Chapter Thirty
“ARE YOU OKAY?” J.J. asks and sips her wine. She sits at the kitchen counter in the huge house on a barstool from a mismatched set that used to be in my West Hollywood apartment. The open-concept space gives us a great view of the pool, lit from within. Beyond, the city glitters under a full moon.
“Me? I’m fine,” I say, chopping vegetables for the salad with a little more vigor than necessary. “I mean, I want to murder her, but…”
“He’s going to be okay, babe.”
“I know,” I say. “But God, he has to go to an emergency plastic surgeon before he can come home. He tells me it’s not that bad, but even so. It hurts me that she hurt him.”
“Of course.” JJ blows air from her puffed cheeks. “But wow, what a wild scene. Have you read the latest Scandal Sheet ?”
“No,” I say quickly, and resume reducing lengths of carrots into little cubes. “Never again. Tabloids take one little piece of the truth and build a story of lies around it. But jeez, this all went down yesterday. How do they get their info so fast?”
“Who knows? But I read it, so you don’t have to, and they were not kind to Eva,” J.J. says. “I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. And if it makes you feel better, they said of you, ‘the internet’s boyfriend finally has a worthy girlfriend.’”
I smirk. “I was a homewrecker a minute ago. Just goes to show it’s all bullshit.”
“Get used to it, sister,” J.J. says. “If you’re going to be with someone like Zachary Butler, you’re going to have to put up with a metric crap-ton of Hollywood phoniness.”
“He’s worth it.”
“And you are positively smitten,” she says, reading my face.
“It’s that obvious?”
“Um, yeah. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not used to being happy.”
“God, girl, don’t be sorry. You’re overdue.”
“Thanks, Jess. I just don’t want to be obnoxious about it in front of you.”
“Why? Oh, because Ed and me are kaput?” J.J. waves a hand. “I’ll bounce back. In the meanwhile, you’ll be my inspiration.” She glances around the immense house. “I mean…look at this place.”
I take a second to appreciate my new surroundings. The house is bigger than anything I’ve ever lived in before, that’s for sure, but Zach chose well. The floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves—empty but for Zach’s Oscar—the huge fireplace, exposed beams and old chandeliers all give it a warm, homey feel. Zach’s assistant, Andrew, arranged to get Zach’s stuff out of that damn hotel room. I couldn’t stand the idea of him living there for one more minute. And because Andrew is superhumanly efficient and capable, he also had a team of guys move some of my things out of my place. Now this house—our house—has a bed, mismatched barstools, and a table to eat on tonight. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
J.J. checks her watch. “When is Zach getting in?”
“Around nine tonight,” I say, putting the bread in the oven. “So, about an hour.”
“I’ll make sure to scoot well before then. You two need your alone time. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”
“True. I still don’t know all the details, but he said to expect a phone call from Avignon ’s production department. But I’m not really thinking of that. I just want him to come home.”
J.J. smiles. “There’s that word again.”
“I know, it’s crazy, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m on solid ground.”
She reaches across the counter to touch my hand. “I’m so glad. You deserve it. I mean, I’ve always wanted you to stop dating losers and find yourself a good man.” She arches a brow. “The world’s most famous gazillionaire movie star wasn’t what I had in mind.”
I grin. “You think maybe I overshot it?”
“Just a bit.” J.J. laughs.
“It’s funny because I don’t think of him in those terms.”
“I know you don’t. Which is why this is going to work.”
We clink our wine glasses to that, and then my phone rings with a number I don’t recognize. I shoot Jess an apprehensive look and answer. “Hello?”
“You can tell me I told you so every day for the rest of the shoot, but the director would like to have you back.”
I blink. “Dottie?”
“Sorry, yes, it’s me. So, what do you say?”
“Say about what, exactly?”
“Assisting the new costume designer. Vivienne Kyle has been tapped to replace Laurent Moreau.”
“Replace him?” I stare open-jawed at J.J.
“Tessa Carlyle demanded it,” Dottie says. “She threw her weight around with the director—all ninety-five pounds of it—about him stealing ideas, namely yours. And there was some talk of a recording? I don’t know the details—it’s all under NDA—but the upshot is, Laurent is out, and Vivienne wants to work with you to finish out the production.”
