Nacho Figueras Presents (22 page)

I
t had been some of the worst traffic Sebastian had ever seen. They had crept along the freeway inch by excruciating inch, taking three hours to get through what normally took thirty minutes. And it was made all the more torturous by Liberty's restless boredom and never-ending complaints. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She wanted a mojito. Her phone was dead. By hour two, Sebastian started fantasizing about throwing open the door and just walking down the freeway, leaving Liberty and the car to fend for themselves.

He'd left his phone at Kat's, he realized. They'd run out in such a hurry that morning that he'd left it on the bathroom counter. Liberty's phone died after the first half hour, and Sebastian cursed when he realized that he'd given his car charger to her a few days before when she had complained that the one in her car didn't work fast enough.

He tried blocking Liberty out, wanting to close his eyes and simply lose himself in memories of the night before. But the first time he had tried this, the jolt of brutal lust he'd felt when Kat's face swam into his imagination, her cheeks flushed pink, her long black curls falling around her shoulders, her silvery gaze filled with a depth of emotion he had never seen in any woman's eyes before, made him realize that he could not take this particular escape while he was trapped in a car with another person. Especially not a person like Liberty Smith, who seemed to have a second sight when it came to knowing whether or not someone was paying her the exact amount of attention she felt was her due.

Finally they reached their exit and headed for Beverly Hills. Liberty popped the visor mirror down and redid her lipstick as he pulled up in front of the hotel to let the valet take his car. Sebastian had never been so happy to see the ornate edifice of the Pink Château. His plan was to get back to his bungalow, call Kat, and convince her to let him pick her up and take her to Capo in Santa Monica. He wanted to share a great meal with her, drink a bottle of champagne, see an ocean view, and afterward, walk the beach in the moonlight just like they had done so many times in Wellington.

Sebastian eagerly tossed the valet his keys and turned to say a hasty good-bye to Liberty, who was being helped out of the car by a bellboy, when he was suddenly blindsided by the flash of multiple cameras and the shouts of “Liberty! Liberty! Who are you with? Where's your husband, Liberty?”

At least a dozen paparazzi were trampling down the driveway toward them, cameras blazing.

Sebastian acted instinctively, grabbing Liberty's arm to pull her inside the lobby, but for some reason, she took his hand and froze, smiling strangely as the press converged around them.

She turned to Sebastian, a little hint of regret in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with everything she had.

Kat finally decided to pack it up and go home for the night. One of the problems about making a biopic about one woman's life was that, if that one woman wasn't around, there was only so much that could get done.

She'd texted and called Sebastian's phone several times but it just kept going straight to voice mail. She pushed down her worry as she gathered her things and headed to her car. There was surely a reasonable explanation for his absence, she thought, and she'd feel stupid later if she let herself get too worked up about things.

On the way home, she stopped at a little neighborhood takeout place for a salad and some chicken, and then, after hesitating for a moment, doubled her order and asked them to throw in two pieces of lemon pie as well. She already had a nice bottle of pinot grigio chilling in her fridge, she remembered. She wanted to be prepared, just in case.

She got home, put her packages on the kitchen counter, and decided to take a long, hot shower. While she was stripping off her jeans and T-shirt, she spied Sebastian's phone on the bathroom counter. She tried to turn it on, but it was dead. She was ridiculously pleased to have an explanation as to why he hadn't returned her texts or phone messages.

She sang in the shower. Al Green songs. Whitney Houston songs. Early Madonna. Love songs. At the top of her lungs. She used her very best lotion and stood in front of her closet for a full ten minutes, trying to figure out just the right combination of casual and sexy. She had the notion that the way Sebastian saw her in these next few days would be the way she would be fixed in his mind for a lifetime, even when she was wrinkled and sagging. She wanted to be beautiful in his memories.

She finally chose a little black T-back shift dress, and nothing else. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought of Sebastian's hand casually slipping up her dress and discovering that she was completely naked underneath. She bundled up her hair, did a few quick things to her face, dabbed on some perfume, put on a turquoise pendant on a long chain that she thought might look fetching if she was wearing nothing else, and then headed into the living room to wait. She couldn't imagine that he wouldn't be there soon.

