Heartthrob (Hollywood Hearts, #1)

by Belinda Williams

  I stared at him. His blue eyes were so hard they appeared almost silver in the moonlight.

  “You haven’t told anyone else?” I asked weakly as his words sunk in. He’d never told anyone? I was the first person he’d trusted enough to tell?

  “No one.”

  I put a hand to my head because it hurt. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” he shot back.

  “Yes! I do. And I can’t believe you’d trust her over me! She’s lying.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  I resisted reaching out the window and shaking him. “Oh, I don’t know. Because she still loves you?” Seriously, could this night get any weirder? “Can you ask her to go, please? Then I can fill you in on what I know and we can talk rationally about this.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No. It’s probably best if Chris drives you home.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Jake. Listen to me. She still loves you—”

  “And you don’t.”

  I flinched then tried to reach for his hand through the window, but he snatched it away. “Jake, she left you while you were in a coma. I think it’s pretty safe to say you can’t trust her.”

  He glanced behind us, where Sally stood waiting. “True. But based on this I don’t think I can trust you either.”

  “How can you say that?”

  He shrugged but the movement was tight. “Let’s face it, Ally. When you came here you were a no one.”

  “So?” It was hardly a newsflash.

  “And now you’re not. You’re Allegra Valenti.”

  “No, not really. I’m still Ally—”

  “You’re Allegra Valenti,” he said, his voice hard. “You’re a somebody now thanks to me.”

  I gaped at him in disbelief and when I spoke, my voice wavered dangerously. “Are you saying you think I used you to build a name for myself?”

  His mouth twisted into a harsh smile. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I was the perfect mark, wasn’t I? Buying all that bullshit about you hating celebrity when all along celebrity was what you were really after.”

  “Jacob Swan, listen to me,” I said in a low voice so only he could hear. “None of that is true and you know it. Is that what Sally told you? Well, she doesn’t know a thing. First of all, I’m best friends with Lena. Why would I need to use you when I’ve already got her?”

  The moment I said it, I realized my mistake.

  I rushed on. “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. All those scenes you made? I was stupid enough to believe you were doing it for me. Now I see you for what you are. Someone who has created as many opportunities for media coverage as you could since we met. Turning up to my father’s funeral like you did was bad enough—”

  “Because you wouldn't talk to me! Because I thought you needed me, Jake, but you were too proud to say it. I was worried about you—”

  “Enough!” The word rang out in the night.

  I sat back in my seat like he’d slapped me.

  “That’s enough,” he said again, this time more calmly. “Chris will drive you home. And you’re going to leave Hollywood as soon as possible. You’re going to go quietly. You’re not going to attract any more media coverage and you’re definitely not going to be interviewed by anyone. If anything so much as surfaces with my name attached to it, I’ll sue you. Do you understand?”

  “Jake,” I whispered, dangerously close to tears. “You need to think about this.”

  Where was the Jake I knew? The relaxed come-what-may star who took everything in his stride? Whoever this man was in front of me, I didn’t recognize him. He was calm, but it was a cool sort of calm that hinted at cruelty.

  But I knew he wasn’t cruel at all. He’d been hurt one too many times and now he was trying to protect himself.

  “Jake,” I tried again. “Please send her home so we can talk about this.”

  “No.”

  “In the morning then?”

  “No.”

  “Jake—”

  “Go home, Ally. To Providence.” He reached over and rapped on Chris’s window. The Hummer’s engine growled to life.

  He gave me a salute as we drove away and I heard him say, “Just as well you didn’t fall in love with me.”

  Chapter 44

  Lena’s house was empty when I arrived home.

  I stood and listened to the Hummer drive away but didn’t enter the house. Instead, I gathered up my dress and sat down on the front steps. It was cool out but the night still had that hint of California to it. So far, I hadn’t been able to put my finger specifically on what ‘California’ was. Maybe it was the gentle rustle of the palm trees moving in the breeze, or the fresh smell of the distant sea and salt. Whatever it was, it had gotten under my skin.

  I lowered my gaze to my dress. My fingernails and toes matched the ruby red of the fabric. The color of love. The color of passion.

  Had I ever loved Jake? Or was I as bad as everyone else, falling in love with the idea of him?

  As soon as I thought it, I dismissed it. I had gotten to know the real Jake, I was certain. But had I loved him?

  No.

  I’d been too scared to.

  Not of Jake himself, but I had been scared by his public persona and the media furore that followed him everywhere he went. As it turned out, my fears weren’t unfounded. His ex-girlfriend was stalking him, not to mention his unbalanced publicist.

  As much as I wanted to be angry with him for his accusations, his lack of trust, I understood. He was trying to protect himself.

  And I was no better.

  I hadn’t let myself have feelings for him because at the end of the day I was trying to protect myself, too.

  I stood slowly, bracing myself for what I was about to do.

  I was glad Lena wasn’t home yet. She’d missed out on the Oscar this time but would still be at the after parties with Chloe, assuming I was safe with Jake at Malibu.

  What was it she had said?

  I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. All I’m hoping you’ll do is to live your dream for a little while.

