Chapter 1
Five Years Later
The Atlantic stretched out along the horizon as far as she could see. The vastness of the deep blue ocean made her feel small, but Harper Calhoun would have been just fine with being completely invisible. She stood on the second-floor deck, hands resting on the balcony railing.
Behind her was a screened portion of the deck, but this section was open to the sun. The balcony was enclosed by panes of tempered glass, designed to meet safety standards without impinging on the million-dollar view.
From this house, it was more like a multimillion-dollar view. This house that was now hers.
All because she’d lived a lie.
She inhaled the salty air, her dissatisfaction with herself at an all-time high. Below her, the breeze rippled the pool’s turquoise water. It was a big blue rectangle surrounded by pristine white travertine tiles and extra-wide lounge chairs, also upholstered in white.
The side closest to the house had a slatted portico over the lounge chairs that provided a little shade. The grass around the pool deck was emerald green and perfectly manicured. Big diamond steppingstones of matching white travertine led back to the house.
It was very Old Hollywood. Fitting, all things considered.
She glanced over her shoulder at her beloved baby boy. Archie, her apricot labradoodle, sat in the doorway. She’d left it open and he was staring at her like he had no idea why they were in a strange house.
“It’s ours, baby. We’re going to be here for a while, so do whatever sniffing you need to do and get comfortable.”
He just kept staring, with occasional worried glances at the glass panels that surrounded the balcony.
She smiled at him. “It’s safe, I promise.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Her phone rang. She pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans and checked the screen. Not a number she recognized, so she ignored it. She shuddered to think it might be some so-called journalist who had somehow tracked her down. She’d turned off her notifications so she wouldn’t have to see them while using her GPS to navigate, but texts and calls could still get through. Should she get a new phone number? That felt like such an ordeal that the whole idea filled her with dread.
She went back to looking at the water. She had to do something to escape the attention. She was tired of it. Tired of being the subject of so much speculation. But more than that, she was terrified one of the so-called journalists would figure out who she was and dig until they found out the truth.
Was it better to speak to one of them and make sure her side of things was told her way? Or was she just inviting trouble? What if an interview wasn’t enough? What if they pried into her past?
Or, worse, what if she slipped up during the interview and said something that gave it all away?
The thought made her ill. Then what? What would happen to her? Where would she go? Who would she be after that? Would she go to prison? Her pulse ticked up. Could that actually happen? She’d never survive prison. Unless it was one of those sleepaway camps for white-collar criminals, like the kind Martha Stewart had gone to.
Maybe that was the life that awaited her. One of notoriety and the sort of scandalous fame that came with committing a crime that wasn’t all that bad. Martha had managed all right.
But Harper was not Martha Stewart. Harper might have helped a lot of people, but it was doubtful they’d stand up for her now. Most of them were just fine with keeping their involvement with her a secret. There were NDAs in place for that very purpose.
The worst part of the attention was how they referred to her. The woman who’d broken Ford Keating’s heart.
Even if it had been an amicable, mutual parting of the ways, her heart had been broken. But no one cared about that, did they? No one knew the real story. And if things went well, no one ever would.
She lifted her face into the salt air that swept past. What she’d done with her life wasn’t that bad. Not to her mind. She’d helped so many people, after all. People who otherwise felt like they had no one they could trust. There was value in that, no matter what anyone else thought.
This house was proof of that.
Arlington Marsh had left her his “cottage,” as he’d so often described this place, in his will. Something she’d never expected the legendary movie star to do. She had, however, expected he was actually talking about a cottage. Not this three-story mammoth residence.
What on Earth had he been thinking to leave her this place? Without question, she was grateful. Deeply touched by his generosity. Overwhelmed by it, really. This house had given her a place to run now that things with Ford had crashed and burned.
She exhaled, her heart still ragged from the emotion of it all. She couldn’t believe Arlington had been gone a year already.
She’d met Ford at Arlington’s funeral. The who’s who of Hollywood had been there, Ford included. She’d had a strict policy about not getting romantically involved with celebrities, clients especially, because it made everything so much more complicated.
With clients, it was important that she maintain a certain aloofness. She felt it helped to have a little mystery.