“Work with me?”
I’m conscious that I’m parroting the last thing Dottie says, but I’m too shocked for my brain to function.
“It’s your vision,” Dottie says, “Ms. Kyle would helm the project and steer it to completion. Share of credits. Does this work for you?”
“Um, yes, this works for me.”
“Great,” Dottie says. “And Rowan? I’m sorry. You were right. I should have believed you. It’s just…there’s so much at stake, you know? The idea of speaking out against someone established is daunting. Careers are made or broken by the word of powerful people.”
“I understand.”
“So…you forgive me?”
“Yeah, Dottie. I do.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re one of the good ones, Rowan. See you Monday?”
“Right. I’ll see you Monday.” I hang up my phone, set it on the counter, and stare at it for a second. “Sure. This is all perfectly normal,” I say, disbelieving.
J.J. raises an eyebrow. “Good news?”
“They’ve fired Laurent for stealing. They want me to work with Vivienne Kyle on Avignon. And they’re going to use my designs.”
My BFF nearly spews wine all over the counter. “Holy shit, Ro! Congratulations! Vivienne Kyle… Even I’ve heard of her, and I don’t follow movie stuff at all! She did that huge war epic with Zendaya, right? Girl, she’s the real deal.”
And now she’s my coworker, I think, and my heart fills with more love for Zach when I thought it was already full.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “Zach did that. Tessa too, but whatever Zach did in Florida helped. I told him to leave it, but of course he couldn’t.”
“Because it was the right thing to do and because he loves you,” J.J. says. “You must love him; he’s completely domesticated you.”
She indicates the dinner prep, and I shrug. “It’s our first night in this house and I just wanted to do something special.”
“Mm, and what’s on the menu?”
“Spaghetti.”
J.J. leaves and I’m alone in the big house. I set the card table for two with my IKEA plates and mismatched silverware. I light the candle in the middle and set out the wine bottle and lone glass.
At ten after nine, I hear voices at the front door. Zach talking to his bodyguard.
“Thanks, Ezra. Have a good one.”
I let out a breath and shake my hands. I’m nervous to see him, scared that how bad it was will be evident in his face—his eyes, his expression, and the wound she left him.
The door closes. “Rowan?”
He’s coming through the living area. I rush to meet him halfway. The light is dim for our dinner, making the white of a butterfly bandage high on his right cheek bone stark by comparison. The skin is puffed around his eye and dark beneath it, but otherwise he looks okay. He is okay.
He’s beautiful.
Zach’s expression as we move to each other is full of love. For me. And I know my expression is the same, because I can’t contain how I feel about this man.
He wraps his arms around my waist, and we press our foreheads together as I hold his face—gently and away from his injury—in my hands. Zach takes my wrists, and kisses each of my palms, one at a time. Then his mouth touches mine, softly at first, then more intently as my lips part and I breathe him in. His taste is so familiar now and so clean and good.
We kiss for a long time until he slowly breaks it with a final, soft kiss on my upper lip. But we stay in that close, warm space. He holds me in his arms, and he’s so tall, my head is level with his chest; I hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
“It wasn’t good,” he replies. “I’ve had better times in Florida.”
I look up at him. “Will you tell me about it?”
“Another time,” he says. “Did Dottie call you?”
I nod.
“Good. You needed to know your work is safe. And I know you didn’t want me to get involved, but I didn’t see how else to fix it. And I needed to fix it.”
“I know. I just care that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. Better now.” He pulls back to cup my cheek. “Everything’s going to be better now.”
“It is,” I say, because no one is going to hurt him again. He’s safe with me and I’m safe with him, and that feels like the most precious gift we could give each other.
Zach brushes his thumb over my lower lip, and then his gaze goes behind me to the dining room. “You’ve been busy. What’s all this?”
I lead him to the table. “Dinner.”
He studies the table, the wine, and the lone glass, then brings his eyes back to mine. They’re beautifully rich in the dimness and I see myself in their depths. Not as the broken girl I was six months ago, but as someone who is loved. Is worthy of love. I must be, because I have Zach’s heart and that is a treasure, one that I know I’m going to cherish for the rest of my life.
“This is a moment,” he says. “The best moment.”
I smile and kiss him softly. “Welcome home.”