Bloody hell.
“Let’s break for lunch,” Victoria stated.
As they left the room together, Neil held Russ back. Gone was the carefree attitude and his voice lowered by at least three octaves and Russ realized this was Neil’s natural speaking voice. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
With that Neil rushed out to join Victoria back in character of a fabulously gay male designer. He had the act down cold. It seemed all New Yorkers wore a façade as if the entire city were a grand stage.
And with Neil back, what part in this play did Russ just get relegated to? Victoria was so happy to see her friend, did she even consider what happens next? Would they drift apart without something in common? As the three of them slid into the cab he felt like he was on death row and this was to be his last meal.
Chapter 29
Victoria hid behind the oversized menu so she could process her emotions. She was crazy happy to see Neil, but where did that leave her and Russ? Out of a job, would he choose LA over NY? He might even have a change of heart when his personal and legal issues in Australia were resolved and decide to move back. His family lived there and, even though Victoria’s dysfunctional relationship with her family grated on her, she could never imagine moving away from them or the city she grew up in. And from what Russ had told her he had a solid, normal family.
Ava arrived and took an empty seat. The waiter swooped in and took the orders. Victoria reluctantly gave up the menu.
“So when’s the happy day?” asked Neil.
“What are you talking about?” Victoria took a sip of water, glancing around at the other diners.
“Why, the wedding date for you and this handsome Aussie here.”
“Neil, we’re not getting married and nobody knows.” Victoria looked to Russ for confirmation but he apparently found the place setting more interesting than the conversation.
Neil flipped his hand in the air. “Sweetie, everyone already knows.”
“They do,” Ava agreed.
“Why hasn’t it hit the papers?” asked Russ.
“Who knows, maybe her parents paid off the press or perhaps Victoria has lost some of her star power,” informed Ava. “Sorry,” she added as she looked to Victoria.
“That’s the best news I’ve had since—well, since an hour ago when Neil came on set.” Victoria laughed and squeezed his hand. It was good news that he was home. She missed her friend on and off set. If only she knew where she stood with Russ. They hadn’t talked about Neil’s return.
Russ shifted in his seat. “We still need to keep it quiet for now.”
“What for?” asked Ava. “Victoria’s mother already knows.”
“There’s one tiny problem—” Victoria began to explain.
Russ interrupted her. “Luv, let me tell it—it’s my mess, not yours.”
She thought it was her mess too since she had a stake in the outcome but Victoria sat quietly as he told Ava and Neil about the paternity claim of his former co-host back in Australia.
Neil shook his head. “OMG, this is like a bad episode of The Maury Show!”
The need to stick up for Russ had her saying, “Yes, but the result will be, Russ, you are NOT the father.”
“It better,” threatened Neil.
Victoria noticed the evil eye Neil threw Russ. She couldn’t blame him, considering her questionable past choices in men.
“Well, you’re not the only one with news,” hedged Neil as he ironed the tablecloth with his hands. “Can’t believe I held it in this long.”
“It sounds like great news,” encouraged Ava.
To Victoria it sounded like Ava already knew what the announcement was going to be. “Yes, Neil, do tell.”
“I’m getting married!”
Victoria was not expecting that and blurted out, “Oh my God, Neil, not to your mother’s nurse.”
“You know me too well, Victoria.”
“You’ve only known him for two weeks!”
“We met less than two weeks ago,” said Russ grimly.
Two weeks and she was ignoring common sense and not only believing in Russ but defending him to her parents and to her best friends, and to the world if she had to. Victoria softened a bit, already planning Neil’s wedding in her head. Would she be the best man or the maid of honor? She laughed.
Ava reached for her hand. “Quick Neil, while she’s in a good mood. Tell her the rest.”
“I’m kind of scared to.”
Russ laughed, “I know the feeling mate.”
“Wait a sec.” Neil took a swig of his martini. “I’m moving to Arizona.”
Victoria started to argue but Neil rushed on, “Not just for him, but for my mother. I can’t take care of her when she’s a five-hour plane ride away from me.”
There was nothing left to say. Unlike her mother, Neil’s showered him with affection and love. Accepted him before Neil himself ever used the term gay to define who he was. In fact his mother probably had a hand in hiring Neil’s husband-to-be. The matchmaking old coot. “I’m happy for you, Neil.”
Neil’s eyes popped wide open. “Really?”
Victoria glanced at Russ who, for the first time since Neil’s arrival, smiled at her. Her heart leapt. She knew what Neil was feeling because she was feeling it too, for Russ. She looked back to Neil and patted his hand. “Really.”
“Well, that was easy.” He turned to Russ, his smile one of admiration. “I think you have melted the ice queen’s heart.”
“First, I had to find it,” joked Russ.
Neil and Ava cracked up laughing but Victoria failed to see the humor and dug into a salad only a rabbit could enjoy.
***
The past week had been the happiest of Victoria’s life. Russ moved in, the network executives blessed the permanent pairing with a two-year contract for Russ and an extension to Victoria’s.
