Hollywood Baby Affair

by Anna DePalo

So did he... Why hadn’t he dreamed it up before? He had an opening with Chiara that he’d been too blind to see till now. “Mia would love it if you wore one of her creations.”

  “I thought I was helping your mother.”

  “Both.” He toasted his brilliance. “You can wear Mia’s designs on the cooking show.”

  Chiara threw up her hands. “You’ve thought of everything!”

  Rick narrowed his eyes. “Not everything. I still need to figure out what to do about your overenthusiastic fan and your Vegas-loving father. Give me time.”

  Number three on his list was getting her into bed, but he wasn’t going to mention that. He didn’t examine his motives closely, except he was nursing one sad case of sexual frustration since their truncated tryst on her weight bench late yesterday. He tucked his fingers into his pockets to resist the urge to touch her...

  He cleared his throat. “It would mean a lot to her if you made an appearance as a guest. The show is doing well. The name recently changed from Flavors of Italy to Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti. But the station is under new management, and Mom wants to make a good impression.”

  “Of course,” Chiara deadpanned. “It’s a slow climb up the ladder of fame. I can relate.”

  “Mom’s is more of a short stepladder.”

  “What happens when your mother and I land on the cover of WE Magazine together?” Chiara quipped. “Will you be able to deal with being caught between two famous women?”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Rick replied drolly. “And knowing Mom, she’ll want to be on the magazine with the both of us, like a hovering fairy godmother.”

  “She sounds like a character.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “This is serious,” she remarked drily. “You’re bringing me home to meet Mama.”

  “In a sense,” he said noncommittally—because what he wanted to do was bring her home to bed. “She’d be even more impressed if you’d starred in an Italian telenovela.”

  “A soap opera?” Chiara responded. “Actually I was a guest on a couple of episodes of Sotto Il Sole.”

  Rick’s eyebrows rose.

  “It was before I became known in the States,” she added. “My character wound up in a coma and was taken off life support.”

  “They didn’t like your acting?”

  “No, they just needed more melodrama. My character was an American so it didn’t matter if I spoke Italian well.”

  “Still, my mother will eat it up.” He flashed a grin. “No pun intended.”

  In fact, Rick suspected his mother would love everything about Chiara Feran. Their relationship “breakup,” which inevitably loomed on the horizon, would disappoint his mother more than a recipe that didn’t work out. He’d have to fake bodily injury and blame the rupture with Chiara on the distance created by their two careers...

  “What about filming?” Chiara asked with a frown.

  “We’re in the last few days. Then Dan will move to editing. I can arrange with Odele for us to fly to Boston once you’re done with your scenes. Mom’s taping can wait till then.” He didn’t add he still had to broach the subject with his mother, but she’d no doubt be thrilled to move heaven and earth with her producers in order to fit a star of Chiara’s caliber into the schedule.

  “Where will we stay?” Chiara pressed.

  Rick could tell she was debating her options, but the wavering was a good sign. He shrugged, deciding to seem nonchalant in order to soothe any doubts she had.

  “I’ve got an apartment in Welsdale.”

  “Oh?”

  “It has a guest bedroom.” Still, he hoped to entice her into making their relationship in the bedroom more real—purely for the sake of their romantic believability in front of the press, of course.

  “Naturally.”

  “Don’t worry, though,” he said, making his tone gently mocking. “There’ll be enough luxuries for an A-list celeb.”

  Chiara narrowed her eyes. “You think I can’t rough it?”

  He let his silence speak for him.

  “As a matter of fact, I was born and raised in Rhode Island. I’m used to New England winters.”

  “Of course, Miss Rhode Island should visit her old stomping grounds.”

  “I was an undergraduate at Brown.”

  “Rubbing shoulders with other celebrity kids?”

  “Financial aid. Where did you get your stunt degree?”

  He quirked his lips. “Boston College. It’s a family tradition.”

  “Now you’ve surprised me. I expected the school of hard knocks... So, what have you told your family about us?”

  He shrugged. “They read WE Magazine.” He flashed a smile. “They know I have the goods.”

  Chiara rolled her eyes. “In other words, they think we really are an item?”

  “My ego wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Rick heard a noise, and then felt a telltale little jolt, followed by a gentle rocking.

  Chiara’s eyes widened.

  “Did you feel that?”

  She nodded.

  Earthquakes were common in Southern California, but only a few were strong enough to be felt. “We may have sensed it because we’re at the bottom of a canyon.” Rick looked around, and then back at her with a wry smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t fling yourself into my arms.”

  “We actresses are made of sterner stuff,” she said, tossing his words from days ago back at him.

  He stifled a laugh. “We made the ground move.”

  “It was a truck rumbling by!”

  “My motorcycle sounds like an earthquake, but an earthquake is just...a truck rumbling by?” he teased.

  “Well, it’s not us making the ground move, much as you have faith in your superpowers!”

  Rick laughed and then glanced around again. “This earthquake didn’t seem like a strong one, but you might want to rethink your position on my rocking your world.”

  “Your ego wouldn’t have it any other way?” she asked archly.

