by Robyn Carr
Gail seemed amused by the hostess’s reaction to his presence. He was amused by it himself. True to Whiskey Creek form, she didn’t gush over him or ask for his autograph, but she was obviously flustered.
“Hi, Tilly,” Gail said.
“Great to see you back,” the waitress responded.
“It’s great to be home. We’d like a booth, please.”
Pressing a hand to her chest as if her heart was beating too fast, Tilly glanced at Simon, but looked away as soon as he met her eyes. “Right this way.”
She took two menus from the holder but dropped one. When Simon caught it before it could hit the floor and gave it back, she muttered, “Oh, my God. I can’t believe this.”
Gail sent Simon a conspirator’s smile as Tilly marched ahead of them, but someone else hailed her before they could reach their seats.
“Gail!”
Simon turned at the same time Gail did to see Callie, the friend who’d made it clear she wasn’t happy to have Simon in Gail’s life, sitting at a table—with Matt.
* * *
Gail wasn’t sure how to react. Simon wouldn’t want to be waylaid by Matt or Callie, but Callie was one of her best friends, and nothing had happened between her and Matt that prevented them from being friends, too. They’d never even been a couple.
Still, it felt awkward to stand and talk at their table, and even more awkward when Callie put her on the spot by insisting she and Simon join them.
“Are you sure?” Gail asked. “I mean...haven’t you already ordered?”
“Not yet. We got here just before you.” The way Callie said it led Gail to suspect this might be a test to see how she’d react now that she was married to Simon.
Gail didn’t want Callie to think having Simon as her husband would make her any less receptive to her friends. “In that case...” She nearly sent Simon an apologetic glance, but knew Callie and Matt would see it, too, and recognize it for what it was. So she didn’t look at him. She returned Callie’s smile as she accepted, and even though Callie slid over, making a place for her, she sat on Matt’s side. With Simon’s right hand still bandaged, he needed to eat with his left. And Matt was so big she couldn’t imagine cramming another guy into the booth next to him.
“Have you eaten here since you’ve been back?” Gail could feel Simon’s gaze on her as she addressed Matt.
The glower that had descended on Matt’s face when Simon approached the table eased, as if he’d won a small victory when she sat beside him. “Once. I plan to come as often as possible before I have to leave.”
Gail took the menu Tilly handed her. “When will that be?”
“Whenever I’m capable of running without pain.”
“It’s terrible what happened to your knee. How’s the therapy going?”
“Okay. At least I get to be home while I do it.”
Tilly gave Simon his menu as Gail asked, “Who are you working with? Curtis?”
“Yeah.”
Curtis Viglione was one of the best therapists in the country. He saw a lot of professional athletes. After building a reputation and a considerable clientele in the San Francisco Bay Area, he’d moved to Whiskey Creek three or four years ago—Gail couldn’t remember exactly when. Now he had athletes come to his state-of-the-art center built in the hills about a mile outside town. “From what I hear, he’s a miracle worker. Sounds like you’re in great hands.”
Matt nodded, but his eyes kept moving to Simon, who was glaring at him. Why Simon would bother with this little rivalry, Gail couldn’t say. There was no point in acting possessive or jealous when he didn’t really care about her. But she figured it might be part of what he felt was expected of a husband, another aspect of playing his role.
Regardless, it made her uncomfortable. She wanted her friends to like him, although she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. Maybe it was just so they wouldn’t think she was foolish for marrying him.
She cleared her throat to gain Simon’s attention. “What looks good?” she asked, but he didn’t get a chance to answer. Tilly was still standing at the table, waiting to tell them about the daily specials. She rattled off a spiel about homemade chili and corn bread for $8.99 and beef Stroganoff with sour cream for $12.99. Then she announced that Luanne would be their server and, when she couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say, finally left.
In her peripheral vision, Gail could see Tilly whispering to two waitresses at the coffee machine. They kept turning to look at Simon, no doubt excited to have a movie star in their midst. But Gail was too wrapped up in manufacturing small talk to pay much more attention than that.
“How’s business at the studio, Callie?” she asked.
“Busy. I’ve been doing lots of family portraits. And a few weddings.”
“You’re a photographer?” Simon asked.
“I am.” She offered him a fake smile. “I would’ve been happy to photograph you and Gail at your wedding—but of course you didn’t really have one.”
Gail jumped in before Simon could respond. “We wanted to keep it simple.”
“You certainly accomplished that,” Callie said. “It doesn’t get any simpler than a few vows and ‘I do.’”
Luanne showed up with water for Gail and Simon; Callie and Matt already had theirs. She said she’d be back to take their order in a few minutes, but Gail caught her before she could leave, insisting they were ready now. They hadn’t even looked at the menu, but she wanted to get this dinner over with as soon as possible.
They all fell silent while they quickly perused the meal selections. Then Gail ordered the meat loaf, Simon the pot roast, and Callie and Matt went for the chili. After Luanne left, Matt spoke up. “So...how’s married life?”
