Close Match Page 22

  “You don’t get to come in here and take out your frustration on me.” Still, on her toes, she goes to spin away, but I catch her around her waist. “This isn’t a pas de deux, Montague,” she grits out.

  “No, it’s an apology.” She’s rigid beneath my hands for several heartbeats before she lowers herself down to her heels and steps back. My hands drop.

  “Fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few hours of work left before I can call it a day.” She lifts her leg in a perfect P while rising on the other foot unaided.

  “Hours?” It seems incomprehensible the delicately boned woman in front of me punishes her body like this day after day.

  She shrugs before beginning the same exercises on the other foot. “I’m going easy on myself.”

  Suddenly her cell phone rings with an incoming FaceTime. “Excuse me.” Her feet angled outward, she dashes over and picks up the phone. Her face illuminates when she answers. “Marco!”

  “Mon petit oiseau chanteur,” comes a lightly accented voice from the other end of the line. “You are well?”

  “Well enough.” And then she gives him my dimples. An unreasonable irritation starts to form. I lean against the wall, blatantly listening. “How’s New York?”

  “Dimly lit without you, Linnie. Your former la chorégraphie was in my club last night. She was asking if I’d seen you since the incident at the Waldorf. She was quite…flustered…when I told her I don’t discuss my family.”

  Linnie snorts. “Veronica was trying to get gossip about me from you? What a joke.”

  “I know, chérie.” They both laugh. I want to move, to give her the privacy she deserves, but I can’t force my legs to work. The tone of this man implies a long intimacy with the woman I’m developing feelings for. And as much as I want to despise him for that alone, I applaud his protectiveness of her.

  Linnie clucks in mock sympathy. “Did she screech when you escorted her out?” As if such behavior would automatically earn such retribution from the man on the other line.

  “It was loud, yes. I still have ringing in my ears where I should only hear your lovely voice. When are you coming home?”

  “Christmas, maybe,” she says. I blink in surprise. The last I heard she was going to ask her sister how she felt about spending the holiday here depending on what her doctor said about her due date.

  “I thought—”

  Linnie shakes her head with a glance in my direction. “Not now, Marco.”

  “Very well. I’m sure we’ll talk later. Just let me know if I need to cancel my plans.”

  “I will. À bientôt, mon ami,” Linnie concludes.

  “À bientôt,” Marco blips off. Linnie holds her phone for another moment before I step back in front of her to regain her attention.

  “Why don’t we go out to dinner and talk?” I say quietly. Her nostrils flare. Just as her mouth opens, I add, “We can run to Target and pick up a few things that you might want to get for Lorrie. You were right, and I’m sorry.”

  Her shoulders slump, and I press my advantage. “There’s a great hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint that will feed you enough food for five days near Target,” I encourage her gently.

  “Go away, Monty.” She turns her back to me to put her phone on the counter. I remain planted where I am, waiting for her decision. “If I’m going to eat my body weight in Mexican later, I need to work out for at least another two hours. No distractions.” She turns and gives me a mock glare, but the spark is again back in her eyes.

  I’m not forgiven for storming in here like a braying jackass, but I’ll work on redeeming myself over dinner.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” I head toward the door when she calls my name. “Yeah?”

  “Marco’s my brother-in-law—Simon’s brother. We’re affectionate, and he’s very protective, but that’s all there’s ever been.” I turn and head back in her direction.

  “You didn’t need to tell me that.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” She bites her lower lip. “You didn’t ask. And I’d wonder if the shoe was on the other foot. Especially after our kiss.”

  Lifting a hand to cup her cheek, I murmur, “I don’t know how you make a living as an actress.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t play games with people I care about.”

  Thank God for that. Leaning down, I nuzzle her nose. If I kiss her now, she’ll never get her workout in. “Two hours, okay?”

  Her dimples pop out as does her smile.

  And this time they’re all mine.

  Forty-One

  Evangeline

  “Long intimate walks down the aisles of Target. My perfect date.” I smile winningly at Monty, who looks like he’s ready to weave the hair accessories together to form a noose.

  “So, El Tio was a bust, but hair accessories does it for you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” I laugh at the disgruntled look on his face. “This is just more fun.”

  “Says you.”

  “Says any woman who doesn’t have easy access to one of the greatest stores ever created.”

  He stops dead in his tracks, rattling together some of the items in our cart. We came in for hair products for Lorrie, and somehow, we’ve almost managed to fill a cart. “I don’t understand. You live near Saks, yet Target is the greatest store in the world?”

  “Listen, at one time it was possible to get McQueen and Jean Paul Gaultier at Target. It is, however, not, possible to get Kind bars, Starbucks, and Goody hair ties at Saks,” I declare triumphantly.

  Monty opens and closes his mouth repeatedly before throwing up his hands. I’m about to launch into a more man-friendly explanation when I see the mecca of all Target shoppers.

  The end cap. The sale items of all sale items. It calls to me like diamonds call to some women.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I say faintly.

  “Linnie? Are you okay?”

  “I…I don’t know yet. Give me a moment…holy shit! They have Essie nail polish on sale! Bring the cart, Monty! Quick!”

