Before A Perfect World: Movie Trilogy, Book Two (The Movie Trilogy)

by Kimberly Stedronsky

  “Can I just say that I love you?” Jenn crooned, utterly enchanted as she fawned over us both. “Keaton, the suit. So charming. You’re both as sweet as you are entertaining, and I wish you all the success in the world for Round-Up. And congratulations,” she added with a conspiratorial whisper, gesturing to my stomach. She pretended to hide her words as though she hadn’t just recorded our entire dialogue over the last five minutes.

  “Thank you,” I called as Keaton led me into the ballroom. The Sundance Charity Ball was in full swing, and I huddled close to him.

  “Was I okay?” I begged, under my breath.

  “You are perfection.” He turned to touch my chin with his fingertips, tilting my face to his kiss. “Are you ready?”

  Before I could answer him, I froze.

  As though the world around me suddenly came into focus, my gaze fell on a woman.

  “Look at me.”

  Was it her?

  “Vivian.”

  Oh. My. God. Julia. Roberts.

  “Vivian.”

  “Keaton, I’m going to scream. It’s her. I think it’s her. I can’t believe she’s here. Oh my God. Oh God.”

  “Hey,” he said tightly, stepping in front of me to block my view. “You are going to meet a lot of celebrities tonight. Be gracious, but mature. Smile. Let them talk. Understand?”

  I could only nod.

  “Tonight is about getting your face out there, not making best friends with Julia Roberts. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The band played louder suddenly, as if to draw people to the ballroom.

  “So, you’re publicly admitting to sleeping with me?”

  I looked up at him, accepting his hand again with a slow grin. “It makes me feel so proud, knowing how much you love me.”

  He smiled that adorable, crooked smirk that reminded me of the first time I’d ever laid eyes on him in the video store.

  “I love how much you care about me. In every word you say, in everything you do. I’m not used to that.” His words, so heartfelt and sincere, brought out the burgeoning maternal instincts inside of me.

  “Of course I care about you. I love you, Keaton.”

  He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and swaying with me to the music. As his hand flattened over our baby, I turned my face into his kiss.

  “Everything feels perfect. With you in my arms, I have this little, perfect world. I don’t want you to be afraid, V. I’m going to protect our family.”

  “A perfect world,” I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder and swaying with him to the music. “I hope it lasts forever.”

  He pressed his lips to my temple. “It will.”

  I danced in his arms for most of the night, doing exactly as he said as I met celebrity after celebrity. I smiled, I shook their hands, and I let them talk.

  And apparently, I was charming the hell out of everyone.

  Keaton’s idea to wear a suit and the fact that my dress reminded me of senior prom prompted the band to begin playing “Almost Paradise” from Footloose. A spotlight fell on us as the crowd clapped with laughter.

  “You are the queen of this prom,” Keaton teased, his breath warm on my ear. “I’m so knocking you up later.”

  I pulled away and giggled, flushing at his silly words. “Too late, director.”

  He grinned, his shoulders shaking with laughter. I could feel his happiness; it was palpable, real. The way he smiled, the way he held me, everything told me that he was exactly where he wanted to be at that moment in his life.

  And then he told me.

  Every word he whispered against my ear was filled with genuine honesty.

  “It only took me twenty-seven years to find where I belonged.”

  He kissed me then, the kind of kiss that I wished that I could duplicate on our wedding day.

  As the evening turned into night, he caught me covering a yawn. We sat just inside the doorway, on a red, velvet bench near the ballroom entrance. “Come on, V, let’s get you home.”

  “I don’t want this night to end.”

  “There will be so many more nights like this.”

  I realized then, as a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes passed, that he hadn’t touched another drink since the limo. “Okay. If you promise.”

  “I promise. And you know I don’t break my promises.”

  I smiled, and we left and climbed into the limo together. As the bodyguards flanked us on either side, I realized that I’d almost forgotten the terrible murders and how scared I’d been all day.