The only storm cloud hanging over everything was waiting for the phone call with the test results. The time difference between New York and Australia made the nights long ones. Though most of those nights were filled with lovemaking, right now Russ was sleeping peacefully while she stared at the ceiling waiting for his cell to ring.
The woman named the baby Russell, Jr. It didn’t matter, Victoria believed in Russ. With that thought she began to nod off but the sharp trill of the phone sent her eyes wide and awake.
Russ shot out of bed and grabbed the phone and returned to the bed as he said hello to his lawyer. Had he been feigning sleep? Victoria scooted up to rest her head on the headboard as he settled in next to her. Pulling her closer he said, “Wait.” He put the phone on speaker. “Go ahead.”
“Congratulations, you are not the father.”
Victoria held in a shout of joy. Neil said it best; this all had been a bad episode of The Maury Show.
“Is she still saying we slept together?” asked Russ.
“Yes.”
“Bloody hell.” He paused a moment then asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’d just let it die down.”
Russ spoke with his lawyer for another five minutes before ending the call. For the first time in a long time, Victoria had trusted a man and for the very first time it wasn’t thrown back in her face. “We can go public now, if you want.”
Russ tossed her onto her back and straddled her hips. “You are mine, doesn’t matter who knows it or not. Only now I can go around and beat my chest.” Then he pounded on his naked pecs like Tarzan.
Victoria giggled but then turned serious, still new to a healthy relationship full of trust and support. “Do you think it’s going to work? We’re so different.”
“The master designer up in the sky created you just for me.”
Victoria liked that idea but teased, “Oh yeah? Then why were we born on different continents?”
“God’s a big picture guy. He left the details up to me. So remember it was me who traveled halfway around the world to find you.”
Victoria would n
ever forget it. “You’re so corny, just like that tacky accent.”
He took her arms and held them above her head. Nose to nose, gaze to gaze, breath to breath, he said, “Admit it, you love it.”
She wouldn’t because he’d only use it more and drive her crazy but she had something else that had been burning in her heart to confess. “I love you. And don’t forget that I said it first.”
“I’d say we’re even then.”
She risked it and lost. Just because she said it first didn’t mean he would ever say it second.
“I’d say it,” he added as he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “But I’d rather tell you I love you too.”
Victoria gazed into his eyes and knew it was true.
Epilogue
Victoria placed the stuffed animal gently into the crib that belonged to another. The mother kangaroo with the joey poking his head out of the pouch was the perfect finishing touch to the home office turned nursery and to the final episode of the season. Twenty-five shows in twelve weeks had left her exhausted.
Russ’s arms circled around her waist. “Feeling better, luv?”
She gazed into the empty crib picturing a similar scene seven months from now but with their baby snuggled into a quilt she’d make just for him or her. She didn’t have the words this morning to tell Russ. Okay, so she was a little afraid to reveal the reason for her fatigue. How would he react—especially after the fiasco with his co-host in Australia? Would he think she was aiming for publicity as well? She didn’t think he would but that didn’t mean he would jump for joy either. “Better. Decorating a baby’s room can’t help but put a smile on your face.”
His embrace tightened and he whispered against her neck, “Or put you in the mood for making one.”
Hope swelled in her chest. Was he hinting that he wanted children? Had the past few days of working on the Cohen nursery have the same effect on him? They hadn’t talked about it yet. They hadn’t even talked marriage. Not that one precluded the other. “That too,” she ventured.
“Mmm, then I say we ditch the wrap party and start collaborating on a Rowland and Bryce production.”
His teeth grazed her ear lobe, sending a shiver through her body. She reached for his hand and slid it down to her flat stomach. “What if I told you the collaboration was already in post-production?”
Russ’s hand stilled and Victoria feared the worst. Perhaps he’d been kidding and had only been making a half-hearted comment but then faced with the reality he was going to be a father he’d flip and accuse her of lying or worse, setting him up. Then there was the show to think about. She’d be almost full term by the time the next season started. Or perhaps he suddenly realized Victoria’s parenting skills would be no better than her mother. No, that is my fear.
But then with his other hand he reached for the kangaroo and cradled it against her belly.
“Then I’d say this comes home with us—it’s meant for our baby’s nursery.”
Victoria smiled, remembering while out shopping for accessories for the makeover she had spotted the kangaroo and wondered if Russ owned something similar when he was a little boy back in Australia. And hadn’t she been thinking of her own future children when she purchased it? Then a funny thought occurred to her—had her subconscious mind been trying to tell her something that it already knew? She turned around and gazed into Russ’s glistening eyes. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
“I’m right. Now that’s a headline.”
Liz would like to thank Juan M. Frisanccio Muñoz for permitting the use of his poem.
Run Rosie Run
By C C MacKenzie
Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2012
Published by More Press
The right of C C MacKenzie to be
identified as the author of this
work has been asserted by her
under the Copyright Amendment
(Morals Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright.
