Souvenirs (29 page)

Ben looked down at Grace and whispered. “Fe can’t cook, Idgie.”

“And noodles are the worst,” Noah confided. “They’re practically glue. She insists on doing them because I said I liked them on our honeymoon. I lied to make her feel good.”

Grace patted his shoulder. “Let me see if I can help. You two stay out of the kitchen. You probably make her nervous.”

As he and Noah relaxed and debated football, Fe’s growls and grumbles in the kitchen faded to laughter and then to muted conversation. Grace had worked her magic again.

“Dinner,” Fe called as she walked into the dining area balancing a salad bowl in one hand and a breadbasket in the other. “Ben, grab the drinks, would you?”

Drinks? Grace shouldn’t drink. “What are we having?”

“Mint sparkle.”

In the kitchen, Grace was tossing the pasta. When he snatched a noodle, she slapped his hands.

“Bennett Oliver, stop that.”

“Want it back?” he teased as he dropped the strand into his mouth. Olive oil, basil, garlic, perfect texture. He looked down at her. “You can cook.”

“I know,” she mocked him as she lifted the bowl. “Let’s go eat.”

It was the most enjoyable dinner he’d had in years. Laughter, stories, teasing; all of it still hanging in the air as he reached into his pocket for the ring he’d brought with him. He wanted to share this with them.

Fe put a gift on the table in front of Noah. “It’s a belated birthday gift, love,” she whispered. “Open it.”

When he lifted the lid, Noah froze. His smile wobbled, then the box shook in his hands. He looked up at Fiona, who was nodding and wiping her eyes. Then he was doing the same.

“We’re pregnant,” he whispered before he pulled Fe to him and kissed her forehead. “My clever, lovely Fe.”

Ben’s eyes burned as his lungs tightened. Finally. They’d tried for so long and been disappointed so many times. He left the ring in his pocket. They’d save their news for later.

“Smart move, mate. She’s stuck with you now,” he joked as he stood, first hugging Noah and then scooping Fiona into a gentle embrace.

“You’ll be a great mum, muppet,” he whispered.

A loud sniff drew his attention to Grace, who had tears running down her cheeks and the most beautiful smile on her face.

He reached for her, and she walked into his arms. They’d be parents, Noah and Fe would be parents. Their children could be mates. Joint vacations, football games, cricket matches.

Family.

The celebration ended early, and they drove home in happy silence. Ben waited until they were in the house to wrap his arms around Grace.

“I’m glad you were here for that,” he whispered against her lips.

“Me too. They’re so sweet together.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nuzzled her neck and traced the muscles in her back before resting a gentle hand in the curve of her waist. “Marry me, Grace.”

She pulled back. “What?”

“Marry me.” He pulled the ring from his pocket and the emerald cut diamond sparkled in the low light.

“Is this about Fe and Noah?”

“No,” he said as he stroked her abdomen. “It’s about us.”

Grace blinked up at him. “Oh, my God. You think I’m pregnant.”

“Well, we’ve not been careful. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

A tear fell down her cheek.

“Doll, it’s fine. The headline will break tomorrow, and our notice will go in the paper the next day.”

“I’m not,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You said you went with a friend, but you don’t have any . . .” The disappointment in her eyes crushed the rest of his sentence. It took him a minute to assemble the pieces. “You went with Fe. And you went out the front to distract the photographers.”

She nodded.

There wasn’t a baby.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he whispered.

“Because it was Fiona’s news to tell. I intended to warn you about the headline after dinner. How did you find out early?”

“A reporter stopped by looking for a quote while you were sleeping.”

“Did he tell you Hillary
is
pregnant?” she asked.

He nodded. “I don’t believe it.”

“She and Fiona have the same obstetrician.”

Her tears fell faster.

“Grace, it’s not mine.”

“I know
that
,” she wailed, pulling away from him. “But it still hurts.” She stopped and pulled herself together before continuing. “All day yesterday, I listened to people discuss you and
her
and you and
me.
Half of them believe her, and they point to every picture as proof. We got today alone because she’s in Yorkshire playing the patient girlfriend. And what am I playing? I see you at work. I’m being
kept
in a hotel you sneak in and out of. I can’t be seen with your mother. Fe, Emily, and Ivy tell you my every movement, and each one is carefully orchestrated to keep me out of Hillary’s path. Half of London treats me like your mistress because that’s what I look like.”

“Then marry me,” he repeated as he caught her and held her close. He pressed the ring into her palm. “Put my ring on your finger and tell them all to go to hell. It’ll stop. After a few months it’ll all get sorted, and then—”

“No.”