  “Miss Hale. Mr. Thane,” the driver greeted us formally, holding the door for us.

  I slid over the butter-soft leather seats, reaching for my bag that I’d left behind. Keaton had gotten me a small, matching clutch to go with the gown, and my old purse from JC Penney, compliments of my Gram’s fifty percent off coupon, was stuffed in the back of the limo. “Can you grab me a bottle of water? I have little headache, and I know I have some Tylenol in here.”

  “How little?” he asked immediately, reaching for a bottle from the bar.

  I sensed his concern immediately. “Miniscule. Practically non-existent.”

  “You’d tell me the truth, right?”

  “Yes,” I assured him, jerking as my finger edged along a piece of paper from inside my purse. I pulled my hand away, narrowing my eyes at the droplet of blood on my fingertip. “Ouch. Damn it. What is this?”

  I unfolded the piece of paper, the strip of lights inside the limo casting shadows over the dark, scrawling words.

  “What is that? What…?” Keaton took the paper from my hand.

  My eyes focused on the three sentences

  He will pay.

  He will suffer.

  He will cry.

  Tension

  K

  The three days between the ball and our flight to Utah were the longest three days of my life.

  After Vivian had discovered the fucking threatening, ominous bullshit letter, she’d frozen up, barely speaking to me or anyone else.

  The FBI had practically spent the night at our apartment, and the letter was now in their possession.

  We had police protection, twenty-four seven, and our apartment, my office, and the studio were under constant surveillance.

  The first day she’d spent reading through the script, and I had to convince her to take breaks and eat every so often. The second day, once we discovered that the FBI was watching both her family and mine, she stayed in bed nearly all day, curled on her side, alternating between sleep and awake.

  By the third day, the morning we were supposed to leave for the airport, I’d had enough.

  “You know, we’re about to be on location. On the set. In less than twelve hours.”

  She lifted her eyes from her suitcase, as if suddenly realizing that I was standing across from her. “I know.”

  “Is this a thing you do? When you’re scared?”

  “What?” She stared at me blankly.

  “You know, go all One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest catatonic. Admittedly, the dead-eyed stare is attractive. Makes me wonder if I might be into necrophilia.”

  She cringed, but I didn’t manage to coax a smile from her. “I’m just… thinking.”

  “For three days? No one thinks for three fucking days.”

  “I do.”

  “Look, this introspective, vague, emo thing that you’re doing isn’t working for me. At all. Talk.”

  “It’s just how I am, Keaton! When I’m sad, or scared, I just need space!”

  “Space?” I dropped my hands to my hips, narrowing my eyes at her. “I know you well enough to know that space is usually a precursor to you running away from your problems.”

  “I’m not running away.”

  “Do you want to call him?”

  She looked at me blankly. “Him?” she repeated, her eyes narrowed.

  “Him. The teacher. Peter fucking Parker.”

  She shook her head, rolli
ng her eyes at my glasses joke and turning away from me. “No! Am I worried about our families? Yes. Do I care about his safety? Of course I do!”

  “He keeps calling you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too bad.”

  She turned her fiery gaze on me. “Who in the fuck do you think you’re talking to? You don’t own me, Keaton. You may feel like you marched into my fucking factory in your perfect Navy uniform and ‘carried me off into the sunset,’ but you didn’t. I was my own person when you found me, and I still am. Me loving you doesn’t mean ownership. It means partnership.”

  I dropped my arms to my sides, taking a step toward her.

  She held her ground, keeping her eyes focused on mine.

  “First, fuck your air quotes,” I replied smoothly. “Points for the An Officer and a Gentleman reference. And as far as me owning you…”

  I backed her up to the bed, and she took a trembling breath.

  “Don’t,” she protested weakly.

  “I own what I do to you. How I make you feel. I own the way that you respond to me. That belongs to me. You belong to me, V. If you want me to cater to your moodiness, I will. But I won’t like it, and I’m not shy about letting you know.”