  “Exactly. Good follow-up, you’re learning.” He glanced down at her impractical footwear. “Need a hand...or a lift?”

  She raised her chin. “No, thanks.”

  He doubted she’d thank him if he said she looked adorable. “You know, if you left one of those shoes behind...”

  “A frog would find it?”

  “Some of us are princes in disguise—isn’t that how the story goes?”

  “Well, this princess is saving herself,” she said as she walked past him, head held high, “and not kissing any more frogs!”

  Six

  The Armani suit was fine, but Rick drew the line at a manicure. He did his own nails, thanks.

  In his opinion, premieres and award ceremonies were an evil to be endured, which was another reason he liked his low-profile, low-key existence. Tonight at least was for a good cause—the Ring of Hope Gala to Benefit Children’s Charities.

  The fund-raiser also explained why Chiara’s spacious den was a hub of activity on a Saturday afternoon. The room was usually a quiet oasis, with long windows, beige upholstery and dark wood furniture. Not now, however.

  Chiara sat in the makeup chair. Someone was doing her hair, and another person was applying polish to her nails, and all the while Chiara was chatting with Odele. A fashion designer’s intern had dropped off two gowns earlier, and at some point, Chiara would slip into one of them, assisted by plenty of double-sided tape and other tricks of the Hollywood magic trade.

  Rick figured this amounted to multitasking. Something women were renowned for, and men like him apparently were terrible at—when the reality was probably that men just pre
ferred to do their own nails.

  Suddenly Odele frowned at Chiara. “Have you gone through your normal skincare regimen?”

  “Yes.”

  Rick almost laughed. For him, a regimen meant a grueling workout at the gym to get ready for stunts on his next film. It didn’t apply to fluffy skincare pampering.

  Odele rolled her eyes. “I imagine you raided the kitchen cabinets for sugar and coconut oil, and threw in some yogurt for one of your crazy DIY beauty treatments.”

  From her chair, Chiara arched her eyebrows, which had been newly plucked. “Of course.”

  Rick studied those finely arched brows. He hadn’t known there was such a thing as threading, and especially not applied to eyebrows. He was a Martian on planet Venus here. Still, he could understand that for an actress like Chiara, whose face was part of her trade, the right look was everything. Subtle changes or enhancements could impact her ability to express emotional nuances.

  His gaze moved to Chiara’s mouth. Their interlude in the exercise room still weighed on him. She’d been so damn responsive. If she hadn’t put a stop to things, he would have taken her right there on the weight bench. In fact, it had been all he could do to keep a cool head the past few days. If it hadn’t been for work on the movie set and coming back exhausted after a fourteen-hour day...

  Odele sighed. “You’re the bane of my existence, Chiara. You could be the face of a cosmetics and skincare line. You’re throwing away millions.”

  “My homemade concoctions work fine,” Chiara responded.

  “You make your own products?” Rick asked bemusedly.

  Chiara shrugged. “I started when I was a teenager and didn’t have a dime to my name, and I saw no reason to give it up. I use natural items like avocado.”

  “Me, too,” Rick joked. “But I eat them as part of my strength-training routine.”

  Chiara peered at him. “I could test the green stuff on your face. You might benefit.”

  Rick made a mock gesture warding her off. “No, thanks. I’m best friends with my soap.”

  “Not everyone is blessed with your creamy complexion, Chiara,” Odele put in. “Have a little sympathy for the rest of us who could use expensive professional help.”

  The hairstylist and manicurist stepped away, and Chiara stood, still wrapped in her white terry robe. “Well, time to get dressed.”

  Rick smiled. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Odele steamed toward him like a little tugboat pulling Chiara’s ship to safe harbor. “We’ll call you when we need you.”

  He shrugged. “More or less explains my role.”

  Without waiting for further encouragement, he stepped out of the room. For the next half hour, he made somewhat good use of his time by checking his cell phone and catching up on business. Finally, Odele opened the door and motioned him into the den again.

  Rick stepped back into the room...and froze, swallowing hard.

  Chiara was wearing a one-shoulder gown with a short train. The slit went all the way up one thigh, and the deep red fabric complemented her complexion. She had the ethereal quality of, well, a fairy-tale princess naturally.

  “I can’t decide which gown,” she said.

  “The one you’re wearing looks good to me.”

  He knew what the big minefields were, of course. Do I look fat in this dress? The automatic answer was no. Maybe even hell, no. Still, he was ill-equipped for the bombshell that was Chiara Feran—sex poured into a gown.

  “You look spectacular,” he managed.

  She beamed. “I’m wearing a Brazilian designer. I have a platform, and I want to use it.”

  He knew what he wanted.

  He’d like nothing better than to swing Chiara into his arms and head for the bedroom. He wasn’t particular about where frankly, but he didn’t want to scandalize her entourage. And if Odele was tipped off, she would be on the phone with Melody Banyon of WE Magazine in no time to report his and Chiara’s relationship had become serious—never mind that it was make-believe.

  Still, the evening was young, and Chiara’s manager wouldn’t be here at its close...

  * * *

  Flashbulbs went off around them in dizzying bursts of light. The paparazzi were out in full force for this red-carpet event. Chiara gave her practiced smile, crossed one leg in front of the other and tilted her head, giving the photographers her best side.

