“I told you. When I put her on, she’s like a whole different person.”
“You look positively...untouchable.” When he paused, she’d thought he was going to pay her a compliment, but his tone was anything but complimentary.
“This is what the public and the press want to see. I’m larger than life,” she exclaimed with a toss of her hair. “Supposedly some kind of aspiration.”
“Uh-huh?”
She had given herself a head-to-toe Luna Price makeover before she exited the bedroom. “Let me take you on a tour from top to bottom.” She sauntered to him with an exaggerated sway to her hips and zhooshed her hair with a widespread palm. “First, the hair is blown out with a handheld dryer. Next comes a straightening iron for sleekness. Then a curling iron for unnatural natural waves.”
“But your hair is already wavy, isn’t it? Or at least it has been for the last couple of days. Why would you straighten it to curl it?” Shirtless on the sofa with his own hair tousled, she had to get her focus off how sexy he looked in order to continue.
“Yes, but actual natural waves can’t be relied upon, dah-ling. What if there was humidity in the air?” She picked up a lock and twirled it around her finger. “Or one curl was out of place? Disaster of epic proportions, don’t you know?”
“I see.” He smiled at her cheekiness.
Charlie’s jaw had all but dropped open at her display. She wanted to cheer him up from the suffering he’d told her about over the last couple of days. Plus, if he was ready to date again, he’d probably be interacting with glamorous women befitting his billionaire status. Truth be told, she wanted to put herself to the test, as well. Had she really learned to put that self-awareness about her body in a proper place, where it wouldn’t cause her so much pain? Was she ready to go back to stardom and the responsibilities that entailed? And was there a chance she could juggle that while relating honestly to a man?
Charlie fixed his gaze on her face, squinting to study the trickery she’d applied with a chemist’s skill.
“Foundation makeup, administered so thoroughly that there isn’t a spec of my face that hasn’t been smoothed over until flawless.”
“You’re already flawless.”
If she wasn’t wearing so much makeup he might have seen her blush. “Eyeliner, several shades of eye shadow chosen from a complementary color palette, false eyelashes and a half gallon of mascara give my eyes that smoky look ready to attract anything they survey.” She turned away from him, then snapped her neck sideways so she could shoot him a slit-eyed smoldering gaze over her shoulder. He fell backward onto the sofa as if he’d been shot. They both laughed.
She returned to her tutorial, gesturing to her face. “Brows have been enhanced. Bronzer added back the glow to my skin that the Puerto Rican sunshine had given me—”
“But the makeup had taken away,” he interrupted.
“Wonderful. You’re learning.”
“Fascinating.”
She mimed applying lipstick. “Lip liner followed by lipstick followed by lip gloss.”
“So they’ll be no kissing?” Gulp. There it was, mention again of that mind-bending kissing over the heart-shaped cake they never ate. The kisses that weren’t supposed to have happened but that she couldn’t stop replaying.
Back to the task at hand. “Certainly not. Mess up this work of art?”
“Of course, never.”
She ran a hand down the length of her body. “Makeup applied everywhere the clothes don’t cover. Not a freckle, mole or mark shall mar this perfection.”
“It’s—it’s not the makeup that’s perfection,” he stuttered adorably.
“Luna Price devoted herself to reaching fame and fortune,” she began, using a documentarian’s narration, as if she was describing a herd of wildlife. “From as far back as she could remember, little Luna wanted to perform. Her mother used to sing to her, instilling in Luna a wish to express herself. Ruth Price had sung in school choirs and the high-school spring musicals, but lacked the confidence to pursue her interest professionally. Once young Luna had the same leanings, Ruth encouraged her to study acting and take seriously the talent she displayed.”
“Hmm. How interesting.”
“Next, what you don’t see about the illusion.” She continued her demonstration by grabbing a pinch of her dress and pulling it outward, just to let Charlie hear it snap back into place when she released it. “A secret undergarment from here—” she gestured under her bra line “—to here.” She indicated above her knees. “That smooths and shapes me.”
“What is that made of?”
“Something highly elasticized.”
“Is that uncomfortable?”
“I can hardly breathe.”
“Torture.”
“But look.” She curtsied. “No unsightly lumps or bulges.”
“Aren’t women intended to have lumps and bulges?”
“Not in Hollywood.” It was fun not to take everything so seriously for a minute.
“Right.”
“Luna’s father, Jack, ran a small ranch. He was bemused by his daughter’s playacting in the living room, and singing and dancing along to pop videos. Both Jack and Ruth only wanted their daughter to be happy, whatever road she chose.”
“They sound like good people.”
“Now, if you’ll forgive me for being so personal, next comes a bra that basically begins pulling my skin upward from my knees in order to give me this—” she mimed cupping her own breasts “—cleavage. Inserted are silicone cutlets to add volume.”
“So that’s not all you?”
“Nope.”
“Cutlets. What a term.”
“And as you can plainly see, a simple black cocktail dress.” She circled around to give him the full effect of the dress, which was skintight. Everywhere. “That costs more than some people make in a year.”
“It’s a little tube of black fabric.”
