“Since when?” He threw up one hand. “I can’t imagine what kind of hell-raiser we conceived up there. When I think about that storm . . .” He shuddered, then bore down on her. “Do you have any idea what it’s going to take to raise a child like that? Patience, for one thing. Luckily, you’ve got a lot of that. Toughness—God knows, you’re tough. And wisdom. Well, enough said about that. All in all, you’re up to the challenge.”
She stared at him.
“I intend to do my part, don’t think I don’t. I’m damn good at potty training.”
This was what happened when you welcomed chaos into your life. She refused to blink. “I’m supposed to forget that you ran off like a coward when I got to be too much for you?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would.” He regarded her with something like entreaty. “We both know I’m still a work in progress. And I’ve got a great present to help you forget.”
“You bought me a present?”
“Not exactly bought. One of those phone calls I made after you were thrown in jail was to Howard Jenks.”
Her stomach sank. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to make that film.”
“Oh, I’m going to make the film. But Oliver Craig and I are switching parts.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m playing Nathan.”
“Nathan’s the hero.”
“Exactly.”
“He’s a dweeb.”
“Let’s just say he’s testosterone-challenged.”
She sank down onto the bed and tried to envision Ren as the bookish, bumbling, mild-mannered Nathan. Slowly, she shook her head. “You’ll be perfect.”
“I think so, too,” he said with satisfaction. “Fortunately, Jenks is a man of vision, and he got it right away. Craig’s doing cartwheels. Wait till you see him. I told you he looks like a choirboy. Just thinking about him playing Street gives me the chills.”
She looked up at him. “You did this for me?”
He wrestled with his answer, then looked vaguely embarrassed. “It was mostly for me. I’m not giving up playing bad guys, don’t think that for a minute, but I couldn’t handle Street. Besides, I need to stretch. I’m not all bad. It’s time I accepted that. And you, my love, are not all good. Witness which one of us is currently incarcerated.”
“It’s giving me a chance to think about an idea for a new book.”
“What happened to the old one? The one on crisis management?”
“I finally figured out that not every crisis can be managed.” She gazed at the cell around her. “As much as we want to keep ourselves safe, we can’t protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos.”
“Getting married to me sounds like a good start.”
“Except that chaos has its own way of finding us. We don’t have to set ourselves up for it.”
“Still . . .”
“I can’t imagine how difficult a marriage between us would be,” she said. “The logistics alone are impossible. We both have our careers. And where would we live?”
“You’ll figure it out in no time. You can start making lists. You still remember how, don’t you? And while you’re doing that, I’ll take care of the really important stuff.”
“Such as?”
“I’m designing our kitchen. Everything’s going to be state-of-the-art. I want a low counter at one end so our kids can cook, too, although we’re keeping that little bugger you’re carrying away from knives. A big eating area with—”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“I’m fairly sure you are. Chalk it up to male intuition.”
“Why the change of heart, Ren? What happened to you?”
“You happened to me.” He came over and sat next to her on the cot, not touching her, just looking deep into her eyes. “You scare me to death, you know. When you stormed into my life, you turned everything inside out. You upset all the things I believed about myself and made me think in new ways. I know who I used to be, but I’m finally ready to figure out who I am. Cynicism gets tiring, Isabel, and you’ve . . . rested me.” The cot springs squawked as he shot up, turning fierce without warning. “And don’t you dare tell me you’ve stopped loving me back, because you’re still a better person than I am, and I’m counting on you to take more care with my heart than I took with yours.”
“I see.”
He began to pace. “I know that marriage to me is going to be a mess. Two careers. Kids. Conflicting travel schedules. You’ll have to deal with the fallout from the press I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. There’ll be paparazzi hiding in the bushes, tabloid stories every six months saying I’m beating you or you’re doing drugs. I’ll have location shoots and women coming on to me. Every time I do a love scene with some beautiful actress, you’ll give me all the reasons it doesn’t bother you, and then I’ll find the sleeves cut off my favorite shirts.” He rounded on her and jabbed a finger in her direction. “But the woman who stood on that wall this afternoon is strong enough to face an army. I want to hear you tell me right now that I didn’t leave that woman behind on the mountaintop.”
She threw up her hands. “All right. Why not?”
“Why not?”
“Sure.”
His arms fell to his sides. “That’s it? I pour my heart out. I love you so much I’ve got freakin’ tears in my eyes. And all I get in return is ‘Why not’?”
“What did you expect? Am I supposed to fall all over you just because you’ve finally come to your senses?”
“Would it be too much to ask?”
Pride went along with chaos, and she gave him a quelling look.
He’d begun to glare at her again, his eyes growing stormier by the minute. “When do you think you might be ready? To fall all over me, that is.”
