some sleep now.” His tone was gentle but sad. “No matter what, I’ll be here for you. Remember that, okay? If you ever need me, I’m only a phone call away.” He kissed her on the cheek.
A moment later he was gone.
The scent of his cologne on her hands the only proof he’d been there at all.
She stared at the fireplace for several minutes before moving to the window. The snow fell again, illuminated by the lampposts on the street. Bed. Just go to sleep. The pain’s gone during sleep. In a daze, she changed into soft flannel pajamas, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. Crawling under the blankets, she let the tears tumble down her hot cheeks. Like so many nights before, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 3
The light of day had not yet come when the vibration of her mobile phone woke Gennie from a deep sleep. It was her manager, Trix Traggert.
“Hey.” She fell back into the bed, pulling the feather comforter around her. “What’s up?”
“Gennie, I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to get on top of something right away.” Trix sounded breathless, like she was walking fast. This wasn’t unusual. The woman lived on overpriced cappuccinos.
“Is it the rumors about Stefan and me? I told you yesterday, we’re just friends. But there’s nothing we can do to keep the press from making things up.” She yawned and resisted the urge to scratch her tired eyes. Was it a photo of the two of them dancing last night? Maybe someone had taken a photograph and leaked it to the press? No, it was impossible. The cast and crew were all people she trusted. The staff at Riversong were her friends. They protected their own here in River Valley. Turning to her side, she rested her cheek in the crook of her arm.
“No, it’s nothing about you and Stefan. If only.” Trix paused, and Gennie heard the sound of high heels click-clacking over a hard surface in the background. Trix was at her office already. Did the woman ever stop working? “Listen, you better sit down for this.”
“It’s six a.m., Trix. I’m in bed.”
“Oh, yeah, right. A story is all over the internet and the news. They’re saying you had a baby twenty years ago. And that you abandoned her.”
Blood rushed to her head, pulsating with the rhythm of her pounding heart. She sat up and brought her hand to her mouth, afraid she might be sick. “It can’t be.”
She was transported back to the day, almost twenty years ago, when she’d given birth to a healthy baby girl. Throughout labor, she’d focused on the small wooden cross hanging on the wall. When the baby had finally come, after nearly fourteen hours of excruciating labor, she’d fallen back on the pillows, exhausted.
The baby in the nurse’s arms started to cry.
“She sounds like a baby kitten,” Gennie whispered.
“Do you want to see her?” the nurse asked.
“Yes, please.”
The nurse set her in Gennie’s arms. The baby, wrapped in a pink blanket and wearing a little cap of the same color, stopped crying for a second as she looked up at Gennie. Gennie pulled the blanket apart and took hold of one of the baby’s hands. Tiny fingers wrapped around Gennie’s index finger. She removed the pink cap and kissed the baby’s forehead. The baby had a thicket of black hair. “Have a good life, baby girl. I love you.” She wrapped her back in her blanket and handed her to the nurse. “Take her. Please.” The baby started to cry. Gennie turned away, facing the wall so she didn’t have to see them walk out of the room. The cries faded until there was nothing but silence.
After all these years, the cries still haunted her.
“I didn’t abandon her. I gave her up for adoption,” Gennie said.
“Oh, crap, so it’s true?” Trix’s voice squeaked an octave higher.
“How did they find out?” It was a closed adoption. Secret. Sister Maria had promised. You’ve chosen a lovely couple for this baby. They want a child more than anything. She’ll be loved. No one ever needs to know. You’ve made their dream come true. And you can move forward now. Build a life despite what’s happened.
Trix cleared her throat. “Apparently, the baby's adoptive mother died of cancer two years ago. The father and daughter are estranged. He sold a story to one of the rags that you abandoned the baby at some Catholic church, and he and his late wife took her in, even though they were struggling financially. Later, after you became rich, they approached you for money and you said no, threatening to ruin them if they ever contacted you again. A photo of the girl is plastered all over the internet and television.”
Her daughter’s photograph. Plastered everywhere.
“Gennie, she looks just like you.”
“What?”
“It’s eerie, in fact,” Trix said.
“He gave them her photos?”
“Yeah. And her address. The press is camped out in front of her campus apartment.”
George Bentley had sold out his own daughter? The mild-mannered man she’d agreed to give the baby to? He’d told their secrets to the press? And his wife, Sally? Dead so young? Sister Maria had assured her they were a happy couple. George was a big man, with rippling muscles, who worked in a warehouse moving boxes onto trucks. Sally was a secretary at an elementary school. They’d told her they’d wanted nothing more than to have a child but were having trouble adopting because they were working-class people. When Sally had explained their situation, Gennie had cried, thinking of her own parents. Money didn’t make a childhood happy or sad. It was love. Sally had asked her what she knew about the baby’s father. Gennie had told them the same story she’d told her mother. “I was raped by a stranger.”
She’d been frightened that Sally and George Bentley wouldn’t want a child born from rape, that perhaps they would think the baby was flawed because of the origin of conception, but they hadn’t flinched. Sally was a strong Catholic who believed all children started out innocent and perfect. “We will love her no matter what,” Sally had said, glancing at her husband.
“Always,” George said. What had happened to George Bentley to change him?
“They never contacted me for money,” Gennie said. “I didn’t abandon her. It was a closed adoption arranged through the church, all on the up and up, Trix. I swear. The records will prove that.”
“You know how this goes, Gennie. We’ve been through this crap before. Public perception outweighs the truth.”
“You mean with Moody?”
“Yeah. Listen, we’ve got to get on this. We can’t just put out a statement this time. I’m pulling a team together. We need a strategy to deal with this, like yesterday.”
The groupie Moody had slept with in a hotel room
in Nashville had talked, revealing every sordid detail in countless interviews. It had all made Moody look terrible, especially since the fairy-tale story of the bad-boy rocker and America’s Hollywood princess had caught the collective imagination. The press and public opinion had torn Moody to shreds. Only Gennie knew he wasn’t to blame. He’d been loyal to her, but even good men had their limits. These people who sold information for cash and a moment of fame were the ones without moral redemption.
Despite Trix’s urging, Gennie had never spoken publicly about Moody’s affair and their subsequent divorce. She’d released a brief statement asking for privacy, along with a sentence or two about marriage being difficult and that nothing was ever black and white. She’d ended it by saying Moody was a good man for whom she had undying respect and love. She’d been attacked by some of the women’s groups for that one; they wanted a concrete statement condemning Moody for infidelity. However, as everyone who’s ever been married knows, things are never that simple.
“Did you hear what I said?” Without waiting for an answer, Trix plowed forward, speaking louder as if Gennie had a hearing problem. “Listen, I called Reid Wilson. He’s prepared to meet this morning, even though it’s a holiday weekend. I told him we’d conference call you on your way to the airport.” Reid Wilson, the Scandal Whisperer. He worked at her publicity firm, specializing in celebrity damage control. One only called Reid for a “code red” scandal.
“I put a baby up for adoption when I was a teenager. Who cares?”
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