by Melody Grace
“You look stunning,” Judy said, approaching. “Are you nervous? This will be a breeze, I promise.”
Lila took a deep breath. “I can’t wait!” she said brightly, following Judy inside, where they were setting up two chairs in her living room for the broadcast.
“So, we’ll start out talking about the photos,” Judy began, checking her notes as a hair assistant touched up her blonde bob. “How you felt, seeing yourself exposed like that, and what you want to tell your fans about the scandal.”
Lila nodded. She’d run lines with her PR team so often, she had the speech learned by heart. Apologetic, but unashamed. Vulnerable, but empowered. It was crazy she had to justify that night with Griffin to the world, but her team had insisted this was all part of the game. Until she went on the record with some kind of statement, it would just keep haunting her forever.
“Then, once that’s out of the way, I’d love to go deeper,” Judy continued, giving Lila a smile. “How it feels to be a woman in Hollywood right now. How you balance relationships and your career. I know everyone wants to hear what happened with Justin . . .”
“And I’m happy to talk about it,” Lila lied. She would rather be anywhere but here right now, but she forced herself to smile brightly as another assistant dabbed her face with powder. “There’s really no hard feelings. I wish Justin the best, but I think we’d both agree we weren’t meant to be together.”
Judy gave her a look, like she knew Lila was reciting a script, but they were in this game together. “That’s great,” she said. “And if you can cry a little, talking about how you’re just looking for love, that would really sell it. People love some good tears.”
Lila nodded. Tears. Fine. She’d cried for a week after that fight with Griffin, until she had no tears left to cry. Still, she wondered, had she made a mistake? In all the drama of the scandal, their tempers had been running hot. Maybe now that things were calmer, they could figure this out, and find a way to make it work . . .
But Griffin’s silence was deafening. No calls, no messages. No sign he even wanted to talk this through. It was like they’d never even been together. Never laughed in his kitchen, or shared those passionate nights in bed . . .
Her heart ached to think of him now, already a memory, long gone.
“I think we’re all set to start here.” Judy’s voice brought her back to the set, and all the people, waiting for her to play her part. “Ready?”
Lila gave a nod, feeling hollow inside.
“Ready.”
* * *
The interview passed in a blur. She smiled, and laughed, and cried on cue—everything they wanted, and more. Lila was relieved when finally, the house emptied out and she was left alone.
Well, almost.
“You can go, too,” she told Boris, her new security guard. “I’m just going to hang out here for the afternoon.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’ll be out front if you like, but I can’t leave.”
Lila sighed. “OK. Help yourself to some snacks then. They left enough to feed an army.”
Boris gave a nod. He was six foot five, built like a linebacker, and never cracked a smile—unless he was showing off pictures of his three kids. He was also the closest thing she had to a friend, trailing her every move whenever she left the house for a strategic photo-op at the farmer’s market or dinner, all to show the world that she wasn’t hiding, she wasn’t ashamed. Lila Moore was back in business, and loving every minute of it.
Except she wasn’t.
Lila took a pastry from the overflowing counter and strolled through the house, which was exactly as she’d left it all those months ago. It was breezy, and spacious . . . and felt like it belonged to a stranger. She found herself missing the cluttered quiet of Rose Cottage, with the creaking floorboards and temperamental heating system. Here, it felt like there were wolves lurking outside her doors—because there were. The paparazzi had set up opposite the house, and she knew the photographers by name now, calling to her every time she poked her head out. At least they weren’t harassing everyone back in Sweetbriar Cove, she told herself, feeling a pang. Here, the high walls of her compound kept them at bay, and aside from the drone one of the tabloids tried to send up over her yard, she was safe here. Protected.
And not just by the building. She had publicists and “emergency agents” and glam squads and consultants—dozens of people working overtime to make sure she made it through this crisis with her career intact. Lila didn’t ask how much they were all charging, she just knew they were the experts. If she’d followed their advice from the start, after the whole mess with her wedding, then maybe none of this would have happened. Instead, she’d thought she could solve her problems alone.
Look how wrong she’d been.
“Lila, babe, what did we say about carbs?” Mindy came breezing in, her heels clicking on the floor. “I thought Andre had you on a clean-eating program. We need to drop at least fifteen pounds this month before you start on the movie. Plus, I have you booked on that soul-searching beachfront yoga trip, you need to be in shape for the photos.”
She took the pastry out of Lila’s hand and tossed it in the trash. Lila gave it a regretful look. It didn’t taste right compared to Summer’s famous sticky buns, but it was still sugary goodness.
“Eat an apple,” Mindy advised, catching her expression. “No, wait, fruit sugars are out too. Just drink some more water. Your skin is still looking a little bland . . .” She peered closer. “Didn’t you go to Joanne for a facial? Her diamond rejuvenation treatment is to die for!”
“Yes, I saw Joanne, and yes, I’m drinking plenty of water.” Lila brushed away her concern. “And do you think anybody is going to buy me just happening to hang out on the beach, doing downward dog poses in a bikini?”