She took her time thinking about it. Her arrest had been his doing. She’d known that immediately. As for that ridiculous story about having to marry him to get out of jail, even an idiot wouldn’t buy that. Still, dirty tricks were part of what made him Ren Gage, and how much did she want him to change?
Not a bit, because his basic decency went bone deep. He understood her in ways no one else ever had, in ways she hadn’t understood herself. And what better guide could she find into the world of chaos? Then there was the inescapable fact that her heart overflowed with love for him, although it didn’t speak well of her that she was taking so much pleasure watching those furrows of worry etch themselves in his brow. What a mess of contradictions she was. And how lovely not to fight them anymore.
She still had to pay him back for the arrest, and she decided to make things messier. “Maybe I should tell you all the reasons I don’t love you.”
He went pale, and little rainbows of happiness danced through her. What a horrible person she was.
“I don’t love you because you’re gorgeous, although God knows I’m grateful for it.” The wave of relief that crossed his face nearly melted her, but what was the fun in tidying up too soon? “I don’t love you because you’re rich, because I’ve been rich, too, and it’s harder than it seems. No, your money’s a definite drawback. I definitely don’t love you because you’re an amazing sex partner. You’re amazing because you’ve had too much practice, and I’m not happy about that. Then there’s the fact that you’re an actor. You’re deluding yourself if you think I’ll be able to rationalize those love scenes. Every one of them will drive me wild, and I will punish you.”
Oh, he was smiling now, was he? She tried to think of something terrible enough to take that smile off his face, but the same tears filling his eyes had begun to fill her own, so she gave up. “Mostly I love you because you’re decent, and you make me feel like I can conquer the world.”
“I know you can.” His voice was thick with emotion. “And I promise to cheer you on the whole time you’re doing it.”
They gazed at each other, but they both wanted to prolong this moment of anticipation, and neither moved closer. “Do you t
hink you could get me out of jail now?” she asked, then hid a smile as he shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable again.
“See, the thing is, it took me a little longer to make all those phone calls than I’d planned, and everything’s closed down for the night. I’m afraid you’re in the slammer until morning.”
“Correction. We’re in the slammer until morning.”
“That’s one possibility. The other is a little more exciting.” They still weren’t touching, but they’d each taken a step closer. He lowered his voice and patted his side. “I have a little firepower tucked away. I admit it’s a long shot, but we could always shoot our way out.”
She smiled and opened her arms. “My hero.”
The game had gone on long enough, and they could no longer resist each other. They had pledges to make.
“You know you’re the breath of my life, don’t you?” he whispered against her lips. “You know how much I love you?”
She pressed her palm against his chest and felt a skipped heartbeat.
“Actors are needy creatures,” he said. “Tell me how long you’ll love me back.”
“That’s easy. Eternally.”
As he smiled into her eyes, all his goodness shone through. “I guess that’ll be long enough.”
They kissed, deep and sweet. He tunneled his fingers into her hair. She reached between the buttons of his shirt to touch his skin. They drew back just far enough to gaze into each other’s eyes. All the barriers between them were gone.
She tilted her face to his. “This is the place where the music comes up and the credits start to roll.”
He cupped her cheek and smiled into her eyes. “You’re so wrong, sweetheart. The film’s just beginning.”
Epilogue
The wicked principessa had been lusting after her poor but honest groom for months, but she waited until a stormy February night before she summoned him to the master bedchamber at the Villa of the Angels. She was dressed in scarlet, her favorite color. The scandalous gown fell off her shoulders, revealing a small tattoo on the curve of her breast. Her untidy blond hair curled about her head, big gold hoops swung at her ears, and iridescent plum toenails peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown.
He entered more simply dressed, as befitted his station, in fawn-colored workman’s breeches and a white shirt with long, loose sleeves. “My lady?”
His deep voice sent her senses reeling, but as a principessa she knew better than to display weakness before underlings, so she addressed him imperiously. “Did you bathe first? I do not like the smell of horse in my bedchamber.”
“I did, my lady.”
“Very good. Let me look at you.”
While he stood quietly, she circled him, tapping her chin with her index finger as she took in the hard symmetry of his body. Despite his humble status, he stood proudly under her scrutiny, which further aroused her. When she could no longer resist, she touched his chest, then curled her fingers around his buttocks and squeezed. “Undress for me.”
“I’m a virtuous man, my lady.”
“You’re merely a peasant, and I’m a principessa. If you don’t submit to me, I will have the village burned to the ground.”
“You would burn down the village merely to satisfy your evil lust?”
“In a New York minute.”
“Well, then, I suppose I must sacrifice myself.”