Ford hadn’t been a client, but he had been utterly charming, despite the ten-year age difference between them. He was also Ford Keating. Who cared if he was sixty-three? How many times had he been voted one of Hollywood’s most handsome bachelors? Was there a female star he hadn’t been linked with?
That should have been her first clue that dating him would be a bad idea.
It hadn’t been at first. He’d been everything she’d imagined he’d be. Witty, worldly, quick with a joke, always smiling. Oh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It was like he lit up from within.
She blew out a breath just thinking about it.
He’d showered her with gifts. Flowers every week. A piece of jewelry here and there. Dinners out, and not the kind set up by his people to get his face in magazines.
Real dinners at restaurants that understood the word “privacy.”
There had been trips, too. A weekend in Martinique. The French Riveria. A safari in Tanzania. All of them amazing and more memorable than the last. A few of those had involved paparazzi, but nothing too over the top. They’d only been interested in him, which was the way she preferred it.
Then he’d taken her to a premiere, and that’s when the trouble had begun. There was no avoiding the media at an event meant to put people in front of the media. All the questions about who she was and what her background was and what his intentions were. So many questions. None of which she was willing to answer.
Why couldn’t the media just let a person live?
What had brought it all crashing down was Ford started asking her questions, too. About her past. Her history.
More questions she wasn’t willing to answer. Because she couldn’t answer them honestly. Not if she wanted to maintain the life she was currently living.
So she’d ended things and gotten out of town, hoping that she’d soon be forgotten. The cottage Arlington had left her had been the perfect escape. She’d hoped to find a little place that would serve as her retreat while she tended her broken heart and tried to get on with her life. She’d never expected this house.
And while she’d told her clients to reach out if they really needed her, none had so far. Maybe it was the fact that she’d also told them she’d only be available via Zoom for a while.
How long “a while” was, she had no idea. It wasn’t how she typically worked. Being available in person was much better, but once in a while, if a client was away or on location somewhere, Zoom was better than nothing. For now, it would have to do.
She went back inside. Archie followed after her with a little enthusiasm. “We’re not leaving, buddy. Sorry.”
The place had come furnished. Almost entirely in white with splashes of turquoise, cobalt, emerald, and orange. It was pretty, but white was about as chic and impractical as you could hope for in what was essentially a beach house. She sat on the big white sofa. She’d have to find a blanket to go over it. Archie wasn’t much of a shedder, but if he brought his treats up there, he’d leave crumbs and slobber. It was just better if his spot was covered. Archie, understanding he hadn’t been invited up, lay by her feet.
She scratched his head and stared at the black expanse of the television. It was as big as a movie screen, which made sense, considering who’d previously owned this house.
What was she going to do with herself? Maybe she really should treat this as a vacation. How long had it been since she’d had one? Without Ford? She’d been on that mindfulness retreat with Karly Spencer but that had been about helping Karly transition out of rehab so she could get ready for her next movie.
Harper tipped her head back. The ceiling was coffered and just as beautiful as the rest of the house. The whole place was as close to perfect as a house could be. Maybe a vacation was exactly what she needed.
No one here would even care who she was. Probably. Didn’t people live in Hideaway Bay for the peace and quiet and seclusion?
After some Googling, she’d discovered it had been built and designed for that purpose – a haven for the wealthy and powerful, accessible only by way of guarded gate or boat. Or helicopter, she supposed. Hideaway Bay wasn’t really a bay or even on a bay. It was at the end of a small barrier island about a half-hour north of St. Augustine, Florida.
The barrier island sat between two bodies of water. The Tolomato River on the west, where the community marina was. The Atlantic Ocean on the right.
Arlington’s house—her house now but that would take some getting used to—was situated on a prime location that had a view of the ocean and the inlet where the river met the ocean. Across the inlet was a state park. Miles and miles of preserved greenery that would never be touched.
There was access to the beach via several small boardwalks nestled in amongst the properties that fronted the beach. The length of this property that abutted the river was shored up with a concrete wall along the side. Boats went through with some regularity, but the river was wide, so the boat traffic didn’t cause any real privacy issues.
She had no idea what Arlington had paid for this ground or this house, but it had to be an unbelievable sum.
And now it was hers. Which was even more unbelievable.
How long did it take for something like that to sink in?