After about fifteen minutes, she drifted into the kitchen, opening up the takeout containers and picking at the pie. After another thirty minutes, she ate both pieces.

She jumped guiltily as her phone rang. Then she laughed, looking at the empty cardboard containers. She would just tell him to pick up something sweet on the way over, she thought as she rushed to her phone.

She didn't even check caller ID—she was so sure it was him—but then, it was not.

“Katy Ann?” boomed Camelia's voice. “You'll never guess where I am right now!”

“Camelia?”

“I'm on a beach in Ibiza.” Camelia laughed.

“You're what? But didn't you just get home?”

“Mark flew us out for the week on his private jet.”

Kat chuckled. “Did you let him buy you a truck, too?”

Camelia snorted. “No. But I figured since he already had the jet, what the hell, right? I've got to find some balance between taking nothing from him and missing Ibiza. Plus he asked me to give him riding lessons so we made an exchange.”

“I think he got a good deal actually. Where is he now?”

“Oh God, it's ridiculous. He's down the beach haggling with a guy about a cowrie shell necklace. You know those choker-type things that frat boys wear? He thinks he's going to wear one. But not on my frigging watch.”

Kat smiled. “You sound happy, Cam.”

Camelia laughed again. “I suppose I am. Go figure. But anyway, I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay. I guess you were right after all. I just saw those gross pictures of Seb and Liberty on my phone. They must be such a pain in the ass to work with right now.”

Kat's heart started beating faster. “What pictures?”

“I mean, you totally called it, but I thought the guy could have at least waited until you were done with your movie, right?”

“What pictures, Cam?”

“Oh, the pictures of the two of them in front of the hotel. Totally ick.”

Kat turned and popped open her laptop, Googled Liberty's name, and then felt herself go weak in the knees.

“Katy? Are you there?”

Her head swam. “I gotta go, Camelia. I, um—”

“Katy Ann?”

Kat hung up the phone. With a shaking hand, she clicked on one of the images. There they were—wearing the same clothes they'd been wearing today, locked in an embrace that rivaled anything she and Sebastian had been doing the night before.

Her phone rang. She ignored it, clicking on the caption:

Caught! Liberty Smith in a lip lock with Latin boy-toy and polo player, Sebastian Del Campo, as they enter their love nest at the Hills Hotel. A close friend is quoted as saying that these two have been seeing each other since they started filming Smith's upcoming new film,
Twenty-five Roses
. Notorious playboy Del Campo is single, but Smith is famously not, of course. No word yet from her husband, billionaire financier David Ansley.

Kat felt like she couldn't breathe. She clicked on more pictures, hoping to find something that would explain what she was looking at—that would prove that it was just a weird camera angle or a friendly hug, but there was no other way of seeing a photo where Liberty's hand was squarely on Sebastian's ass and her tongue basically down his throat.

Her phone rang again. She didn't even look at it.

She shut the computer with a little click and sank down on a kitchen chair. What had changed, she wondered. What had changed since last night, when right here in this house he had told her loved her, when he had held her with such awe and reverence, when she was sure that whatever was happening between them was the beginning of forever? How could they have gone from that to this?

She stifled a sob. Obviously, Liberty had just crooked her finger and Seb had come running. Or maybe they'd been together all along. She remembered all the rumors that Honey had heard. The private joke they had shared between them after Liberty had fallen. Kat's mouth went dry. Maybe she herself was actually the other woman—which was why Liberty was so furious with them both this morning. Maybe Kat was the fling and Liberty was the girlfriend?

Her phone rang again. She put her head down on the table, hoping to calm the churning in her stomach. It kept ringing so she reached up to look at it, saw that it was Sebastian calling from the hotel, and immediately dashed her phone onto the kitchen floor in response. It broke in half and lay silent as she bent her head and cried.