“Darned right.”
“On the other hand . . .” Without warning, the wicked principessa found herself upended on the bed with her scarlet skirts tossed over her head.
“Hey!”
His breeches hit the floor. “Unbeknownst to you, my lady, I’m not really your poor but honest groom. Instead, I’m your long-lost husband in disguise, come back to claim his rights.”
“Shucks.”
“Some days it doesn’t pay to be evil.” He settled between her legs, stroking, but not entering. As she lifted her arm, a wide gold bangle engraved with the word chaos fell from its mate at her wrist, the one that reminded her to breathe—two parts of her life come together at last. “Please be gentle,” she said.
“And have you complain? No way.”
They finally stopped talking and got down to what they did best. Loving each other with passionate touches and soft, sweet words that carried them away to a secret place only they inhabited. When they were finally drained, they curled together in the big bed, secure against the winter winds that buffeted the old house.
She laid her foot over his calf. “One of these days we’re going to have to start behaving like grown-ups.”
“We’re too immature. Especially you.”
She smiled.
They were quiet for a while. Content. His whisper drifted over her cheek. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“Oh, yes.” With a sense of absolute certainty, she pressed her lips to his, then fell back against the pillow.
He stroked her skin as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was his. “You’re doing it, aren’t you?”
She heard the smile in his voice, but she continued her prayers. They’d become as essential as her breathing. So many prayers of thanksgiving.
When she was done, she gazed across the firelit room to the mantel top, where his gold Oscar for Night Kill perched. Ren hadn’t even begun to test his limits, and unless she missed her guess, another would someday sit next to it.
She hadn’t tested her limits either. Living an Imperfect Life had been a runaway bestseller—so much for thinking small—and The Imperfect Marriage would be coming out in a few months. Her publisher wanted Raising the Imperfect Child as soon as possible, but that book was still very much a work in progress, and she didn’t intend to complete it for some time.
Thanks to an excellent referral network, she was keeping her counseling practice small. Just as she’d promised herself, she made certain she had time each day to think, to pray, to have fun. Marriage to Lorenzo Gage was messy but fulfilling. Definitely fulfilling.
He slipped out of bed, cursing softly as he stepped on a plastic action figure. Tomorrow they were attending the christening of Giulia and Vittorio’s second child, a boy born just fourteen months after his sister. They’d welcomed the excuse to come back to Tuscany. As much as they loved their home in California, this always felt like a journey back to their roots. In the summer they’d spend a month here, along with Harry, Tracy, and the children, including Annabelle, their fifth and last, who’d been born the day after Ren and Isabel’s wedding, which had taken place in the garden below their bedroom window.
Ren picked up the clothes they’d discarded, and tossed them into the trunk where they kept an assortment of interesting costumes along with a few devilish props.
Thank you, God, for gifting me with an actor.
He reached into the wardrobe, pulled out her nightgown, and handed it to her. “As much as I hate to give you this . . .”
She slipped it over her head while he shoved his legs into gray silk pajama bottoms. Then he walked over to the door, gave a long-suffering sigh, and unlocked it.
“Did you read the script?” he asked as he slid back under the covers.
“I did.”
“You know, don’t you, that I’m not going to do it.”
“I know that you are.”
“Jesus, Isabel . . .”
“You can’t turn it down.”
“But Jesus?”
“I admit it’ll be a stretch. He was celibate and preached nonviolence. But you both love kids.”
“Especially ours.”
She smiled. “The twins are demons. You were so right.”
“They’re potty-trained demons. I held up my end of the bargain.”
“You’re very good at it.”
He silenced her with a kiss, his favorite form of conflict resolution. They held each other. While the wind howled in the chimney and the shutters rattled, they whispered their love all over again.
They’d just begun to drift off wh
en the door creaked open and two pairs of small feet scampered across the carpet, fleeing all the monsters who lived in the dark. Ren reached out and drew the invaders into the warmth of the bed. Their mother cuddled them close. For the next few hours peace reigned in the Villa of the Angels.
About the Author
Susan Elizabeth Phillips is one of our biggest women’s fiction stars soaring onto the New York Times bestseller list with Dream a Little Dream. She’s the only four-time recipient of Romance Writer’s of America’s prestigious Favorite Book of the Year Award. Susan delights fans by touching hearts as well as funny bones with her wonderfully whimsical and modern fairy tales. A resident of the Chicago suburbs,she is also a wife and mother of two grown sons.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
ALSO BY SUSAN ELIZABETH PHILIPS
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Heaven, Texas
It Had to Be You
Credits
Jacket design and illustration by Honi Werner
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
BREATHING ROOM. Copyright © 2002 by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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