  And for a little while, I had become someone else, exactly like she’d said.

  It was a nice dream. While it lasted.

  *

  The only problem was Hollywood wasn’t through with me yet. Despite retreating home to the East Coast and the safety of Mama’s house, it turned out some of the glitter of Tinseltown had stuck to me. Due to my association with Jacob, I was now officially a person of interest. If I had been trying to create a celebrity name for myself, as Jake suggested, I’d actually done a pretty good job. Tackling Suzie had seen to that. Reporters camped out on Mama’s front lawn from sunrise until the last late night news bulletin. If they were hoping for a glimpse of me they’d have to keep holding their breath because I didn’t go out. I deeply resented being trapped in my own home, and, despite the heartache of losing Jake, it cemented why I had been reluctant to get involved in that world in the first place. The familiarity and security Mama’s house provided was a welcome relief after Lena’s extravagant compound.

  For the first week I moped in my bedroom and languished around the house. Nothing had changed at home. Not that I had expected it to. The house still smelled of Mama—a strange concoction of Italian cooking, roses, and a slightly stale aroma from the house being shut up so much while she worked at the restaurant.

  I refused to turn on the television and I didn’t open my laptop. I wasn’t going to torture myself any more than necessary. Instead, I reread my favorite childhood books from cover to cover. Anne of Green Gables, Roald Dahl, Nancy Drew—they filled my mind with pleasant characters and crowded out the recent unpleasant memories.

  After a week of this, Mama went outside to ‘water the garden.’ She didn’t say a word but the camera crews quickly figure
d out it was safer for them across the street than on our front lawn.

  Lena shipped my workroom gear to the East Coast. I made the deliverymen put the boxes in the garage and ignored them.

  On a Monday morning two weeks after I’d arrived home, the camera crews finally gave up and I was bored of reading. I decided it was time.

  “Where’s my apron?” I called out to Mama, who was shuffling busily around the kitchen. The restaurant was due to open in an hour and we’d have to leave soon.

  Mama came to the kitchen door and gave me a long look. “I don’t think so.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, her dark curls fanning out around her face. “You don’t work in the restaurant anymore.”

  “Of course I work in the restaurant! It’s a family business.”

  “You have your own business to run now.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes. You do.” She crossed her arms, her short, solid stature making it clear there was no argument. But I wasn’t scared of Mama.

  “No, I don’t,” I repeated. “I’m home now, so why don’t you just let me come back to the restaurant?”

  “Because you’re not giving up, that’s why. You’re good at designing clothes, Ally. You need to pursue your dream.”

  “Since when have you wanted me to pursue my dreams?” Mama was made of traditional Italian stock, where service to others and practical considerations always came first.

  For a moment she looked uncomfortable and picked at an invisible speck on her blouse. “I should have said it before now. When Papa got ill, I was selfish.”

  I walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “No, you weren’t. You needed me.” And I’d needed her too, if I was being honest.

  She frowned at the memory of that time. “True. Or at least I thought it was true. But we have a big family. My sisters would have helped me.” She sighed, then added, “Papa wanted you to go.”

  “Where? To New York?”

  She nodded. “But we decided to let you make your own mind up.”

  “I don’t regret it,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. I still missed him so much.

  “I know,” Mama said, smiling sadly. “But that’s in the past now. It’s your time, Ally. Make us proud. We’re all behind you on this. The whole family.”

  For the first time since I arrived home, a sob escaped my mouth. I hadn’t cried yet. I wasn’t letting myself. If I did, then maybe it meant the whole semi-beautiful, horrible, messed-up ordeal of the last few months was real.

  Mama stepped in and gathered me into her arms. “Bella ragazza, I’m so sad he hurt you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I laughed and sobbed at the same time and it came out a sort of wet hiccup. The irony of her statement wasn’t lost on me. I’d spent too much time in LA worrying I wasn’t good enough, but back in the real world my family thought Jake wasn’t good enough for me.

  “He’s hurting, Mama. He never had what we have.” I wasn’t sure why I was defending him. I’d spent the last two weeks reeling from his lack of trust and his cold, almost clinical, treatment of me. But Mama saying the whole family were behind me twisted something deep inside, something I’d been trying to forget.

  Disapproval pinched the corners of Mama’s mouth. I couldn’t tell if it was at Jake's family or Jake himself. We hadn’t discussed him when I returned home but I was certain she’d seen the stories of Mr. Swan’s funeral.

  “Well, you have us,” she said after a moment, choosing not to comment on Jake. This meant she must be really angry with him, because dismissal equaled a grudge in my family. If Mama yelled at you it meant she loved you. Silence was far worse.

  She patted my shoulder reassuringly. “We want you to succeed. You can’t do that taking orders for pizza or pasta.”

  “I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back,” I said through my tears.

  “So don’t go back. Go to New York. That’s where you’ve always wanted to be, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I sniffed. “But how? I don’t have any money. And all the interest in my designs was from Hollywood actresses.”

  “Pfft. So many women are interested in your designs. Arabella tells me. Even that department store.”