  I reached for the waist of her jeans, tugging her to me. When my hand pulled too easily, I looked down, lifting the base of her t-shirt.

  She’d taken a rubber band, somehow looping it through the buttonhole of her jeans to add an extra half an inch.

  “I don’t think I’m showing,” she began shakily, “but it’s just uncomfortable around my waist. It’s too chilly today for a dress.”

  I shook my head, narrowing my eyes and dropping my forehead to hers. “Vivian, do you know what my net worth is?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This is a quick and arrogant change in subject. No, please enlighten me.”

  “I’m not being arrogant. You’ve agreed to marry me. Like you said, that is a partnership. A legal partnership. Now, listen to me.”

  She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m listening, Keaton.”

  “Good.” I took a step closer, as far into her personal space as I could get without kissing the fuck out of her pouty little mouth. “I’m worth approximately eight million dollars, with all said and done after my divorce. That is four million less than two years ago. It’s half as much as I plan to be worth by next year at this time.”

  I saw her swallow, her eyes misting over.

  “Are you asking me for a prenuptial agreement?” she asked softly.

  “No, I’m not asking you to sign a prenuptial agreement, regardless of what my lawyers are begging me to do.” I tugged at her makeshift waistband. “I’m asking you to let me take care of you. Let me hear what you’ve been thinking about for three long, miserable days. And let me buy you a pair of jeans that fucking fit, goddamnit.”

  Her chin quivered, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

  “Okay?”

  She nodded quickly, her hands trembling as she reached for her hair.

  “Okay.”

  “Talk, kiddo.”

  “I’m afraid. For my parents. For Matthew. If anything happened to them, my heart would break. Again. And if anything happened to me, or the baby,” she gasped, forcing the tears away, “or you Keaton… I’m so afraid to think about losing you… this maniac is after you, and I… I love you,” she cried, finally breaking down.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice even, calming. “Come here.”

  She folded into my arms, her grip on my shoulders almost bruising. “I can be myself with you. You’ve become the first person that I want to see every morning. The only one I want to tell my secrets to. I trust you. I trust you not to lie to me, or hurt me, or give up on me. You accept me for who I am, even when I’m stupid, or mean, and I can’t lose you,” she sobbed.

  “V,” I breathed, smoothing my hand over her back. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m in love with your stupid, mean ass. Oh, and you forgot overly dramatic.”

  “You make jokes, but people are dying, Keaton,” she burst angrily.

  “We’re not dealing with some idiot on a rampage,” I countered. “He’s meticulous, and he plans shit out. Which makes him easier to find, and a faster fuck-up. Have you never seen one episode of CSI? He’s going to jerk off on the wrong crime scene, they’ll pull DNA, and he’s finished. It’s only a matter of time.”

  She took a steadying breath, pulling away to look up at me. Her eyes were a watery sea of blue and green, and I brushed my thumb against a wayward tear on her cheek.

  “Keaton,” she began. “I think, for the press, we should break up.”

  I froze, narrowing my eyes. “What?”

  “Listen. Just hear me out. And I’ve already run this past Emmet, and he’s agreed.”

  “Okay, so you lay in bed ignoring me for three days but called my PR guy?”

  “For the press only. We break up. Cause all kinds of drama, fire up the tabloids. It only adds to the publicity for the movie, right?”

  I stepped back, crossing my arms. “And things remain the same, behind the scenes.”

  “Yes, of course,” she went on. “And you have to make it seem like it was your idea.”

  “So the killer will think that you don’t matter to me. Shifting the focus away from you.” I tried to think through all possible scenarios, and she nodded quickly.

  “I hate how selfish this feels, like it’s only about me, but-”

  “No, it’s not selfish, and you’re right.” I let myself be serious for a moment, resting my hands at her waist. “If putting on a show means drawing his attention away from you, then I’ll do it.”