Simon gave him a smile that, to Gail’s eye, looked a little too deliberately satisfied. “Second time’s the charm.”
“Too bad it didn’t work out that way for your father. How many times has he been married, anyway?”
Gail winced at Matt’s choice of subject, and the derision in his voice. She doubted he’d heard, but the fact that Tex was in town somehow made it worse.
“I haven’t kept track,” Simon said.
“Are you two planning to have children?” Callie asked.
Were her friends purposely trying to embarrass Simon? Gail answered, just in case. “Probably not.” She’d wanted to limit the conversation on that subject by sounding resolved. But she’d seemed too reconciled to not having kids. She could instantly tell that Callie was not pleased with her response.
“Why not?” her friend demanded.
“Simon already has a son,” she replied, but that didn’t help.
“So?” Callie set her water down so fast it sloshed over the sides. “What about you? You’ve always wanted children.”
Gail lowered her voice. “You don’t have to be so defensive of me, Callie. I’m happy the way I am. Besides...maybe we will have children someday. We’re merely saying we don’t have any immediate plans, okay?”
Callie scowled at Simon. “Just because you’ve had it all and done it all doesn’t mean you don’t have to consider her.”
Instead of getting angry, as Gail expected, Simon validated Callie’s concern. “I understand that,” he said.
His calm answer seemed to take the fire out of Callie’s anger. “She’s one of my best friends, you know? I care about her. I want her to be happy.”
“So do I,” Simon said, and he sounded so sincere Gail almost applauded.
“Great.” Gail used her napkin to mop up the water Callie had spilled. “You both care about me. I couldn’t be in better hands. Now...maybe you can try to get along? Because that’s what would make me happiest.”
A sulky expression turned down the corners of Callie’s lips.
“We’re a
lready married, Callie.” Gail leaned across the table to squeeze her hand. “I know you’re mad that I didn’t take your advice, but...it’s over. Can we leave it for the time being?”
Her friend sighed audibly. “I’m just afraid your happiness won’t last.”
If she only knew... “So you’re going to ruin it?”
“No.”
“Hollywood marriages hardly ever succeed.” Matt volunteered this, but it was unclear whether he was inviting responses or simply stating a fact.
Regardless of what he meant, Gail warned Simon with a look not to put Matt in his place. Simon could’ve said quite a bit about the world of a professional athlete. But what was the point? Matt was right; Hollywood marriages rarely did last, and this one would turn out to be the perfect example. “Okay, everyone’s aired their complaints and expressed their worry, and it’s all been duly noted by me. Can we please enjoy our dinner without making me regret that I’ve asked my husband to sit through this?”
Callie and Matt nodded grudgingly, but it wasn’t long before they were enjoying themselves. When Simon started regaling them with stories about some of the unusual and out-of-the-way locations he’d gone to shoot movies, and the stunts he’d had to perform without a double, Matt dropped all animosity. Soon, he was so mesmerized he was talking and laughing as if he’d never viewed Simon as a competitor.
When Simon got up to go to the bathroom, Gail expected Callie to tell her again why she’d been crazy to marry him. But she didn’t. “He can be charming,” she admitted instead. Her tone implied she had to allow him that much.
Simon had done his best to win them over, and he’d managed it quite easily. He’d had them all laughing, gasping in astonishment, asking questions and generally hanging on every word he said. When Matt seemed more interested in becoming Simon’s friend than in pouting over losing her, Gail knew his reaction to her marriage hadn’t been one of true regret. If she had her guess, he’d been miffed to find that the girl he’d thought would always be waiting for him had actually moved on—and that she hadn’t settled for someone less famous, less attractive or less charismatic than he was. He’d been reacting to the blow her defection had dealt his ego more than anything else, which meant that even after she and Simon divorced there’d be no Matt and Gail.
After all the years she’d believed herself in love with him, that was a little depressing. But she’d learned about her own commitment to Matt, too. She doubted she would’ve wanted Simon so badly today if she’d really been so enamored of Matt. He’d just made a good dream, given her someone to think about while she was working too hard to date.
“He’s a lot of fun,” Gail said, and stood up to go to the restroom, too. She didn’t want her friends to quiz her on how she felt about Simon or ask pointed questions in his absence. She had too many conflicting emotions at the moment, didn’t want to acknowledge that what she felt for Simon seemed far more powerful than what she’d felt for Matt. That made her fear she wouldn’t get over him quite so readily when the time came...
Simon was just walking out of the men’s room as she reached the entrance to the ladies’.
“Great job,” she murmured. “They love you.”
“More important, are they convinced I care about you?”
“Completely! They bought every compliment you paid me.”
His smile disappeared. “But you didn’t.”
“I would’ve if I hadn’t known better. You’re a hell of an actor.”
He took her arm. “Being an actor doesn’t mean I’m always acting, Gail.”
Averting her gaze, she put her hand on the door. “But it certainly comes in handy when you need to,” she said.