No?
He dropped his arms. “You can’t mean that.”

“I won’t marry you to stop gossip, and I won’t wait out the tabloids who want to make me into a home wrecker who stole a pregnant drama queen’s imaginary lover. Besides, you asked me because you thought I was pregnant.”

“You might still be.”

“You weren’t careful, but I was. Ben, no woman in her right mind wants to use a baby to trap a man into marriage.”

Trapped? He didn’t feel trapped. “I love—”

Her trembling fingers stopped his sentence. “Please don’t.”

His chest was tight and his throat had clogged. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Why not?”

“I don’t want it to be because of a baby or a headline.” She put the ring in his hand and rolled his fingers closed over it. “Figure out why you want to marry me, why you love me, and ask me again.”

He stared at a spot in the floor. He didn’t have to figure it out. He knew why. And he’d spent the better part of two weeks trying to show her he loved her because she never let him say it.

A breeze stirred his hair and chilled his fingers, but still he stared at the floor until his vision blurred and his eyes burned.

There wasn’t a baby. No nursery, no dog, no holiday in the country. No cuddling on the sofa. No coaching cricket matches with Noah.

She’d told him no. That she didn’t believe he meant it. That he’d treated her like his
mistress
.

The ring bit into his palm. He’d known it was hers the moment he’d seen it, and it had been hell getting her size and then arranging to pick it up last night. And she’d given it back to him.

Ben listened to his quiet house, finally looking around and finding only an empty hallway. He stared at the closed front door. While he’d stood and dithered, she’d left him. Grace was
gone
.

Slamming the door behind him, he vaulted the garden wall and ran to the hotel. Ignoring the startled clerks, he flung himself into the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. Breathless, panicked, he stopped at her door.

In the nighttime quiet, her sobs seeped into the hallway. They were deep, gulping cries that made his chest contract in empathy. Every few moments they were muffled, like she was crying into a pillow. As if her heart was broken.

He’d broken her heart.

Instead of knocking, Ben rested his forehead against the door and listened until her sobs faded to hiccups, and then until those faded to nothing.

Then he trudged away.

Chapter 25

The morning after Ben’s proposal should have been the happiest day of Grace’s life. She’d always thought it would be.

Her imaginings hadn’t included a hammering migraine, swollen eyes, salt-soaked skin, and feeling like someone had stolen all her organs while she slept. She kept expecting to see her blood pooled around her.

Marry me.
Those two words had made her happier than anything in her life, and she’d had a pretty great life. Then every touch and every fussy attention had filled the spaces, expanded, and shattered the glass bubble she’d been fighting to escape for two weeks. He didn’t even think she had friends in London.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face melt from happiness to confusion to disappointment. She’d hurt him.

It had flayed her open to walk away and leave him standing there, but it had been necessary. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been in Rome, or even in L.A. He’d encouraged her in so many little ways to grow into her life. If he couldn’t appreciate that, if he expected her to give it up and go into hiding again, they’d never be happy. Forcing herself into her routine, she showered, wrestled into gym clothes, and went downstairs for breakfast.

“Grace! How do you feel? Have you talked to Hillary? Has Ben? Have you made any decisions? Will you go back to the States?”

Despite the windows separating her from the reporters, the clamor was deafening. Every photographer outside had their nose pressed to the glass while they elbowed each other for a better angle. It was like they were fighting over the last cookie on the tray.

Ivy rushed from behind the front desk. “Why don’t you go back upstairs? We’ll bring you breakfast. Claude is working with some fresh fruit for you. I’ll bring a pot of decaf, and some milk.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Grace sighed. “I’m also not hiding as long as they can’t get in and bother everyone else.”

The younger woman shook her head, her ponytail twitching behind her like a nervous horse. “We locked the doors.”

“What about business?”

“It’ll be fine,” Ivy reassured her. “We’ve worked out an alternate entrance, and we began calling the taxi firms early this morning.”

“Thank you. Is the gym safe?”

“It is. Will you be down there for a while? I’ll send housekeeping to your room first since you’ll need to get ready for tonight.”

Tonight. Promoting the movie on live television with a hateful host while sitting beside the man she’d just rejected. What fun.

After a tasteless, mostly wasted, breakfast, Grace went into the basement gym. No windows, no noise, no people. No distractions. She started the treadmill and found her stride.

Maybe she shouldn’t have left him. No, she’d done the right thing.