“After earning a degree in drama from a state university,” she went on, “Luna ventured to Los Angeles, like millions of other hopefuls, taking her shot at the limelight. She worked as a waitress, a delivery driver and at a cosmetics counter before she began to win small roles in films and television. With the help of a hardworking agent, scripts came her way and she was able to ascend to the top of her field.”
“That’s really remarkable. The odds must be one in a million.”
His praise was different than what she heard from fans or read online; he acknowledged that she deserved everything that came to her. There was so much jealousy in LA. Yes, she’d had luck on her side but there had been many years of hard work.
“And finally—” she wiggled her fingers and then pointed downward “—constant manicures and pedicures. Deeming my feet worthy of stiletto sandals encrusted with Swarovski crystals.”
“How can you walk in heels that high?”
“Very slowly. And on the arm of a beefy guy in a tuxedo for stability.”
“I’m exhausted. How long does it take you to look like that?”
“A couple of hours. But worth it, no?”
“No.”
She cocked her head in question.
“I mean, you’re absolutely stunning,” he explained. “No doubt about it. But...”
Oh. Was Charlie Matthews going to be just like the crowd in Los Angeles? Always looking to find flaws?
“I only meant that, to tell you the truth, I can’t imagine you looking any more beautiful than you do coming out of the shower in one of your beach dresses with your hair blown by the sea breeze and no makeup concealing your creamy skin.”
Tears blinked in Luna’s eyes. No one had ever told her that she looked beautiful without the Hollywood facade cloaking her every day. Since her career had taken off, she’d lived with that inch-by-inch examination of her from head to toe. That s
crutiny had led her to a deadly relationship with nutrition, lest the naysayers find the imperfections they were looking for.
“Charlie,” she said in a hushed tone with a bobble in her voice as she sat down beside him. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
* * *
Charlie didn’t exactly understand why Luna looked like she was about to cry when he’d merely mentioned that she was prettier in her natural state before all of the piled-on enhancements she’d just demonstrated. He’d clearly pushed a sensitive button. “Well, you are fab-u-lous either way,” he said, mimicking a glamorous voice to try to get her back into the jovial mood she came in with for her show and tell.
Dare he admit he was enjoying himself with her here on this weeklong adventure? They seemed to be able to quickly toggle from solemnity to silliness and then back again. To connect, really connect, with someone after so long was far more poignant than he expected it to be. Were he to return to England with the eventual goal of socializing with women, he wouldn’t expect it to be a repeat of either the conviviality or the candor he was sharing with Luna. It was a fact that actually had him a bit worried.
While she did look glitzy in her movie-star makeup and dress, it was almost hard to reconcile her with the woman he’d been getting to know over the last few days. The Luna who was starting to mean something to him. Certainly Charlie had no intention of feeling for a woman ever again. Faded memories were all he’d held in his arms, and so it was to remain until he took his last breath. Perhaps this week was making him see that dinners and even physical intimacy might be possible again as long as they didn’t touch his heart. Yet he was finding himself attached to Luna. Which could only bring him harm.
But the woman behind the lipstick was so alluring, he had an odd impulse to pull her onto his lap, wipe off all of the gunk and kiss her again like he had last night. To smell her fresh skin, not the perfume emanating off the makeup and hair products. To again burrow down into the authentic her, down to her soul. But these were more thoughts that were most definitely not part of the week’s agenda.
A clench squeezed through his body at having her sitting beside him right now, he in only shorts that allowed the taut fabric of her fancy dress to brush against his bare leg. Having her in such close proximity was testing his will. He didn’t like it and he liked it too much.
“All right. I just wanted to show you Luna Price in her full regalia. How about if I change back into something comfortable?”
He was curious how she’d even gotten into such an elaborate outfit all on her own. She was a pro, that’s how. But he definitely found himself wondering about all of the undergarments she had described. Silicone cutlets to enhance her breasts? In the swimsuits and leisure wear she’d worn while in Puerto Rico, he’d had occasion, maybe more than once, to glance at the outline of her breasts. They were lovely and certainly needed no augmentation. Other than his hands holding them, that is.
Certainly, she should free herself from the confining garment she had explained. How did that work? he wondered. Did one simply step into it and roll it up on the body, then to emancipate from it, reverse the process? Why did it sound like a contraption that might be better off being battery-operated? What about remote-controlled, so that he could press a button and watch the piece roll off Luna and he could see her glorious body naked and uncontorted? He resisted a smile at his own imagination. Maybe he should get into complex women’s undergarments as an AMgen expansion.
Next, he tried to picture the amount of products it might take to remove all of the heavy makeup she wore. Although those fire-engine-red lips were a classic symbol of female beauty, he longed to again see the dusty rose of her undressed mouth. He thought about washing her face himself, a soapy cloth lathering away all of the obstacles to her radiance. Standing behind her in front of the mirror, he’d lightly move the cloth in circles around her face, using special gentleness around her eye area. Then, pressing himself into her from behind, he’d bend her forward over the sink so that he could rinse her face over and over again with warm water. When all of the facade had been washed away, he’d grab a fluffy towel to pat her face dry. Then she’d be naked in every sense of the word.
