“Who were you going to choose?” Calynn asked. “Don’t you owe it to Sappho and Yvonne to give them at least that much satisfaction?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that. It would mean nothing, and only hurt two women I respect, two women I would like to call friends.”
“Do you mind telling us—who is Jemma?”
“Yes, tell us, Paul.” Beside her, Miriam’s tone was disappointed and angry. She had yet to connect her Jemma with Paul’s.
Jemma hardly dared to breathe as she waited for Paul’s response.
“I met her a couple of times, before Reservations for Two,” he said quietly. “But I came to know her during the production of the show.” He lifted one shoulder, ducked his chin. “I knew it was wrong, against the rules, to spend time with a crew member. She warned me, more than once, to stay away. That I was threatening her job by allowing my attraction for her to grow.”
And look where that got me, Jemma thought bitterly. Thrown out of the best job I’ve ever had, and trying to get back to normal while my heart bleeds out.
“But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stay away from her. She’s prickly and stubborn, but caring and compassionate. She’s independent to a fault, and refuses to be helped, even when she needs it.”
I need it now, Jemma cried silently. I need your help now. But I trusted you, and you betrayed me.
“What happened between you?” Calynn asked gently.
“I hurt her, very, very badly.”
“How?”
“I let her down when she depended on me.” Paul hesitated, thinning his lips. Silence hummed for a few seconds, and Calynn let it hang, as if sensing he wasn’t done yet. “The worst part of it is, I don’t know if I would change what I did, if the circumstances repeated themselves.”
“You would make the same decision again? You would choose to hurt her, again?”
“It was a matter of honesty. I chose not to lie about my feelings for her.”
“How could that hurt her?”
Paul smiled wryly. “It’s a long story.”
Calynn turned to Sappho. “What are your thoughts on this turn of events?”
The dark-haired woman lifted one shoulder. “I’m stunned. I knew I might not be Paul’s choice, but this...” She spread her hands out in a gesture of acceptance. “I hope it works out for you.”
“What about you, Yvonne?”
“I thought we had a connection, Paul. I thought...” Yvonne’s lips trembled and Jemma’s haze lifted enough for her to remember her jealous reaction during the soccer game Paul and the silvery-blonde had attended. Yvonne took a deep breath before continuing. “I guess it’s not to be. I hope this Jemma knows what a lucky woman she is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Paul’s head floated above his shoulders, as light and hollow as his stomach. He placed his feet carefully as he stepped down the hall to his dressing room, unsure of his balance. The hand turning the knob didn’t belong to him.
He’d asked Jemma to marry him. On national television.
That had soooo not been part of the plan.
The credits had run more than an hour ago. He’d spent the time since then explaining his actions to Sappho and Yvonne, to Calynn, to Benedict and Larrey and Lainie. He repeated he hadn’t meant to do it. Repeated it over and over.
But he had done it, and now all he could do was wait. If Jemma hadn’t watched it herself, someone would tell her about it. There was no way this could stay a secret. Twitter feeds and Facebook posts already jammed the web. Radio and television talk shows would pick it up.
He should call his family, give them fair warning.
He gathered the few personal belongings he’d scattered about the room during the last few months, stuffed them in a duffel he’d brought for the purpose. Closing the door behind him for the last time, he headed down the hall.
“Aren’t you coming to the party? It’s tradition after a show wraps.”
Lainie leaned against the wall of the hallway leading to Lawrence Larrey’s office. He approached her slowly. “I don’t think I’d be welcome.”
She squeezed the corners of her mouth and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Benedict says it was the best television he’s ever directed. Punchy, honest, unexpected.”
“I embarrassed two women I like.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“Faster if I don’t rub it in their faces by acting like nothing happened.”
He continued down the hallway, Lainie at his side. “I hope she says yes.”
Paul’s heart shuddered in his chest, blocking the breath in his lungs. “You do?”
They stopped at the exit. “You challenge her, won’t let her stay in the safe shell she’s built for herself. I think you’re good for her.”
“I don’t know if she’d agree with you. But thanks.” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is she doing okay? How’s Miriam?”
“They’re managing, that’s all I can say. She made me promise not to talk to you about her.”
It hurt like the devil she had cut him out of her life so completely. “I let her down, didn’t I?”
“Do you know about her grandfather and her mother?” Lainie asked.
He nodded.
“That’s amazing. She rarely talks about them.” She looked impressed. “Henry and Alice let her down much worse than you did. They’re the reason she’s carried so much responsibility for so long. I think she’s forgotten what it’s like to live joyfully.” Lainie regarded him, head tilted. “If you can convince her to give you another shot, you might be the person to teach her how to do that.”
The air trapped in his body whooshed out and he drew in another steadying breath. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He switched the duffel bag from his right to his left. “Thanks for everything.”
Instead of shaking his offered hand she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I knew as soon as I met you, you were a good man.” She patted his arm. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He gave a casual salute and pushed open the panic bar.