Twenty-Five
It came as a surprise in the middle of the night. One minute Simon was lying next to Gail. The next they were awakened by the sound of movement, a bright light and then a series of flashes from just outside the window.
Cameras! Simon understood what was happening as soon as he opened his eyes. He’d known staying in an empty house with no window coverings would leave them vulnerable. But they’d had it so good since coming to Whiskey Creek, he’d grown complacent.
“What’s going on?” Gail asked, sounding confused.
He rolled over to shield her. “Paparazzi.”
Fortunately, they were both dressed. They’d come home from the restaurant, watched some television on Hulu and eventually fallen asleep. Simon had wanted to strip off Gail’s clothes, to feel her skin against his while they dozed off. But things weren’t the same after the restaurant. What she’d said while they were talking outside the restrooms had set him back, made him realize that she’d taken his remark—that he wasn’t capable of falling in love—to mean that he’d never feel any fondness or concern for her, either.
“They’ve found us,” he said, and shuttled her into the hall.
She hugged herself. It was chilly without blankets. “How?”
“Don’t know. Someone here in Whiskey Creek must’ve leaked the information.”
“Or Ian. He’s the one who told your father where we are.”
“My father’s different. He may not be doing much acting anymore. There aren’t too many good parts for men his age. But he’s still a force to be reckoned with in Hollywood.”
“I figured that out.”
He pulled her up against him, to keep her warm. “I’m sure Ian didn’t feel he could refuse. But...” Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. “That’s it! I’ll bet you anything my father did this!”
“Why would he tell the paparazzi where you’re staying?”
“He doesn’t want this town to be an escape. He’d rather roust me out, get me to head back home so I’ll make that damn movie.”
“You have quite the father.”
The images he dreaded came to mind, the ones that revealed Tex as the selfish bastard he was, but Simon shoved them away. It helped that Gail softened against him, as if she wasn’t opposed to letting him hold her. Somehow that made him feel better because it convinced him he hadn’t lost everything he’d gained earlier. “If you had any idea...”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He hadn’t told a soul about what had happened. He wasn’t going to break his silence.
“So what do we do?” she asked. “We could pull our mattress into a bedroom, but the bedrooms have windows, too. And we don’t have a hammer and nails to put up a blanket or a sheet.”
“You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”
She grabbed his hand. “You can’t go out there! You’re angry and defensive. What if you get in a fight?”
“Whoever it is deserves to have my fist planted in his face.”
“No!” She tugged him back. “You’d only reinjure your hand. And we can’t risk a scene. There can be no more pictures or stories of you losing your temper.”
He felt he should have the right to defend himself—and his wife—which made it difficult to listen to reason. But he’d ignored Gail too often when she worked for him. “Your suggestion is...”
“We call the police and let them handle it.”
Footsteps echoed on the wooden porch. The photographer was coming around the house, probably looking for another way to see in.
“My phone’s charging in the kitchen,” she added.
“Mine’s in the living room. I’ll get it.”
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“Maybe we can create an opportunity here.”
She was always thinking. “Gail, whoever’s outside is trespassing and invading our privacy. I want his ass kicked off the property. Our wedding pictures haven’t come out in People yet, which means he’ll have the first shots of us after our wedding. He’ll be able to sell them for a fortune, and I’m not about to let some guy
get rich out of sneaking pictures of me in bed with my wife.”
“Maybe we can make a deal with whoever it is to release his snapshots after that.”
She couldn’t convince him on this. He’d dealt with the paparazzi for too many years. “Absolutely not. We can invite someone else to take pictures when we’re ready. There’s no need to let this asshole get away with what he’s doing.”
“Okay. You’re right. It’s just...if we give the press what they want, they’ll be more likely to leave us alone.”
“You’re wrong,” he argued. “They’re insatiable.”
“They’re insatiable when they have some scandal to report. Our marriage is news because it’s shocking and they think it’s another bad move on your part. Once we prove otherwise and establish that you’re happy and living a good life, they’ll lose interest. Then, as long as nothing changes, they’ll leave us alone.”
He’d been hounded to the point that he had a hard time believing this. “No...”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Their profits depend on showing the dirt in people’s lives. If you give them nothing negative, they’ll have to look to other actors, musicians, whatever, who might be screwing up.”
He could see her logic. It wasn’t until his marriage had started to crumble that the paparazzi had become so unbearable. They wanted a front-row seat at the destruction of Simon O’Neal. Now that he was pulling his life back together there wouldn’t be so much to see or report. “Fine. We’ll invite someone else out here, like I said. But this guy’s not the one.”
“Agreed.”
He dashed into the living room for his phone. But it turned out to be an exercise in futility. By the time the cops arrived, the intrusive photographer was gone.
Knowing the culprit could very easily come back, they packed up and returned to Gail’s father’s.
* * *
“I thought I heard you two come in last night. What happened? Air mattress pop?”