  He approaches me slowly. “I’m scared. I’m telling you this because I want you to know if I go running out to the car in fear and leave you stranded, I need to make sure you have Ev’s number so you can get back to the house.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stomp over and snatch the cart out of his hands. “Stop being such a man and get your ass over here. They only have six left.”

  “Only six. Right.”

  After I precariously pile the nail polish in the cart, I let out a sigh of happiness. “This is the best date ever.”

  “Well, if that’s the case…” He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me before lowering his lips down onto mine.

  I’ve never kissed a man while laughing. We’re grinning into each other’s mouths so huge we can’t even do it right. But just like this date, it’s fantastic. I shove to the back of my mind the margarita Monty drank with dinner. He’s a big enough guy that by the time we’re done shopping he should be good to drive. The taste of Mexican on him is delicious though.

  Echoing some of my thoughts, he whispers, “I’ve never laughed during a kiss.”

  “Me neither.”

  Putting another gentle one across my lips, he breathes against my lips. “There’s another sale rack two aisles over. Go for it, baby.”

  My heartbeat picks up in anticipation. I’m just not sure if that’s because of what Monty said or what he did.

  After all, accepting me for being me is a pretty huge deal.

  Forty-Two

  Montague

  Long after we get home, I step out onto the balcony off my deck. Only wanting a breath of fresh air, I didn’t expect to hear the deep breathing of someone trying to rein in their emotions.

  Leaning over the edge, I call out, “Linnie, are you okay?”

  There’s a muffled gasp in the dark. “I’m here if you want to talk,” I offer. “Sometimes, it helps to get things out.” And ma
ybe one day I should listen to my own advice. I shove the thought aside.

  “Is that personal experience talking?”

  I admit, “Yeah.”

  “Will you tell me?” The thought of putting the horrifying images of my last case into her head appalls me, so I hedge.

  “What I can.”

  There’s silence from the other balcony. I can hear the soft nicker of the horses in the distance before she starts talking. “I don’t know. I was just feeling lonely because I couldn’t talk to my mom about tonight. I mean, I called Bristol, but she’s in baby mode. Mom? She’d have loved hearing about every detail. There are so few people I’m able to trust deep down. It’s weird that I find it’s here I get to be just Linnie, when I never have before. To protect myself, I built my life keeping people at a distance.”

  “That must have been incredibly lonely,” I think aloud.

  “Am I allowed to say yes to that when it was by my choice?”

  “I don’t know. But I wonder if Ev ever feels like that.”

  “I never thought of talking to…”

  “Your father?”

  “Yeah.” The nights are getting cold. I shiver despite the sweater I’m wearing. Her next words surprise me. “I was so afraid to come here.”

  “Why?” I lean over the edge.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t be accepted.”

  “If you think you were worried, you should have seen Ev.” Her soft chuckle warms me. “What did you mean when you said this was the first time you got to be just Linnie?”

  I hear a chair scrape back. Then I hear the soles of Linnie’s shoes as she approaches the railing closest to where I’m standing.

  “I’ve been to parties where I’ve worn jewelry worth more than people’s homes. I’ve danced in dresses that cost more than their cars. And the person people want to talk to is Evangeline, not Linnie. Their interest in me extends to how I can help boost their career. The funeral for my mother was a spectacle—I mean a true media circus. Only a small handful of us care that she’s gone.” I can hear her exhale across the feet of darkness shrouding us.

  “For well over a year, it was speculated I was having an affair with my male lead.” Before I can ask, she adds dryly, “Even if Simon and I weren’t the closest of friends, my sister would have killed me since he’s her husband, father of her child, and the love of her life. They wouldn’t care about redone barns, or a little girl’s hair. Is any of this making sense?”

  “Not really.”

  “I was always too busy chasing the next spotlight. I thought if I earned enough awards, I could substitute them in place for my father’s lack of love for me when there’s no substitute for that. So, I’m angry right now, Monty. Maybe I could have had all of this for fucking years. And I’m upset because I’m angry with my dead mother who I loved more than anyone in the world.” Bewildered, she asks, “How am I supposed to handle that?”

  “Not easily,” I admit.

  “The week before she died, my mother reminded me of something I’ll always have in my memory. ‘Look beyond the lights of the stage.’ She used to say it to me all the time. It was her way of reminding me there was life beyond the theater.” The air goes still for a moment before her voice penetrates it again. “I guess we all have versions of ourselves we show to the world.”

  “I would agree,” I tell her gently. But in my mind, I’m thinking of the nightmares, the unraveling, the excuses I give myself for my nocturnal behavior.

  “Yeah.”

  The night cloaks us, so it gives me the courage to ask something I’ve been curious about. “Do you think she was meant to be with Ev or your father?”

  “Neither. She was meant to sing to the heavens, dance for the angels, be worshiped in the arms of strangers. She was supposed to be everyone’s best friend, no one’s worst enemy, and could do it all as easily as I breathe. She would have been horrible for Ev whereas Char is his perfect match,” Linnie tells me firmly.

  “You sound certain about that.”