It wasn’t raining at the moment, but the ground was wet and the air soft with humidity. Dampness settled on his skin. Vehicles filled the lot. Most of the cast and crew were celebrating at the wrap-up party currently rocking the sound stage. Even those women eliminated before the finale had returned for the bash.
The hard soles of his shoes echoed on the pavement. He beeped the locks on the Murano, opened the rear door and tossed in his bag.
“So now what?”
His heart trampolined into his throat. Jemma stepped out of the shadows. Radiance from the light above streamed on her dark hair, spangling it with stars. He was speechless with hope, with fear.
“That was quite the finale.” She strolled toward him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her black jeans, hips thrust forward, spine curved insolently. She stopped inches away and stared at him. “Miriam was furious with you for not choosing Sappho. Until she realized you’d proposed to me.”
Paul found his voice. “How is she?”
“As well as can be expected.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The unusual blue of her eyes, the fascinating jewel in her nostril. Her hair was longer than he remembered, brushing the sharp edge of her chin, and the normally vibrant tips of her bangs had faded.
“Why are you here, Jemma?”
She cocked her chin. “You asked me a question. I came to give you my answer.”
She breathed shallowly, and yet Paul’s comforting, tantalizing scent teased her through the freshly washed air. She yearned to launch herself into his arms, let his strength and caring wrap around her.
Instead, she fisted her hands deeper into her pockets and leaned against the car.
“So you saw the show.” He watched her warily, eyes narrowed. Good. She wanted him off balance, uncertain. See how he liked it.
“Uh-huh.”
An uneasy silence tightene
d the air between them.
He cleared his throat, shuffled from one foot to the other. She was making him nervous. Even better.
She wanted to be angry at him. But she was too hurt, too confused, to be angry. It was all jumbled inside her, a boiling stew too complex to sort out.
“Did you think it would be romantic? Being proposed to on national television?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to do it. Did you watch the whole...right to the end?”
“Yes.” She’d been frozen in place, unable to look away from the screen, pierced with regret and frustration and embarrassment.
“Then you heard what I said. I meant to propose to one of them. It was what I’d signed on for, what was expected of me. But I couldn’t. I tried to convince myself it was make-believe, a show for the viewers, but when it came right down to it, I couldn’t do it.”
“So you decided to propose to me?”
“I love you. For me, that means marriage.”
She’d told him the truth when she’d said she never wanted to get married. Why did she now wish she hadn’t been so adamant? She shied away from the confusing doubt. “Does it make you feel like a big man, like a VIP? Being so honest”—she couldn’t help the sour sarcasm tainting the word—“so right all the time? You can’t even tell a white lie to avoid hurting someone.”
“I can’t pick and choose when to be honest, when to do what’s right,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, you were hurt by what I did.”
“All you had to do was keep quiet, and I would still have my job,” she burst out, “a good, clean job that paid better than any I’d ever had before. I’d be able to keep Miriam at home, with a caretaker she liked, instead of having to bring her to adult daycare and leave her there crying. Every day, Paul. Every day, she cries. But I can’t afford anything else. Because of—” She stopped.
“Because of me.” She nodded.
“I won’t keep apologizing. I love you. I don’t regret that.”
She closed her eyes, tilted her head against the window. Cool glass felt fresh against her scalp. “Why?”
“Why what?”
She opened her eyes. The light glowed brilliantly above her, overpowering the stars. “Why do you love me?”
The car shifted on its springs as Paul leaned against it. She wore a thin nylon jacket. The heat of his arm seeped through it.
“I don’t know.”
Oddly enough, the statement soothed her. If compliments had rolled off his tongue she wouldn’t have believed him. Instead, his disgruntled tone eased her anxiety. She stared at the sky, waiting.
“You call to me. I don’t know how to describe it. We’re not identical, but we’re not opposites, either. For me, it’s like we’re...” He paused, huffing out a breath. “It’s like we’re randomly shaped puzzle pieces that fit together to make a perfect circle. It’s like there was a place in my heart reserved for you. Reserved only for you.”
She launched herself off the car, stalked away, and whirled to face him. “If we’re such a perfect fit, why don’t you understand me better?”
His eyes were shadowed under his deep brows. “I want to understand you. But how can I, when you insist on keeping me at a distance?”
“I don’t have time for a relationship. I have Miriam to think of.”
“And I respect you for that. I simply don’t understand why it has to be one or the other. Why you have to do it by yourself.”
“Because the only person I can trust is myself.”
“You can trust me.”
“I can’t,” she said flatly. “You proved that the day I was fired.”
He straightened off the car, crossed his arms over his chest. “Jemma...” An edge of anger tinged the single word.
“No,” she said. She’d talked long enough. It was time to put an end to it. An end to dreams, to possibilities.
“No, what?” he asked.
“That’s my answer. To your question.” Added, so there could be no possible misunderstanding, “I won’t marry you, Paul.”