  “I was so stupid to announce that I was pregnant at the ball,” she admitted, her eyes pleading. “And if you do this, it’s going to make the world think that you’re a giant asshole. I hate that. But we can come out with the real story when it’s all over… when they catch him. If they catch him.”

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks, as long as you’re safe.”

  “We have to keep the set very secure,” she went on. “Emmet said the paparazzi will catch us, even when we think we’re completely alone. But I’m still sleeping with you every night, no matter what.”

  “I’ll make it work. There are some tents, some tunnels that we can set up to mask the trailer entrances.” I considered her idea for a long moment. “I’ll be so busy on the set, anyway, we won’t have much time off-line to begin with. As long as I can see you at all times, I’m okay with this.”

  “Emmet thought you would be.”

  “It sounds like you two make a good team. You should let him take you shoe shopping. He’s got great taste, and I’m so fucking sick of seeing you in flip-flops.”

  She paused, and then broke into a tearful giggle, shaking her head at me. “Keaton!”

  “What? Again. I have millions of dollars. Let’s cover those toes, kiddo.”

  She sighed deeply, looking down at her feet. “They’re swollen.”

  “What?”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the throat.

  “Just a little…”

  Dropping to my knees, I reached for her calf, and she stumbled, falling back to the bed. “For how long?”

  “Keaton, it’s okay-”

  “It’s not okay. I’m not waiting another week for your next appointment. Get your ugly flip-flops on, we’re going.”

  I expected her to argue, but instead, she reached for her sweater, nodding.

  “Give me a minute.”

  I waited impatiently while she used the bathroom and washed her face. Thankful that I’d arranged to have my Audi driven home a week ago, I grabbed the keys. Rushing out the door with her, I nearly smacked right into the police officer in the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” he asked. I growled under my breath, gesturing to Vivian’s stomach.

  “Doctor. You want to follow? I’m leaving now.”

  He nodded, moving slightly to t
alk into his earpiece. Ignoring him, I charged to the elevator.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Vivian assured me gently. “I keep thinking we’re overreacting, but then I… remember…”

  “Don’t think about it,” I ordered, jabbing the button for the ground floor.

  …

  Two hours later, we were on the receiving end of a lecture about keeping a “peaceful aura.”

  “Remember, your uterus is growing, and to compensate, blood flow must increase. Have you read the book that I recommended? Deep Breathing, Logical Thinking?” Dr. Grey encouraged, handing Vivian a small Hermes bag. She reached inside, pulling a blue scarf from the tissue paper nest. “I saw this and thought of your worried eyes, Vivian. Wear this, and when you become anxious, lift the scarf to dangle in front of your lips. If the scarf does not move, then you are not breathing deeply enough.”

  “Thank you,” Vivian replied tentatively, sending me a sideways glance.

  “Great. I’ll take the scarf and an ultrasound to go,” I said, pointing at the door. “Hook her up. I’m not putting her on a plane until I see my baby.”

  Dr. Grey gave a small nod, obviously struggling with patience. “Of course.”

  Two more hours later, Vivian sat between me and the window, running her finger over the thin ultrasound snapshot. “Perfect. Nothing wrong. And growing,” she murmured.

  “We make beautiful fetuses,” I agreed, and she chuckled, dropping her head to my shoulder.

  “Look at her profile. She looks like you,” she said, handing me the picture. “Her nose is crooked.”

  “That’s not her nose.”

  “What do you mean? Yes it is, right here.”

  “That’s her big mouth. Like her mother.”

  “I can’t wait to break up with you in public.”

  I laughed, leaning to kiss her thoroughly. “I guess I’d better work on my acting skills.”

  “Hmm.” She tucked her hand over my thigh, curling closer to my side. “Well, I’ve got some notes for you, too,” she taunted.

  “Fair enough,” I replied, settling back against my seat.

  The flight was less than two hours. When we landed in Ogden, Frank and a police officer were already waiting to escort us to the set. “You kids look beat. Salter’s already on the set.”