“People don’t care what happens behind the scenes, they just want the pretty pictures,” Mindy replied. “That reminds me, I hired a girl to run your Instagram, so I’m going to need you taking a dozen selfies every day. We’ll Photoshop them, of course. At least until you drop that weight.”
“Mindy, no!” Lila protested. “You know I don’t like airbrushing. It’s all a lie. Women end up feeling terrible, comparing themselves to an image that doesn’t even really exist!”
Mindy paused. “That’s a great line.” She whipped out her phone and held it in Lila’s face. “Say that again. Maybe we could make it a thing, a campaign against fake beauty standards, embracing your inner beauty and all that bullshit.”
Lila felt sick.
“What did you need, Mindy?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
Mindy brightened. “Right! Your agents and I have been talking, and we have some options for you.” The publicist took a seat on the spotless white couch and pulled out a stack of glossy 8x10 headshots. “OK, so this guy is the lead singer of a new rock band. Very hot and disheveled, bad boy, creative.”
Lila looked at the photographs in confusion, as Mindy continued. “This guy just did a hit show—TV, I know, but rumor has it he’s about to sign to a big superhero deal. And this one, well, you know the rumors, but he is very eager to prove he’s 100% heterosexual before his new movie releases. What do you think?”
Lila stared at her blankly. “About what?”
“About a new relationship.” Mindy rolled her eyes. “We discussed it, remember? We all agreed it’s time for you to start dating again. Someone hot with a big following. A way to launch our big ‘Lila finds new love!’ offensive. Moving onwards and upwards!”
“No, you agreed,” Lila corrected her. “And I’m not going to pretend to date anyone.”
She couldn’t even think of it. Not when her heart was still aching for Griffin. Not when she knew how precious the real thing could be.
“It wouldn’t be pretend,” Mindy insisted. “You’d go for drinks and see if you hit it off. Do you want more options? Because I heard that Blake Callahan might be back on the market soon—”
“N
o!” Lila exclaimed. Her stomach was churning, and she was sick to her stomach now. “Look, I’ve said yes to everything you wanted. I’ve done the interviews and photo shoots and makeovers, but this is where I draw the line. I won’t—” She paused, her stomach turning over. “I can’t . . .”
Lila stopped.
Uh-oh . . .
She turned on her heel and dashed down the hallway to the nearest bathroom. She was just in time. She sank to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited into the bowl, her body wracked with heaving until it was over.
She sat back and wiped her mouth with a clump of toilet paper. She let out a groan. Her stomach was churning, and her skin felt clammy and gross. If this was what her all-raw, macrobiotic diet was doing to her, she’d pick carbs any day.
“Babe, are you OK?” Mindy tapped at the door.
“Uh huh . . .” Lila managed. “I think it was something I ate.”
“Aww, babe!” Mindy’s voice came, sympathetic. “But look on the bright side: if it’s food poisoning, you could lose another five pounds real quick!”
* * *
Even though Lila wanted to go take a nap and sip seltzer for the rest of the day, she still had her big meeting with Dash scheduled. She managed to clean herself up and gargle some mouthwash before heading down to Beverly Hills—with Boris at the wheel, of course. She would have preferred to go to Dash’s production office to talk in private, but her team had insisted on reserving a patio table at the Ivy, so that the photographers lined up on the sidewalk would have a great view of the meeting.
She wondered what they would think if they saw her vomiting into the plant pots.
“. . . I’d really love your thoughts on the script,” Dash was saying. Lila tried to focus.
“Do you really mean that?” she asked lightly. “Because I know some people can be . . . protective of their writing.”
Dash chuckled. “Yes, I’m protective, but yes, I really mean it. You’re the one who’ll have to make the lines convincing, so if there’s anything you bump against, please, let me know.”
Lila nodded slowly. “I will.”
“And we’ve hired a great stunt coordinator,” Dash continued, enthusiastic. He kept talking, describing all their pre-production training, and casting, and all the amazing locations they’d shoot. Lila should have been paying attention. She should have been over the moon. The trades were all buzzing about how she’d managed to snatch the role away from the biggest stars in town.
But all she could think about was what Griffin was doing right now. Was he working on a new garden project, bringing life and beauty to someone else’s space? Or maybe lost in thought in one of his greenhouses, painstakingly creating some glorious new rose variety . . .
Was he thinking about her at all?
Lila’s heart ached. She’d known from the start that he wasn’t the Hollywood type. It was part of what drew her to him, the way he looked past her fame and couldn’t care less about the rumors or scandal. But she’d never thought it would be the thing that drove them apart.
She wondered, should she have chosen differently? What if she’d stayed and tried to fight for them—understand what was going on with him, or tried to make him see sense?
But that was impossible. How could she be with a man who was relieved to see her career end in ruin? Lila still felt the sting of that betrayal. Besides, he hadn’t called her. He hadn’t reached out. For all she knew, he could have already moved on.
After all, he’d never once said that he loved her.
Not even close.
“ . . . Are you OK?”