Apart from any use as permitted under
the Copyright Act 1968, no part
maybe reproduced, copied, scanned,
stored in a retrieval system,
recorded or transmitted,
in any form or by any means,
without the prior permission
of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and
incidents are either a product of
the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual people
living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
'You’re not getting any younger.’
At the clear frustration in her mother’s voice booming through the telephone speaker Rosie hunched her shoulders and counted to ten.
Biting her tongue she added the final touch, an icing extravaganza of green goddess calla lilies, to the topper of a five tier wedding cake cloaked in snowy white icing. The design was fresh and clean. She’d spent three days working to get the colour blending the trumpet tips just right. A colour of calla lily, which meant ‘I wish you luck and love in life,’ and was the perfect choice for the loved up couple taking their vows tomorrow.
Woo hoo! It looked fabulous, even if she did say so herself.
‘Rosemary Margaret Gordon,’ continued the disembodied voice. Rosie winced. The use of her full name was a bad sign. ‘I want what’s best for my baby girl. You need to look at your work life balance. Living to work is not healthy.’ The tone, Rosie noted dimly, was now wheedling. ‘I’d have thought after Bronte had the twins you’d have pulled your finger out. But it’s been two years, darling, and I’m worried. You’ll be thirty soon. Tick tock, tick tock.’
Rosie sent the phone a dark look.
There were times when her mother never ceased to amaze her and this was one of them. She was twenty-nine on her next birthday.
‘Tick tock, tick tock?’
‘Your biological clock. If you’d lift your head out of icing and cake mixes you’d have read that many women are leaving it too late to have children. Rosie, you’re worrying me.’
Well, that was a downright lie. When had she ever given her mother a moments anxiety?
Never. Well, apart from the time she fell off the barn roof when she was ten; and the time she and her best friend, Bronte, made a valiant attempt to down a bottle of neat vodka when they were fifteen; and ... well, never mind that. In recent years she’d been as good as gold and hadn’t put a foot wrong.
She worked hard and ran a successful business. Some mothers were simply not bloody satisfied. It wasn’t as if she was out partying, or doing drugs, or having wild monkey sex every night – or any night for that matter.
‘I think you’ve got the sequencing wrong, mother. Surely I need a man first?’
Rosie topped up her coffee from the pot and took a sip.
‘Exactly! You’re in the middle of a man-drought. You need to get out there and find him. He’s not going to stroll through the door and sweep you off your feet. In your line of work the men you meet are already taken.’
The statement, Rosie had to admit, was perfectly true. Running a wedding cake business meant the men she met were the fiancé of the bride or the father of the bride who footed the bill.
It cost her, but she managed to keep the tone pleasant.
‘Man-drought? Been reading Cosmo again? What do you want me to do? Take out an ad in the paper? Join an internet dating site? Or do you suggest I pop along to a sperm bank?’
‘Now you’re just being silly, darling. No man is perfect. Compromise! It’s the key to all things. Look at how I comprise each and every day with your father?’
‘Poor sap,’ Rosie muttered under her breath.
‘I heard that. We’ve been married for thirty-four years and I might not love him all the time, but we’re crazy for each other.’
&
nbsp; ‘Crazy’s the word all right. How is he anyway? And how’s life in Cyprus?’
At the change of subject her mother gave a heartfelt sigh.
‘He’s out jogging and it’s hot. Rosie, promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said? I worry you’re missing out on something wonderful. Look how happy Bronte is.’
Enough, Rosie decided, was enough.
‘There’s only one Nico Ferranti. I’ll give them your love. Got to run, the timer’s about to go. Bye.’
She pressed the red button and knew her mother wouldn’t be happy at being cut off, but what was she supposed to do? The woman was driving her nuts. It wasn’t as if eligible men were jostling to beat a path to her door.
The trouble was she’d trawled through the local male demographic years ago. Bronte had found Nico when he’d bought Ludlow Hall, both of them struck dumb by their amazing chemistry. Okay, Bronte might have loathed Nico in the beginning, but it had all ended in happy ever after.
And she wasn’t jealous of her friend’s happiness. Not really. Well, maybe a little. But she knew she’d never ever attain the dizzy heights of marital bliss her friend had achieved.
Rosie knew this for an absolute fact because she’d already met the man of her dreams, had lost her heart to him on her tenth birthday.
The trouble was she wasn’t the woman of his dreams, more like his biggest nightmare.
Alexander S. Ludlow saw her as a sister like Bronte, a friend, or worse as a ‘damned nuisance’.
Two years ago, she’d persuaded him to drive her home from a wedding party certain her luck was in. She’d gone all out with her hair and a fabulous red bustier to showcase her boobs. But he’d simply patted her on the head goodnight and that was it. The mortification, the dashed hopes, the bitter disappointment, the lack of hot steamy sex still stung.
And she knew the sex would be hot and steamy because years ago her frenemy, Janine Brooke-Stockton, had told anyone who would listen how many times Alexander had made her come. Slut.
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