She didn’t give him a chance to reply, simply strode to her car and drove away, the whining growl of the ancient engine fading into the night.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there after Jemma left. He was stunned, empty, drained. Everything was screwed up, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
The misty dampness thickened into rain. He lowered himself into the driver’s seat and pulled out his cell phone. Ignoring the missed calls and text message notifications filling the screen, he dialed.
Daniel answered on the first ring. “What the hell were you thinking, man?”
“I gather you watched the show.”
“Mom and Titia Beatriz are beside themselves. They don’t know whether to slaughter you or demand you bring Jemma to brunch on Sunday.”
“She said no.”
“Huh?”
Paul leaned his head on the steering wheel. “She was waiting in the parking lot when I came out. She said no.”
Daniel whistled softly. “Dammit, man. I’m sorry.
Is there anything I can do?”
“Meet me at the restaurant?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Paul plopped his glass on the table, sloshing whiskey over the side. He peered at Daniel, sitting across from him.
“I’m better off without her.” He tapped a finger against his temple and almost poked himself in the eye. “Who needs a woman like her, anyway?”
“Not you,” Daniel answered obligingly.
“Damn right, not me. I have all this.” He gestured at the empty restaurant, forcing Daniel to rescue the bottle from one dangerously waving arm. “I have my business, my family. Who needs a snarky, hard-headed woman?” He frowned.
“I know something else you don’t need.” Daniel slid the glass away. “You never did have a head for liquor. Let me take you home.”
“I don’t wanna go home. There’s no one there but me.”
“Now you’re getting soppy.” Daniel gripped his bicep. “Come on, up you get.”
The floor tilted when Paul stood. He draped an arm over Daniel’s shoulder as he guided him out.
Daniel opened the passenger door of the Murano and Paul dropped onto the seat. Daniel climbed in the driver’s side.
“You know what else?” Paul took three stabs at the seatbelt clasp before it clicked.
“What?” Daniel paused, key in the ignition.
“I love her.”
“I know, bud. I know.”
Jemma moved through the next few days as if operating via remote. Each morning she brought Miriam to the seniors’ centre. She still cried when Jemma left her, but sometimes now, when Jemma arrived to pick her up, she would be taking part in a craft activity, or working on a puzzle with others. Jemma was thankful for that small step—it made her days scrubbing toilets and laundering sheets easier to bear.
She was also thankful she hadn’t run into Grace again. Meeting Paul’s sister after his humiliating proposal was an event she devoutly wished to avoid.
The proposal was the talk of the city. In grocery line ups, waiting for the bus, on the radio and television—everyone was wondering “Who is Jemma?” Thank God he hadn’t mentioned her last name.
She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the papers scattered on the kitchen table, then hunched over one more time to double check the total on the spreadsheet open on her laptop. Cleaning hotel rooms didn’t pay as well as serving had done—and nowhere near as well as her salary on Reservations for Two—but they were getting by. Once she had her feet back under her, gathered her energy, she would start looking for another job. Again. Until then, as long as no pianos fell from the sky, she and Miriam should be okay.
Or as okay as she could be when part of her was missing.
She shook her head, setting her long bangs swinging. It was no use thinking that way. She had to put Paul behind her. It was over. She couldn’t have made it any plainer. He obviously believe
d her because he hadn’t attempted to contact her since the fiasco of a finale had aired. She would start feeling better now that chapter had closed.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.
She still longed to see him, talk with him, touch him. It didn’t matter how often her head told her refusing him was the right thing, the only thing to do. Her heart refused to believe it could go on without him.
She should clear up, go to bed. Miriam had been tucked away for a couple of hours already. This was the only time Jemma could relax, the hours between Miriam going to sleep and falling into bed herself. Otherwise she was always on guard. She slept lightly, tuned to the sounds of Miriam getting up and leaving the apartment. Exhaustion dragged at her constantly.
She was so tired of doing it on her own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jemma stripped wrinkled, sweat-stained sheets off the bed and stuffed them into the housekeeping cart. The fresh sheets weren’t much better—too many washes in too strong a detergent had thinned the material, and the once-white crispness had dulled to grey.
Her new boss didn’t believe too much in the health and safety of her workers. After the first day Jemma had splurged on a box of latex gloves. At least they gave her a modicum of protection. She’d thought about investing in filter masks, too, but had decided tying a bandanna over her mouth and nose would have to do.
She was scrubbing the toilet, futilely trying to remove decades of rust stains, when the phone in her pocket vibrated. Jemma didn’t consider her cell a luxury—Miriam’s condition made it a necessity.
She stripped off her gloves and checked the screen.
The text was from Lainie.
I know you’re mad at me. I’m going to call you in a minute. Please, please answer the phone. It’s important.
She so wasn’t in the mood for another haranguing. Lainie had nattered at her for hours the night before, trying to convince her to meet with Paul. Jemma had given up explaining her reasons for not doing so, and sat mute until Lainie threw up her hands in frustration.
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