Lila snapped her head up. “Oh, yes, sorry. Long day,” she added, lying through her teeth. “But I’m meeting with the trainer bright and early tomorrow to start learning some of the stunts. Ready to kick some butt.”
He grinned. “Good to hear. Now, I have some costuming ideas from the designer I want to show you . . .” He pulled out a portfolio, and Lila tried to focus.
Griffin was in the past now. His silence was a message, and she’d received it loud and clear. There was nothing to do now but focus on her own future: back in the spotlight again.
She wrapped up the meeting with Dash—and promised to come join him and Ellie for dinner as soon as she was feeling better—and climbed back into the car with Boris. “Home?” he asked.
She gave a tired nod. “Yes please.”
“I could stop and pick up some soup,” Boris offered. “If you’re still feeling sick.”
Lila paused. Her stomach was settled, and she felt like herself again. “No, thanks. I’m better now. It was probably just a temporary bug.”
He nodded and drove on. Lila’s phone buzzed with a text. It was from Poppy.
We’re missing you! it said, along with an adorable photo of baby Emma, playing on the grass in the Sweetbriar Town square.
Lila felt a pang. Miss you too! she texted back, smiling at the cuteness.
And then she stopped.
Wait a minute . . .
She did the math, then checked her phone calendar, just in case. But there it was, in black and white.
She was late.
Really, really late.
“Boris?” she asked, her voice catching. Lila’s heart was already racing, but she tried to swallow it back. “I, umm, need you to make a stop, and pick something up for me.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, she was back at home, staring at the little blue line in joyful disbelief. She’d bought three different tests, just to be sure, but they all said the same thing.
She was pregnant.
21
Griffin was in hell. The ground on his latest project was hard as rocks, the sun was beating down hot, and the weeds were so stubborn, he was going to have to yank them all out by the roots to stop them from taking over.
And Lila was gone.
He could deal with everything else, but that last one was beyond his control, and damn, it hurt more than the nettles stinging his bare arms as he angrily yanked them loose from the hard earth.
Lila was gone, and he was the one who’d driven her away. His stupid insecurities. His stubborn pride. His fear of being second best all over again.
Griffin hadn’t even known the truth until she’d called him on it, accusing him of being relieved she wouldn’t have a career to go back to in LA. Relieved her name was so tarnished, she would never take off for the bright lights of Hollywood again. Glad the scandal would keep her there in Sweetbriar Cove for good.
It was an awful thing to say . . . Unthinkable, even.
And the worst part was, she was right.
Griffin could try to deny it, but he knew that deep down, a part of him had been relieved. He saw the shadow that passed across her face every time she talked about her life in Hollywood, the way her smile dimmed when she recalled the endless pressure and judgment, and the way she was always on display, always trying to live up to the glittering image she’d built. She’d been miserable there. She’d left that place for a reason, decided to start over and live life on her own terms. Be happy.
With him.
And Griffin wanted her to stay and build a future with him—so much, that when she’d said that her career was over, he’d breathed a sigh of relief.
But what kind of man was he to think like that—even for a moment? Lila had worked hard for years to build her reputation. She was talented and brilliant. Of course she wanted to protect her good name. Fight back against the gossiping smears, and not wind up the butt of some “where are they now?” joke. He shouldn’t have hesitated, not even for a second. He should have supported her, whatever her choice.
Griffin felt another stab of guilt. Because of him, she was facing all this alone, a thousand miles from here. He’d tried telling himself they were better off this way, that it never could have worked between them. They were from different worlds. But despite drowning his sorrows in whiskey and Fleetwood Mac records for the past month, he still couldn’t forget the look of b
etrayal on her face when she’d realized he wasn’t the man that either of them thought he was.
And now he’d lost the best thing that ever happened to him.
* * *
Griffin went to the pub, hoping to find some distraction—or at the very least, a good burger. But when he took a seat at the bar and looked around, it was like he’d walked into some cheesy romance movie. Paige and Declan were having drinks in the corner with Cal and Eliza, Jenny was whipping Fraser’s ass at a game of darts, and even the bartender, Riley, was stealing kisses from Brooke in between orders.
Was there anyone in this town not coupled up?
He felt a sharp pang. He wanted Lila here with him, laughing along with the rest of them—and then pulling him out to the patio for a hot kiss. They would walk back to his place, his arm slipped around her waist, before falling into bed. If they even made it that far.
He missed her. The way she curled against him when she was sleeping, the way she looked in the afternoon sun, tasting ingredients and playfully smacking his hand away from whatever pot she was stirring. He missed her warmth, and her grace, and that look in her eyes when he moved inside her.
Like they were the only people who existed in the world.
He was scowling into his second beer when someone pulled up the barstool beside him and sat down with a thump.
“Well, you look like a mess,” Alice said cheerfully.
He gave a grunt.
“And so talkative, too.” She reached over and stole one of his French fries. “The Zotnowski’s fired you, by the way. Apparently, you yelled at poor Mrs. Zotnowski when she asked for some daffodils in the yard?”