The One That I Want (25 page)

“I’m with the
Tinseltown Buzz
, and we had a few questions for you about Dane Ty—”

“The
Tinseltown Buzz
?” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

Dane shot me an alarmed looked and started to get dressed at once.

Was it that same lady from the play’s Opening Night? I couldn’t tell. In any case, the woman on the line said, “A number of guests at the Knightsbridge Theater reported that you were Dane’s companion for the show’s Closing Night and that the two of you left the After Party together. Can you confirm that the two of you spent the night in his hotel room?”

My pulse went into minor shock and stopped mid-beat. “What did you just ask me?”

“Mrs. Crane, we have pictures of you and Dane Tyler that were taken in a number of locations. It’s pretty clear from the photos that you two are an item. Especially the Camp Willowgreen pictures where, we’ve heard, your daughter is spending the summer. How much does she know about your relationship with—”

“Who
is
this?”

“I told you, ma’am, I’m with the
Tinseltown
Buzz
. Would you say Dane is as good of a lover in real life as he is on the big scree—”

“How did you get this number? What’s your
name?
”

“And, of course, it’s rumored that the two of you secretly met before he came to Chicago this summer. Can you respond to—”

I clicked off the phone.

Sitting up on the sofa bed fully dressed now, Dane looked an unhealthy shade of ashen. He didn’t immediately speak, but I saw him swallow more than once, as if trying to prepare for the words that were to come.

“I hate the
Tinseltown Buzz
,” he whispered, his voice a low hiss. “They’re vicious.”

“Our home phone number and street address are listed,” I told him. “You found my address, so you know that. Sometimes we get robocalls or telemarketers, but my cell number is private. Adam insisted on it. Just friends and family have that. So, I don’t know how this woman got ahold of that number.”

“From one of your friends, perhaps? Shar?” His voice was cold with an edge of accusation that couldn’t be ignored.

I shook my head and pulled on the clothes I’d thrown to the floor earlier. “Shar’s my
best friend
. She’d never betray my trust or violate my privacy. And she wouldn’t say anything that might get you in trouble either.”

“What about that neighbor of yours? The one we saw up at the camp?”

“Yvette?” I shook my head again. “She’s so sweet. I’ve known her since high school, and there’s never been a time when—”

“Well, somebody, at some point, wasn’t acting like a
friend
, Julia. I realize this is my fault, okay? We weren’t as discreet as we should have been. I asked you to the VIP party. I went with you up to the camp. But if your cell number isn’t widely known, somebody had to be the source of that information.”

“Maybe the reporter managed to get my number from one of the Camp Willowgreen staff members, although they have a firm confidentiality policy, so—”

There was a loud knock on the front door upstairs.

Dane closed his eyes, and I could hear him murmur, “Oh, shit.”

I couldn’t see who it was without going up to the first floor. I looked at Dane.

“Don’t do it,” he said.

I heard a male voice calling my name from outside the house. “Mrs. Crane?” More knocking.

“I’ll just look out of the peephole,” I whispered to him. “It might only be the UPS guy with a delivery or something.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I wouldn’t get too close to a window, and I definitely wouldn’t open the door.”

I tiptoed upstairs and peered through the tiny hole. I’d expected there to be a mail truck at the end of the driveway or the gas meter reader nearby. I’d expected wrong.

Oh, my God.

I ran back down to the basement. “There’s a news crew out there! With cameras and recording equipment.” I quickly zipped around the entire downstairs, looking for any open window wells. Anything that might make the basement visible to someone standing on our lawn. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I realized all of the windows were shaded. That no one could see in from the outside.

Dane, however, did not look remotely mollified by this. “You do realize they’re going to make it impossible for either of us to get out of the house, right? I drove here in a rental car. I parked in your driveway. Bet they blocked that with their van, huh?”

I couldn’t remember the exact position of the news van or the few other cars out front, but Dane was probably right.

There was more loud knocking on the front door.

The house phone rang again, and so did my cell phone.

“It’s not good,” Dane said with a heavy sigh, reaching for his own phone. “Trust me, I know.”

Chapter Seventeen

“He actually thought I’d call the tabloids on you two?” Shar asked on the phone, indignant. “That’s crazy! I used to like that guy, but now—”

“Don’t take it personally, Shar,” I told her. “He was suspicious of everybody. Besides, I’m really the one he was most angry with.”

“Why would he be angry with
you?
He knew you didn’t contact any reporters, and the two of you had just finished a marathon shagging session. He said he was ‘starting to fall in love’ with you, Julia. I don’t get his behavior at all. He seems so moody and insecure.”

“Maybe, he is—a little,” I said.

Or maybe he’s not…

I couldn’t tell Shar everything Dane and I had been talking about on Friday morning. I’d promised utter secrecy when it came to information about his daughter, and I wouldn’t go back on my word to him, not even to share it with my most trusted friend.

Because of that, I knew Shar wouldn’t be able to understand why Dane was so tense and worried about what the reporters might say or what the consequences their public insinuations might have on his relationship with his daughter. Why he was probably feeling especially vulnerable that day—trapped, as he was, in my basement after he’d just shared all of this personal information about himself with me. Why he’d tried so hard to warn me, even though I hadn’t been listening closely enough then.

Within twenty-four hours, though, I came to understand that the
Tinseltown Buzz
story wasn’t something we could easily brush away. It wasn’t a slow, containable leak, dribbling out a few rumors and lies about us.

It was more like a flash flood, with the intent to drown.