  “I am. For me, it’s a job I’m damn good at, but since I’ve been here, I realized I want more from life than a game of empty spotlights and faces I can’t see beyond the edge of them. I want to know the people whose lives I touch.” I don’t know if it’s the darkness that enshrouds us, but she admits, “I fear I was becoming a diva in the truest sense of the word. I’m not like that.”

  “You’re not?” My voice is mocking as I think back to our early meeting at Georgia Browns where she meticulously ordered her drink.

  She makes a scoffing noise.

  “All I’m saying is they made a movie about a woman who ordered just like that. It’s called When Harry Met Sally.”

  Linnie’s giggle twinkles into the night.

  “This wasn’t what I was expecting when I came out here,” she murmurs once she’s gotten herself under control.

  “No?”

  “I figured I’d cry, be angry for a while under the stars. Then I figured I’d go to bed and do more of the same.”

  “Schedules suck.”

  “Says the man who’s changed mine so I’m running before breakfast.”

  “Those hills are easier to conquer earlier in the morning.”

  “Ah, so that’s the trick.”

  “No, the trick is to run them more often.” Her infectious laughter lights up the night between us before the silence lapses again.

  “Monty?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did I say thank you?”

  “For what?”

  “For not looking me up the minute you knew who I was. That…it meant something to me.” Her voice is hesitant.

  “I caught on to that. The media doesn’t like you?”

  “In general, no. But I’m more than that. I…I want you to know that from me.”

  I’m fighting a war with myself because I already know she’s more than just the acclaimed Broadway actress. That’s not the problem. The real issue is that she’s also digging her way deep into my heart.

  “I promise. I’ll wait to learn what I need to from you.”

  Her heartfelt words almost feel like a touch on my skin.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  After saying good night to Linnie, I go back inside. Stripping out of my clothes, I turn on the shower while I stare at my reflection over the mirror. I turn away when I see what I always do: an unworthy man who looks beat to shit. Now, I can see a new layer of guilt on top of all the others that were seeping into my skin, making me look years older than I actually am. An already complicated situation just became more so with Linnie Brogan’s arrival.

  I’m lying to a woman I’m beginning to deeply care for.

  I’ve got to figure out a way to get Ev to tell her and soon. These might be the last few months of his life. I can’t screw anything up by not honoring the promise I made to him. The problem is the closer I get to Linnie, the more I’m betraying her.

  Stepping into the shower, I duck my head under the spray, wishing the water sluicing over me would drown me in wisdom. Instead, all it does is makes me ache for the weight of my mind to be lifted. I could follow my gut, which is pointing me to protect the woman right next door, not the man one floor up and across the other side of the house.

  Forty-Three

  Evangeline

  Chaos reigns at breakfast the next morning. There are two entirely different conversations going on at very high volumes. My father and Monty are arguing about baseball. Across the room, Char is on the phone discussing an upcoming 5K for the American Cancer Society being held in downtown DC that is sure to muck up traffic.

  I’m grinning when Ev catches my eye and winks. “Typical,” he mouths at me.

  “Fun,” I mouth back right before the knife I’m using to slice up some fresh strawberries slips and catches me across two fingers. “Shit!” I cry out in pain. Throwing the knife so I don’t ruin breakfast, I pull my bloody hand away. Char, hearing me cry out, spins around. Her
face takes on a whitish hue seeing the blood. I feel horrible for ruining everyone’s morning this way.

  Ev’s heading toward the pantry. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” he calls out.

  Monty is at my side in seconds, even as I’m grabbing a towel to wrap it up. “Let me see,” he demands.

  “It’s fine. I feel like an idiot though.” I try to pull my hand away but hiss in pain when his fingers tighten slightly. “Damn you, that hurts!”

  “I’m trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” he tells me calmly.

  “Do you have to be perfect?” I gripe.

  Leaning down, he whispers close to my ear, “Yes. It’s part of my charm.”

  “Yeah, well, right now your charm sucks.”

  Monty squeezes tighter, which makes me whimper. “Linnie, we’ve got to try to get the bleeding to stop. Even from where I was sitting, I saw the ooze of blood.”

  “Great, with my blood type, I’ll probably need a freaking transfusion,” I overdramatize, lifting my other hand to my forehead. Monty chuckles.

  “Calm down there, sweetheart. This isn’t Broadway. About five minutes of pressure should do the trick. If not, then we might need to get you to urgent care for some stitches.”

  I start to pull away. “No. No stitches.”

  “Afraid of needles?”

  “Yeah, it’s called all the vamps who have tried to harvest my blood since I was eighteen. They sucked at it. I left all these blood drives with so many bruises, and I began to get a ridiculous phobia. So, either you manage to fix this or I’ll ruin one of your mother’s kitchen towels.” Both of our eyes drop to the one wrapped around my hand.

  “You haven’t even bled through this one…”

  I interrupt him. “Much.”

  “Much,” he agrees. “I think we’re safe to say… Hey. What did you mean about people harvesting your blood?”

  Forgetting there’s anyone else in the room, I glibly say, “I have a somewhat rare blood type. I’m what doctor’s call a universal donor? So, every few weeks, the Red Cross is asking for my blood. I give as often as I can, but as I said…”