Chapter 4
four
IAN
“Hey, Georgie. What would you like for breakfast?”
My nephew regarded me, but didn’t speak.
“Do you want pancakes? Maybe some cereal?” I opened the fridge and peered inside. “There’s probably some eggs and bacon in here, but if not, I can have Sophia or Darren run to the store.”
“I don’t eat animals,” he said softly.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Since when?”
“Since I was six.”
Frowning, I shut the refrigerator door. My nephew had been a vegetarian for nearly a year?
Had I really not realized that? Granted, we’d been busy getting acclimated to one another for the last eight months, and Georgie had been a little reserved with me, but I couldn’t imagine missing something so important.
When my older sister, Dawn, passed away a year ago after a car accident, Georgie had gone to live with my parents.
But it hadn’t taken long for them to contact me about taking over their grandson’s care.
There were several factors, namely my parents’ advanced age, but they feared they wouldn’t be able to give Georgie the sort of life he deserved.
My sister and I hadn’t been very close. A fourteen-year age gap made things difficult even before I’d put physical distance between us and moved to LA at eighteen.
Dawn had had her life, and I’d had mine.
And the sad truth was, we’d never bothered to make space for one another.
I had a lot of regrets, but not making an effort with my only sibling was something that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
“You had chicken nuggets three nights ago, little dude,” Sophia called, sweeping into the kitchen out of nowhere, long, dark hair trailing in her wake.
Sophia was a combination live-in nanny and tutor, and she handled child care and education for my nephew like a pro.
Maybe it was her youthfulness and age—early twenties—or her laid-back, free-spirited approachability, but Georgie adored her.
We’d tried a private school back in LA, but that hadn’t gone very well.
Georgie was . . . mature for his age in a lot of ways.
Very smart, but also a bit behind socially.
Kids could be cruel, and I wasn’t subjecting him to that.
Plus, I traveled a lot and didn’t want him to grow up in a boarding school somewhere.
I’d rather he stay with me, with his family.
This would be my first time having Georgie on set, and Sophia had been on board with joining us in North Carolina for filming. She planned to head back to California for a few days around the holidays, but otherwise, she was taking point on all things Georgie for the time being.
I had production and planning meetings today, as well as a final table read before shooting began in a few days. But I’d wanted to make sure I saw Georgie this morning before I left for work.
“Well, I don’t eat animals anymore,” my nephew informed us.
Sophia shot me a knowing grin. “I’ll handle breakfast, Ian. I know you have a busy morning.”
She knew because my assistant, Eddie J, had emailed out my weekly schedule to all members of my team. He might not be physically present here in Kirby Falls, but Eddie J was still frighteningly capable of running my life from his couch in Silver Lake, California.
Aside from Eddie J, the team included my agent, Jocelyn; Georgie’s nanny, Sophia; my longtime bodyguard, Darren; my manager, Gloria; and Baxter, the on-site production assistant specific for this film. They were the people who kept me organized and focused, or tried to, at least.
It had taken some time, but Georgie was finally a little more comfortable with me. Prior to my sister’s death, I’d only seen the kid twice. I was sure, to him, coming to live with me had been like getting shipped off to a stranger.
Not that living with my parents had been much better for him. Newel and Ellen Wells were good people, and they meant well. They just didn’t have a lot of patience for children. They’d been in their mid-forties when I came along, a surprise baby who grew into a hyperactive, mischievous kid.
As a child, I hadn’t understood that my parents had already raised the kid they’d planned for. They’d scrapbooked milestones and planned Disney vacations. They’d made Halloween costumes and attended parent-teacher conferences. I’d been a wrench in their retirement plans.
My parents loved me, but they didn’t have a lot of energy for another kid.
Starting over again with a newborn had been a struggle.
Plus, I’d been a handful as a child and adolescent.
I’d tried out for school plays and helped out behind the scenes of local productions.
They didn’t understand why I wanted to be a performer or why I was so loud or up so late.
Or a hundred other things that made up this person they’d been saddled with.
I’d been safe and warm and fed, which was a lot more than some kids could say, but my childhood had been lonely and devoid of a family who really understood and accepted me.