  I eased out of her embrace. “What?”

  Mama shook her head reproachfully at me. “Bella said you’d been ignoring your emails. Lucky she’s been doing it for you.”

  “She what?”

  Mama nodded approvingly. “That Arabella. She’s very organized and has a good head on her shoulders. A shame it missed her mother’s generation,” she said, referring to Mama’s sister and my aunt, Lisa.

  “She’s nosy! And how on earth has she been answering my emails?” I demanded.

  Mama’s forehead creased while she thought about it. “I think she said you have a contact form on your website?”

  I groaned. And I’d given her the login to my website and never remembered to change the password. “She should be studying for her finals.”

  Mama waved an impatient hand at me. “She’ll be fine. She’s very bright. She hardly needs to study.”

  For my sake, I hoped that was true. I didn’t want to live with the guilt of Bella flunking her finals.

  “She’s arranged a meeting in New York with the department store,” Mama went on. “I can’t remember which one. The week after her finals finish so she can go with you.”

  I took a step back and stumbled into the wall. “I’m going to kill her!”

  “Actually, I thought you might want to offer her a job,” Mama suggested. “She’d make a very good assistant and I’d bet she’d love New York.”

  *

  Three weeks later, Arabella and I traveled to New York together to meet with the buyers interested in my designs. Mama hadn’t got it quite right. It wasn’t a department store but a network of exclusive women’s boutiques. They’d seen the ready-to-wear collection on my website—thanks to Bella—and wanted me to design an exclusive range of clothing for their stores.

  “One day,” Bella announced when we exited the New York skyscraper where we’d just had the meeting, “your design house will be here.”

  “One thing at a time,” I told her, secretly reveling in the bustling Manhattan street. “Providence will have to do for now.”

  “Ugh,” she complained. “Hopefully not for too long. Smelling pasta and pizza all day does not fit your brand.”

  I smiled at her. “We’re just lucky Mama’s letting us use the space,” I said, referring to the unused second story above the restaurant. Papa had always had plans to extend the restaurant and transform the upstairs area into a space for functions, but he’d never gotten around to it. It turned out it was ideal for me. “And besides, you still need to go to college.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  I’d offered Arabella a part-time role working for me on one condition: that she enroll in a degree at our local college majoring in marketing. I couldn’t afford to pay her full-time anyway and was only offering her a very modest wage.

  It had taken a week of Bella’s constant whining and a call from Lena to get me this far. As thrilled as I was with the buyer interest, I had to be realistic. I had no money to fund a line of clothing. It could run into thousands of dollars to create the pieces before I was paid by the boutique. There was no way a bank would give me a loan for that sort of money if I wasn’t working at the restaurant anymore.

  Then Lena had called and pointed out that with a few more upcoming orders from her, Chloe and Faith, I’d have enough money to fund a clothing line (I suspected Arabella had gotten in touch with her). When I’d protested—I didn’t want to take any more charity from her—she’d matter-of-factly told me how much she’d paid for some of her recent items of clothing. After I’d recovered, she’d offered to pay me a deposit in good faith.

  So now I was officially running a fashion label with one employee. For how long, I didn’t know, but it was a start. �
�Come on,” I said to Bella. “I promised you lunch in Times Square. On me.”

  “Window-shopping first.”

  “No-brainer.”

  We wandered the streets together, unusually quiet except when we saw something worth pointing out. We browsed the high-end boutiques and eventually made our way to Times Square.

  “I’m telling you,” Bella said. “If your fashion label doesn’t take off and you end up staying in Providence, I’m ditching you and living here, OK? Just so you know.”

  “I won’t hold you back,” I promised.

  “I’d be OK with LA, too,” she added, then snapped her mouth shut when she saw my pale expression. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “It’s not you. It’s that.” I pointed at a massive billboard further down the street.

  “Oh. Fuck.”

  Admittedly it wasn’t the usual response when a young woman saw an image of Jacob Swan.

  “He’s performing on Broadway,” I told her, a strange sort of numbness spreading into my fingers and toes. I turned away from the giant version of Jake’s face. It wasn’t just the unexpected sight of him—I’d been so careful to avoid any sort of media—it was his expression, too. Jake’s billboards usually featured a broad, smiling face or an action shot. This picture was a close up, full face to camera on a black background, and his mouth was set in a serious line. Just like the last time I’d seen him, I thought, with blue eyes cold and distant.

  “I’ve heard it’s a drama,” Arabella said.

  “He wanted to do more dramatic roles.”

  Bella fell silent, for once unsure of what to say.

  “It’s OK. I can’t avoid him forever.” I put my arm through hers and we continued walking.

  “He sent you tickets,” she blurted.

  I stopped and people were forced to go around us on the sidewalk. “What?”

  “To the opening night of his show.” Bella was acting fidgety, casting sideways glances around her and bouncing back and forth on her feet. It reminded me how young she really was.

  “How long ago?” I asked gently.

  “Two weeks. I was going to tell you. I’m so sorry,” she hurried on, “but you were doing so well and you seemed like your normal self again and I thought if I told you, you’d end up back there and—”