S
ebastian slammed down the phone in his room. Where the hell was she? Kat was never without her cell. It was her work lifeline. There was no way she didn't have it.

He prowled through the living room. Goddamn Liberty. The pictures were everywhere now. They'd gone viral. It had been nearly instant—minutes after he'd stood there, totally stunned, as Liberty had groped him for the cameras. He'd been shocked, and then angry, and had wrenched himself away. But the damage had already been done. The first picture popped up online by the time he was back in his bungalow, everyone racing to get the scoop.

He hadn't said anything to Liberty. Just pushed her away and got out of there as fast as he could. His only concern had been Kat. Reaching her before she saw the photos. Because he knew what they would look like. Liberty was, if nothing else, a very good actress.

But obviously, he'd failed. There was no doubt that Kat had already seen them, he thought as her phone went straight to voice mail.

He'd have to drive over to her place. Explain himself in person. He knew it looked bad, but Kat knew Liberty. Surely she would believe him once he told her the whole crazy story.

What the hell had Liberty been trying to do? All current evidence to the contrary, he was still absolutely certain she had no real interest in him. But obviously she had tipped off those reporters. He flashed to her redoing her lipstick just before she got out of the car. She'd been ready to put on a show.

Was she trying to drum up publicity for the movie? Maybe she was just bored and wanted to make trouble. He couldn't begin to guess. But it didn't matter. He needed to find Kat. He couldn't stand to imagine what she was feeling right now.

He was heading out his front door when Liberty came through the gate between their bungalows.

She looked like shit, he thought. Perhaps for the first time ever.

Her face was blotchy and red. Her famous eyes were bloodshot. She was carrying her phone in one hand and blew her nose on a paper towel with the other. She stumbled a little, as if she had been drinking. She looked like an entirely different person from the woman he'd known. She looked defeated.

“We have to talk,” she said. “I really fucked up.”

“I do not have time to hear what you have to say, Liberty,” he said. He tried to get around her.

She stepped in his way, getting up close. She smelled like booze. “Are you going to see Kat?”

He clenched his fists. He wanted to charge right through her. “Let me through, Liberty.”

She shook her head. “You have to hear me out first. Kat will need to know.”

“Kat will need to know what? That you just kissed me in front of every
puto
reporter in Hollywood? I am fairly certain she is already more than aware of the fact.”

He maneuvered around her and reached for the latch on the gate. She caught his arm.

“No,” she said. “Not that. She'll need to know that David just pulled the plug on the movie. He cut off all the funds.”

Sebastian could have sworn he felt his heart stop. “What did you just say?”

Liberty started to sniff, and then full-on cry. “I didn't mean for this to happen,” she sobbed. “I just wanted to make him jealous. I needed him to see me with you so he could see that someone still wants me. Someone like you. That I'm worth something.”

“Liberty,
por favor
, go back. What did you say about the movie?”

“He cut us off,” she choked out. “I thought he'd see the pictures and fly back home. I thought he'd fight for me. Instead, he freaked out and started screaming about how I had humiliated him. How he wasn't giving the movie another cent. How I'd made him look like a pussy in front of the whole world. Even though he's fucked a hundred girls since we've been married. Even though I've never, not once, been with anyone else since the day I met him.” Her face twisted with pain. “Asshole!” she raged. “He's such an asshole!”

She bent over like she was in agony, sobbing uncontrollably. “I love him so much,” she choked. “I love him.”

Sebastian caught her as she fell against him. She buried her face in his neck, wailing out her sorrow. He held her as she rocked with heartbreak.

“
Está bien
,” he soothed. “It will be okay,
chica.
”

She looked up into his face. Tears were coursing down her cheeks, and her nose was running. “I'm sorry,” she slurred. “I'm really sorry, Seb. I know there's something going on with you and Kat. I know there always has been. And I swear, I wasn't trying to mess with that. I'll explain it all to her, I promise. I'll make it right.”

And then, as if in slow motion, Liberty's eyes rolled back in her head, and she slid out of his arms, hitting the ground with a thud.