~*~

After the first set of ceaseless telephone calls on Friday, I turned off the ringer on my home phone and muted my cell. Then I watched Dane as he rapid-fire texted a series of messages on his own cell phone.

“I need to let my agent and the PR people know about this,” he explained wearily to me. “To prepare for whatever ends up in tomorrow’s paper. You know when media people say things like ‘Representatives for the actor declined to comment on recent allegations that he did such and such’ and they go on to tell their readers or viewers whatever heinous things the actor reportedly did?”

I nodded.

“The people I’m calling now are the ones who’ll need to either comment or decline to comment on my behalf,” he added.

Although I didn’t have to listen to my two phones ringing anymore, I couldn’t do anything about the intermittent knocking on the door, short of calling the police and reporting the paparazzi on our lawn for harassment.

Don’t think I didn’t consider this. Seriously.

But somehow I doubted that a squad car in the neighborhood would lessen the migraine I was getting. Besides, I had to know what Dane wanted me to do before I acted impulsively and contacted
anyone
. I didn’t want to make matters worse for him.

Dane finished up his first set of texts and sighed. “In a few minutes I’ll have to give Marissa and Cat a call. They’ll need a heads up so they don’t get blindsided. I can’t tell you how much I’m not looking forward to
that
conversation.”

I rubbed my pounding head. This situation seemed ridiculous. So unnecessarily complicated. “Dane, we haven’t done anything wrong—legally or morally. We’re single, consenting adults. Just tell them that if they hear anything about you and me, it means nothing. That we’re friends and we were just hanging out together during the time you were here. That the press was pestering us and they jumped to conclusions.”

His face turned from pale to a surprising shade of red. “No,” he said loudly. “For one thing, this is
not
‘nothing.’ Do you really think I’d put myself in this kind of position for something
insignificant?
” He streaked his fingers through his hair, and then crossed his arms and glared at me. “Dammit, Julia. I don’t care what the public thinks of me, but I
never
lie to my daughter. And I don’t lie to anyone else I care about either.” He shot me a pointed look. “The tabloids are a pain in the ass, but the biggest problem we have here is that
you
don’t trust me.
You
don’t believe what I’ve been telling you.
You
don’t think what I feel can be real.”

I blinked at him. I wanted to tell him that I believed every word he’d said, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t deny my skepticism. Not with everything I knew about infatuation and enchantments.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I don’t completely trust whatever this thing is between us because it’s happening too fast and feels too much like a schoolgirl fantasy to me to be real. But let’s face it, Dane. Say what you will, but you don’t entirely trust me either. When those reporters came calling, the first thing you did was accuse me of blabbing information about you to my friends. You pay lip service to the idea that you
know
me, that you’ve watched my behavior and believe I wouldn’t betray you, but the instant that notion is challenged, you change your story.”

“Look, I’m angry about our privacy being violated. About whatever pictures of us they’re going to dig up. About the incredibly deceptive piece of fiction they’re going to print tomorrow as if it were truth, and how fast their slanderous words will go viral. But it was a mistake if anything I said made you think I was accusing you.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t contact any reporters. I didn’t tell my friends a single thing about you that wasn’t common knowledge or that they couldn’t see firsthand when they met you. But you realize that trust and love don’t happen on command, right? Some things can’t be rushed. Some things take time, even when they’re the
right
things. Like…grapes. You can choose the right grapes for a wine, but you still need to give the grapes the time to ripen. If they get pressed too early, they’ll be bitter.”

“Wow.” He shook his head. “That’s a terrible metaphor.” But I could see a small smile tugging up the corner of one side of his mouth.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“Julia, there’s more to all of this than you realize. I’ve gotten slammed by the
Tinseltown Buzz
before, and they’ll include just enough truth in their bundle of lies to keep people guessing. To get people who’ve known you all your life to doubt what you say. The wild card in all of this is what they’ll have uncovered about
you
. And what that’ll do to this thing we’ve begun. This
right
thing. Which, for the record, I think has a shot at lasting if we don’t screw it up. Do you agree?”

This much I couldn’t deny—Dane and I did have things in common, and we were genuinely attracted to each other. We’d developed a real friendship, however newly formed. If he hadn’t been a celebrity, I would have been much more hopeful of anything between us lasting for a little while.

But that particular element of his life wasn’t just
one small part
of his existence; it nearly defined him. His fame wasn’t just a deterrent to our personal privacy and our time alone together, but it was practically an entity in itself that would stalk our lives together. Adam’s “popularity” in town had been bad enough. Everywhere we went in Mirabelle Harbor, people would recognize him and, frequently, they came up to us to chat. I immediately noticed the absence of that interference whenever we went on vacation together, and I was always relieved to be away.

How could I sign up for a life that would have a thousand times more scrutiny—maybe a million times more—and not just for myself but for Analise, too?

“I don’t know,” I murmured. “And I don’t know how you think you can know either.”

His light-blue eyes turned dark. “Maybe you’re right,” he snapped. “This,” he motioned between us, “might have all just been some hallucination of mine.” He nodded abruptly at his phone. “May I have a few minutes alone please?”

“Of course.” I went upstairs, careful to avoid walking in front of any open windows. The news people were still milling around outside but, eventually, they’d have to leave, right?

I could hear Dane’s voice downstairs. Not his actual words but his intonation. He was stressed out. Frustrated. Angry.

It took almost an hour before he emerged from the basement and joined me in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m going to be leaving in a few minutes.”

“You’re going outside? Driving away?” I looked doubtfully toward the front door.