Should she have said yes and then talked to him? Of course not, because any speech after
yes
would have been ignored. Besides, she hadn’t issued an ultimatum. She’d stood up for herself—for both of them, really. He’d have to understand.

What if he didn’t? What if he ran to Hillary to lick his wounds?

If he did, then he did. This wasn’t about manipulating him. This was about what they deserved. What
she
deserved.

Grace argued with herself throughout her run, pushing herself farther and harder until she collapsed against the control panel.

I’m not pregnant
. The words echoed, and she acknowledged the emptiness stretched farther than her heart. Ben as a father to a gangly, blue-eyed little boy. Sweat stung her raw cheeks as new tears threatened.

In the elevator, she faced front and refused to look at her reflection, knowing she’d only start crying again. It was time to pull herself together. Her pep talk worked until she walked into her room.

Housekeeping had left everything fresh and crisp—and a large stuffed bunny sat on her pillows. A small, plastic T-Rex was tied to its front paws, a note propped beneath.

Keep your eyes on the bunny, Idgie.

She cried for another hour. Then she started a play list and opened a book she hadn’t written.

When someone knocked on her door, she stared into the mirror opposite the bed. A ratty, mottled mess stared back. Her skin itched from her sweaty clothes. Oh well. She couldn’t fix it now.

Becky, Claire, and Susan were waiting in the hallway. Someone had sent her hair and makeup, a costumer, and an acting coach.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Becky asked as she elbowed her way through the door and walked into the bathroom with her tools.

Susan draped her arm around Grace’s shoulders and whispered, “Ben sent us because he thought you’d need the help. Looks like he was right.”

“Is something wrong?” Grace asked. Surely he wouldn’t quit. Not now. They’d worked together well before all of this.

“Relax, sweetie. Ben’s at home, wearing a path in his carpet. He looks almost as bad as you. Let’s get started on our front.”

Hours later, Grace paced in her corner of the crowded green room. The cast and crew surrounded her, but Ben was MIA.

She was in mid-turn, watching the peacock green dress swirl above her knees, when the noise increased from anxious hum to frantic chatter.

Ben stood in the doorway. In a sport coat, jeans, and an open necked shirt, he was the picture of relaxation. His expression betrayed him. Wide-eyed, pale, nibbling on his bottom lip. His gaze held hers.

Grace stretched out her hand, and he charged through the crowd to reach her. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her into the corner.

“Hello, Bunny,” she whispered.

“Rawr,” Ben rumbled. “Keep that quiet, or you’ll ruin my reputation.” He leaned back, smiled, and brushed her hair aside. “I knew those earrings would look good with this dress.”

She never should have said no.

“I love—”

He put gentle fingers over her lips and smiled. “Don’t distract me. We’ll talk when this is over. Yeah?”

She nodded and he kissed her forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

“With everything I have,” she vowed.

“Good, because you and I are going to war.”

The door opened again, and a young woman in overalls and a headset stuck her head in the door. “Show time. Get cracking.”

They walked to the wings and listened to the final crowd warm-up and instructions.

“What do you want me to do?” Grace whispered.

“Be yourself, watch my back, and hang on,” Ben instructed, grinning. “And have fun.
I
have
your
back.”

“Help me welcome E.G. Donnelley,” Simon crowed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Grace waved and smiled as she walked to the seating area. The geek crowd had shown up in force, and their wild response gave her courage as she greeted Simon.

The thin, balding, blond man was smirking already. That wasn’t a good sign.

“And Hillary Dunham,” Simon screeched.

Well, shit.

Perfect and poised, Hillary came from the other side of the set. Simon rushed to help her up the steps, and she kissed his cheek.

Grace extended her hand. “Hello.”

The other woman barely touched her, and her smile was all teeth. “Hello.”

“And Bennett Oliver.”

The applause rebounded, and Ben strode onstage, lifting his chin at the last minute and flashing the audience a broad movie star smile. Their host winced as Ben gripped his hand.

When Ben greeted Hillary, the woman leaned into him and held on. It became a tug of war—her trying to pull him to the middle of the sofa, between them, and him pulling away. She tried to kiss his cheek. He ignored her.

Finally free, he moved to the end of the sofa.

“Budge up,” he whispered as he nudged Grace’s knees.

Hillary glared as Grace moved closer to the middle. The crowd settled, and Simon took his chair, now crowded by Ben’s long legs.

“So, let’s get right into things,” Simon purred. “Ben, I think everyone would like to—”

“You know, Simon,” Ben cut in, “it’s always the same routine. You presume to know what everyone wants answered, and your guests either hedge or repeat what they’ve rehearsed. So why don’t we change it up? Let’s have
everyone
ask. Raise the lights, send the mics around, and let us have it.” He looked down the couch. “Ladies?”