Envisioning all of that was causing a throb in his loins. A wake-up call to that entire part of himself that he hadn’t explored in so very long, he was convinced it was gone. He was as afraid of it as much as he welcomed it, alarming in its absolute power. Confused, annoyed even, he got up, strode right through the villa, out to the courtyard, and dove straight into the deep end of the swimming pool without saying a word.
By the time he got out of the pool, Luna had washed up and changed into a T-shirt and skirt, and had brought food out to the courtyard. She sat at the table spearing her grilled seafood with pasta, having started eating while he was still swimming. Charlie’s mood had soured during the swim. He’d gone from having that pleasant eroticism he’d experienced thinking about ridding Luna of that costume she’d put on, which had led him to want to cool off in the water, to now being brought back to the dark cellar where he usually spent his days. He joined her and chomped listlessly on the food, knowing he wasn’t being good company.
Once he’d begun wallowing in his grief again, aware of the blood having drained from his pallor, he neither had anything to say nor the voice to say it in. Sure, he could lose himself in the work of designing new technologies for medical advances. Alone with ideas in his extensively equipped home office, he could envision, create and problem-solve. But remaining emotionally consistent out in the world was a science he no longer had any aptitude for.
These last few days with Luna had been frightening. Because he’d vowed to never, ever rely on anyone again. Most definitely never risk a loss so great it would swallow him alive for a second time. And now investors and shareholders were involved in his personal business? Was it up to them to decide that he should date or remarry?
Most unexpectedly, Luna had pulled on his heartstrings. Her honesty, intelligence and humor had brought a light to his eyes that he thought had been extinguished forever. In the wee hours, when he imagined Amelia coming to console and advise him, he never told her phantom that he was too scared to let love back in. Because what if it was snatched away again, as she and their beautiful baby had been? There was too much uncertainty. He couldn’t make the leap of faith.
He did understand that his solitude wasn’t healthy for him. So he needed to get through this week with Luna and then perhaps he’d ask an attractive coworker to dinner in London. Not someone like Luna, though, who was summoning dangerous feelings—dangerous because they were real.
“You’re sad,” she said, as if she could sense his distance.
“I suppose.”
“That’s okay.” How gracious she was. Far more than he was.
What he didn’t want to say was that being honest was too hard. And, for that matter, too unfamiliar. He’d spent the better part of ten years in silence. Sure, there was the discussion with the housekeeper about the bedsheets. There were powwows with Tom and the other high-ranking staffers at AMgen. But it was always about the business at hand. Tom had long tried to reach out to him but Charlie had kept him at bay.
He’d seen the grief specialists after Amelia and Lily were killed. Whether they had done him any good he couldn’t say. Tragedy was tragedy. There was no silver lining, no looking on the bright side. Time didn’t heal the wounds. Every absurd clichéd phrase of comfort had meant absolutely zero to him. A shadow of a man, he’d marched forward nonetheless, one foot in front of the next. And now he had the next battle, to save himself from running AMgen into the ground.
He stared out to the hedge that enclosed the courtyard. The foliage reminded him of the memorial flower garden he’d planted on his estate. He’d installed a stone bench engraved with the names of his wife and daughter, to replace the white lawn chairs that had been there. With his gardener’s guidanc
e, Charlie had planted the flowers on his own. On hands and knees, he’d dug into the soil himself. Stayed at it for hours, day after day, until it was done. There had been some catharsis in that. The dirt under his fingernails at night was an exhibition of his grief. He’d chosen over a dozen varieties so that there would be blooms year-round.
It was a spot where Amelia had liked to sit. Even now, it was his favorite place on his grand, lonely property. He still went there to think. To read. Symbolically, it had become the place he felt loved. He suddenly wished he was within its safety right now. The vibrant colors of Puerto Rico, along with the equally vibrant woman before him, were too much to take. He may have made a mistake in agreeing to this week.
Although, he remembered, Madison’s policy was to donate a large amount of the fee she charged for her services to charities that her clients had chosen. That was one of the reasons she ran the M Dating Agency. There was at least that to make the week worthwhile. He decided to make an effort at conversation. Luna had gone to so much trouble for him with her movie-star routine. And he’d become nothing but grumpy. He asked, “What charity did you choose to have Madison donate to?”
She opened her mouth to answer and he immediately cut her off. Told her all about the memorial garden he’d planted for his family. “And I thought that perhaps because that was meaningful for me, it might be for a lot of people, as well. To have a perpetual garden to embody the everlasting love they feel for their departed.”
“That’s lovely.”
He took a couple of eager bites, noticing for the first time that he was hungry.
“But then I got to thinking,” he went on, “that not everyone has a piece of land that they can plant on. So I had the idea to buy small plots here and there and turn them into community memorials. Where people from a lane or village could work together, kids and seniors alike. To collectively nurture their memories.”
“How thoughtful.”
He forked a few more bites of succulent fish and washed them down with ice-cold beer. “I felt it would be very special to me if Madison could make her donation to the project. Even though it was my money, some of the gardens could be in her name. And since this week is meant to be a step forward for me, that would resonate and be something I’d remember.”
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