There was a thin line between well-meaning and someone who thought they knew best. My parents typically overshot the former and ended up firmly in the latter.
Dawn had been the overachiever, the valedictorian, the responsible adult they could be proud of. Even when she’d decided to go the nontraditional route in her thirties and had a baby on her own, they’d never been happier.
Now, at over seventy, my parents didn’t have the capacity to raise Georgie, starting all over once again.
It wasn’t their fault that their grandson was a painful reminder of the daughter they’d lost. None of this was fair.
But I couldn’t make them see that Georgie was a beautiful part of Dawn, one that they should be grateful for.
As frustrating as the situation was, I understood and wanted to help. I would do everything I could to make sure my nephew felt supported in the things he loved—in the person he’d become.
Georgie was a good kid—a great kid—and he deserved better than a part-time uncle to stand in for an amazing mother who’d been taken too soon. But I was doing my best, and that had to count for something.
I wanted my nephew to have a support system he could rely on. It was about more than ensuring he was safe and warm and fed. I needed Georgie to know that he could always count on me.
Adjusting to life with a small child hadn’t been easy, but the love and protectiveness had been there from the beginning.
The desire to do right by Georgie had me rethinking the future of Dorian Masters and re-evaluating all aspects of my life.
Did I really want my nephew growing up in Hollywood?
I wasn’t sure how to rectify the public demands of my career with my need to maintain a safe environment for Georgie.
But it was something I was actively trying to figure out.
“Thanks for managing breakfast, Soph,” I told the young woman.
She nodded, dark eyes patient and understanding. “No problem, boss.”
I stepped around the kitchen island to where Georgie sat on a high-backed leather stool. He was missing a sock and still had pillow creases on his cheek.
“You have a good day, buddy. Listen to Miss Sophia and remember to stay close to the house. You scared us the other day when you wandered off.”
Georgie’s little brows furrowed. “You said I could see the apple trees, Uncle Ian.”
I ruffled his hair. “I know. But I meant the ones on this farm. Crossing the highway on your own is very dangerous.”
He appeared betrayed that I could find him so incapable. “I looked both ways.”
Sophia snickered from behind me, where she was digging around in the pantry. Georgie was big on following the rules, but he was also a proponent of technicalities. He was a very literal kid. You had to spell things out for him explicitly.
“I’m sure you did. But it’s still dangerous. Plus, they have bears here. So stay close, yeah?”
“Okay, Uncle Ian.”
“Thanks, Georgie.” I smiled and gave him a big hug. He was stiff in my arms and gave my back an awkward pat.
Ah, well. We were getting there.
The production meeting was being held downtown at the Sterling House Bed and Breakfast, where our director, Della Stewart, was staying for the duration of filming. They had a meeting room on-site, and the owner had put out a nice breakfast spread and fresh coffee for everyone.
If you ignored all the lace doilies, inspirational wall art, and the handsiness of Vera Sterling, then maybe this little trip into town wouldn’t be so bad.
Della and a few of the other assistant directors and executive producers had yet to arrive to the meeting. I was pouring coffee into a mug as several of the production assistants argued on the other side of the room.
“Can’t we just talk to Candace about clearing that part of the property to build the set? It’s only ten yards more than what we originally discussed,” Zoe whined.
Archer snorted. “You know Joan handles equipment, and we’re going to need her help to do it.”
“But Candace is the nice one,” Zoe argued. She was only a few years younger than me, but she sounded like a teenager being forced to clean her room.
“Too bad,” Angelo added before taking a big bite of cheese Danish and licking his thumb. “Someone is going to have to bring it up with Joan.”
The production assistants all groaned in unison, and I resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Of course, the woman had a reputation on set, and we hadn’t even started filming.
“Let’s just draw straws,” Zoe suggested.
I drifted closer and took a seat next to Baxter, content to watch this play out. My assistant was quiet, reviewing something on the tablet in front of him.
“I’m not doing it,” Archer argued. “I refuse.”
We all turned to look at the young man. His cheeks were flushed beneath his pale complexion. He looked very uncomfortable.
“Joan made him cry,” Angelo offered up with a devious grin.
“I did not cry,” Archer squawked, the tips of his ears violently red.