Grace nodded. “I’m game. As long as we get to talk about the movie at some point. Otherwise I might get fired.”

She followed his gaze to the third member of their group. Hillary had paled significantly and, though her shrug was nonchalant, her gaze was wary.

“Sure, why not,” she said.

The crowd applauded and hooted, leaving Simon with no way to object. As the lights came up, microphone-armed staffers scrambled to find people waving for attention.

“You really don’t like taking about yourself, do you Ben?” a young man in the back asked.

“No, I don’t,” Ben replied. “It’s odd to me why anyone cares where I get coffee or shop for shoes.”

“Or who you shag?” someone quipped, and nervous laughter flitted through the crowd. Several gazes shifted between Grace and Hillary.

“Exactly.” Ben nodded, grimacing comically. “I’m just a bloke trying to date a pretty bird, and I’d like to keep it between her and me. Dating is difficult as it is, and I try to protect the people I care about from unnecessary hardship.”

Grace’s mind spun, recalling his every worried frown, every doting attention. Even in Paris, he’d lied to protect her. She never should have told him no.

“Hillary, are you pregnant?” a lady on the front row asked.

“Yes,” Hillary smirked. “A little over a month along. I flew to L.A. for the weekend, and the baby is my lovely souvenir.”

“Grace, what about you?” someone else chimed in.

“No, I’m not,” Grace answered, hoping the bitterness on her tongue didn’t flavor her words.

“What happens when filming wraps?” Simon asked her, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Are you going back to the States?”

She nodded. “To visit and for post-production, but I may travel for a while afterward. I have a lot of places I’d like to see.”

“How do you feel about China?” Ben asked her.

Did you get the villain role?
She asked in silence by raising her eyebrows. He grinned her favorite crooked grin and nodded.

“After Jamaica, or Bora Bora maybe,” Grace said. “Someplace warm with no paparazzi where there’s not a bus in sight.”

“Bora Bora could be fun. I’ve never been there either,” he said. The audience went wild when he blushed. They went wilder when her skin heated in response.

“Bennett,” Hillary whined. “How could you?”

“Hillary, enough,” he said quietly as he stayed relaxed against the sofa.

“Why are you doing this?” she wailed, mopping her eyes. Her mascara stayed perfect, and Grace easily saw through the ruse. Even waterproof mascara smeared when it was wet. She’d learned that yesterday.

Ben took a deep breath. “Because last night I watched my best friend learn he’s fathered a child with the woman he loves. I’ve never envied someone so much in my life.”

Hillary’s eyes flashed as she saw the opening. “But, you—”

“I’m not the father of your child, and you know it. And while I’ve always been willing to wait for the truth to come out, I’m not anymore. This lie isn’t only about me. My silence has hurt Grace, and your drama is preventing some man from being a father. Your baby, any baby, deserves to know it’s wanted, that someone looks forward to nappies and Christmas and worries about it falling off the roof.”

Even though her heart was breaking with his revelation, Grace smiled. “The roof?” she asked in consternation.

“You get a little distracted when you’re working, doll.”

The endearment made the audience go nuts again, deafening her as he dropped his lashes and smiled. Their names grew to a chorus, but neither of them answered.

Ben laced his fingers through hers. “All right?”

He loved her enough to stop hiding. Battling her tears, Grace nodded once, just as he’d taught her. “All right.”

He looked at the crowd. “How many of you want to know about me and Grace?”

Over half the people kept their hands raised.

“Then I—we—have a story to tell you.”

They took turns answering questions and showing clips, even the blooper reel, while Hillary and Simon faded into the periphery. When the hour was up and the cameras went dark, Ben and Grace milled with the audience for photos and autographs. Since she finished first, Grace sat and watched him work. A group of women stopped on their way out.

“He is such a wonderful man,” one of them gushed.

Adam Cain’s words from Vienna came back to Grace.
I know
sounded ungrateful, and
thank you
seemed arrogant.

“He is, isn’t he?” she replied.

When the last person left, Ben stood and dragged his hands down his face. He blinked when he saw her.

“I was worried you’d left.”

She shook her head. “Waiting on you.”

Outside, the photographers were hovering in the studio’s alley. They surged forward in a pack, shouting their names in a chorus.

Ben walked down the steps, keeping her hand as the flashbulbs strobed. “C’mon guys. Let me walk my girl home.”