  Her one-shoulder silk organza gown had a deep slit revealing her leg to the upper thigh. It was a beautiful but safe choice for an awards show. Invisible tape ensured everything stayed in place and she didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction. Her hair was loose, and her jewelry was limited to chandelier earrings and a diamond bracelet.

  The Ring of Hope Gala to Benefit Children’s Charities was being held at The Beverly Hilton Hotel. The hotel’s sixteen-thousand-foot International Ballroom could seat hundreds—and did for the Golden Globe Awards and other big Hollywood events. Soon she and Rick would be inside, along with dozens of other actors and celebrities.

  Rick’s hand was at the small of her back—a warm, possessive imprint. It was for the benefit of the cameras, of course, but the reason didn’t matter. He made her aware of her femininity. She’d never been so attuned to a man before.

  Despite the presence of plenty of well-known actors tonight, Chiara saw women casting Rick lingering looks full of curiosity and interest. He had a blatant sex appeal that was all unpolished male...

  Chiara put a break on her wayward thoughts—aware there were dozens of eyes upon them. Not only were bulbs constantly flashing, but the press kept calling out to them.

  “Chiara, look this way!”

  “Who’s the new guy, Chiara?”

  “Can you tell us about your gown?”

  “Who’s the mystery man?”

  Chiara curved her lips and called back, “We met on the set of Pegasus Pride.”

  “Is it true he’s a stuntman?”

  She cast Rick a sidelong look, and he returned it with a lingering one of his own. She could almost believe he was enraptured for real...

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, searching Rick’s face. “Do you know some stunts, honey?”

  “Not for the red carpet,” he said, smiling back. “Maybe I should practice.”

  Ha. In her opinion, he was doing just fine with his publicity stunt for the red carpet. He was too believable in the role of boyfriend.

  She knew what the headlines would say, of course. Chiara Feran Makes Debut with New Man. She and Rick had given their interview to WE Magazine, but every media outlet wanted their own story.

  Chiara smiled for another few moments. Then she linked hands with Rick and moved out of the spotlight so the next prey—uh, celebrity—could take her place. She knew how these things worked.

  She and Rick walked into the Hilton, where sanity prevailed in contrast to the paparazzi and fans outside. They followed the crowd toward the International Ballroom. Fortunately she didn’t cross paths with anyone she knew well. She wasn’t sure if she was up for further discussion of her ultimate accessory—namely, Rick.

  When they reached their table, she sighed with relief. So far, so good.

  “Rick, sugar!”

  Chiara turned and spotted an actress she wasn’t well-acquainted with but whose name she’d come across more than a few times. Isabel Lanier.

  She’d never heard Rick’s name said in the same breath as sugar before. In her opinion, spice was more appropriate.

  “Wow, I haven’t seen you in ages!” Isabel said—and though she addressed Rick, she directed her crystalline blue gaze to Chiara. “And you’re one half of an item, too, I hear.”

  “Isabel, this is—”

  “Chiara Feran,” Chiara finished for him.

  She assessed the other woman. Isab
el Lanier had a reputation in Hollywood, and there wasn’t enough Botox in LA to make it pretty. She’d slept with directors to land supporting roles. She’d broken up a costar’s marriage by having an affair with him during filming. And she’d been named in a lawsuit involving back rent on a house in the Hollywood Hills.

  Isabel looked her over in turn, and then, directing her gaze to Rick, murmured, “I’m so glad you’ve moved on, sugar, and to another actress, too. No bad feelings, hmm?”

  Rick seemed to tense, but then Chiara wondered whether she was imagining it.

  Isabel fluttered her mascara-heavy eyelashes. “I’d love to talk to you about—”

  “Isabel, it was a surprise running into you. Glad you’re well.”

  The dismissal on Rick’s part was polite but unmistakable.

  Chiara wondered about his past tie to Isabel. It gave her a bad feeling—though, of course, not jealousy. What had Rick been thinking? Isabel? Really? The woman’s reputation followed her like a trail of discarded clothing in a tacky Vegas hotel room.

  Isabel gave them a searching look, and then nodded as if reaching a conclusion. “It’s time I got back to my date.”

  “Hal?” Rick inquired sardonically.

  Isabel tossed her head, her smile too bright. “Oh, sugar, you know better.” She flashed her hand and a ring caught the light. “But this time, I did find one who is for keeps.”

  “Congratulations.”

  The smile stayed on Isabel’s lips but her eyes were sharp. “Thank you.”

  When the other woman moved off, Chiara turned to Rick. “Should I ask?”

  “Will you be able to stop yourself?”

  “Do you date all your leading ladies?”

  “In Isabel’s case, it was more her trying to hook up with me. Misguidedly, as it turned out.”

  Chiara raised her eyebrows.

  “Isabel is the reason that I don’t get involved with starlets. They’re trouble.”

  “Men are trouble.”

  “Finally, a topic that we agree on,” he quipped. “The opposite sex is trouble.”

  Chiara shrugged. “Isabel Lanier seems an odd choice for you.”