Stay the Night (23 page)

Heart sinking, she answered the phone. “I’m only accepting good news this evening.”

“Then you’ll like what I have to say,” Hopper replied. “Your check’s in the mail.”

She shook her head, sinking to sit on the steps. “What check?”

“For your pictures. They ran today. Your fee should be deposited in your account by Monday at the latest. Whatever you said to Weber worked, by the way. He lifted the ban on you.”

“Are you doing drugs?”

“I wish. Nice doing business with you, Summerhill.” He hung up.

Cole lifted his boycott of her, and Hopper ran her pope pictures. Titania stared at her phone, confused. Never in a million years would she have expected him to relent without intervention.

Wait—how did he get the pictures of the pope that she’d taken? She didn’t remember giving him copies.

Before she could call him back to ask, her phone rang again. “Speak of the devil,” she mumbled, looking at the screen. She answered it. “What are you up to, Cole?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I realized I was treating you unfairly and I, er, want to apologize.”

She frowned. “You sound strange.”

“I’m just very, er, contrite.”

“Now I know for sure that something’s wrong.
Apologize
and
contrite
aren’t terms that are in your vocabulary.”

“Look, Titania, I’m sorry. And I called everyone, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting your photos published any longer, okay? And I won’t call you anymore. That’s all I was supposed to do, so call off your guard dogs.”

He hung up.

Guard dogs? She slipped her mobile back in her pocket as she stood. Beatrice must have leaned on Cole and delivered the photos to Hopper somehow. Why hadn’t she let her sister do something earlier?

Oddly, having the ban lifted from her career didn’t feel as good as she’d expected it would. She walked slowly down the stairs, thinking it out. Yes, it was a small sort of relief, but there was a bigger issue now: Ian. Her world would be a pale place without him.

She needed to swallow her pride and apologize to him, the way Cole had with her. But how? She wasn’t good with words—she was good with actions.

She stepped into the kitchen, about to ask if there was a copy of the
Times Atlantic
lying around, but the scene that greeted her distracted her. Gigi hadn’t been kidding when she said she was going to gather the troops. It was like a Barbie convention in there, a sea of blondes.

As it was, they were
her
blondes, and that made all the difference in the world. Standing in the threshold, Titania raised Psyche and took a few photos while no one was paying attention. Jacqueline and Viola sat at the table, heads bent together, speaking softly. Chloe sat apart from them, obviously listening.

Portia, Rosalind, Summer, and Gigi stood by the sink, looking up as she entered. Gigi waved her over. “Tawny, put your camera down and join us. We have a plan.”

She lowered the camera and took a deep breath.”Do I want to hear it?”

Laughing, Gigi squeezed her. “It’s not world domination.”

“Isn’t it?” Her sisters plotting amounted to the same thing, in her experience.

“You’re going to the football match on Saturday, yes?” Summer asked.

“Yes,” she said positively. “I just need a ticket.”

“Beatrice,” they all said at once, dismissing that problem out of hand.

“But just going to the game isn’t enough,” she pointed out.

“You’re going to help him celebrate after the game,” Gigi said, a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “He’ll be euphoric after his comeback and won’t be able to resist you.”

Rosalind grinned. “Especially in the dress I picked out for you.”

It sounded good—in theory. “What if his team loses?”

“Then you console him,” Portia said. “Duh.”

She pursed her lips, thinking about it. “Is the dress also good for groveling?”

“The dress is so spectacular that you could just stand there and let it do the talking,” Rosalind assured her.

“I’m in,” Titania said with a nod.

Gigi hugged her. “Of course you are, darling.”

Beatrice strode into the kitchen, a rolled up magazine in her hand, and headed straight for them after a quick smile at their mother and Viola. She pressed her cheek to Titania’s in a welcoming kiss. “Well done, you.”

“Thank you.” Titania frowned, watching Summer, Portia, and Rosalind join the others at the table. “Although I have a feeling I should thank you.”

“Whatever for? You’re the one with the talent.” She held out the magazine. “It’s brilliant.”

“What?” Gigi poked her. “Why didn’t you tell us you published it?”

“I got distracted by your scheming. Hopper just called me to tell me the news.”

“That means you can move into your own place again,” Summer pointed out with a frown.

Titania frowned, too. “There’s no need to rush things.”

Gigi smiled, her expression knowing. “I hope Summer can stand to have you around longer.”

“It’s a challenge,” Summer said in a deadpan. “But you can’t choose who your family is.”

Fran waddled in, speaking loudly on her way to the stove. “I found a man at the door looking for you, Titania.”

Ian.
Her heart leapt.

Rowdy entered the room, his ever-present grin curling his lips.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

“My tax man greets me more enthusiastically than that, Goldie.” But he winked at her. Then he zeroed in on Gigi, stepping up to her. “Ms. Summerhill, I don’t know if Goldie told you, but I’m a big fan of yours.”

She glanced at Titania. “Goldie never tells me anything.”

“She’s a little selfish, keeping me to herself, but don’t worry. There’s enough of me to go around.” He took Gigi’s delicate hand in his and smiled at her like a besotted schoolboy.

Titania rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Gigi. He’s harmless.”

“And yet oh so manly.” Gigi flashed her world-famous smile at him, the one that painted her a seductress. “Please call me Imogen.”

“Be still, my heart, Lady Imogen.” He put a hand over his chest, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re even more stunning in person, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all.” She winked at him. “Tell me how you know our Goldie.”

Beatrice snapped her fingers. “Rowdy Walker, flanker with the Auckland Harlequins. And you play with the Eagles in the United States. I knew you looked familiar.”

“You follow rugby?” Rowdy blinked at her oldest sister, seeing her for the first time. “Goldie, there’s more of them?”

She gestured to the room at large. “They’re everywhere.”

His eyes widened as he took in the whole scene. “
Whoa.
”

“It’s your lucky day.” Gigi slipped her arm through his. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Hallelujah.” He patted Gigi’s hand. “Maybe you’ll seat me next to one of your available sisters. I’d ask Goldie to do it, but you know how she is.”

“How am I?” Titania asked, offended.

“Distracted by your camera.” He patted her on the head. “No worries, kid. It’s cute, and you’re going to take a picture of me and Lady Imogen, so it’s all good.”

Titania bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “Remind me again why we’re friends.”

“Because I’m irresistible,” he replied without batting a lash. “And because I saw how good you were for Mac the moment I met you.” He turned to Gigi. “I’m astute like that.”

“I don’t doubt you are,” her sister purred.

Titania fiddled with Psyche’s strap. “How is he?” she asked hesitantly.

“Really good, actually.” Rowdy looked her in the eye. “That’s why I’m here.”

She winced. “I didn’t mean anything malicious—”

“Did you see the magazine?”

Beatrice nodded. “I was just telling her that it’s brilliantly done. I think it’s her best work yet.”

The pictures of the pope? They were good, of course, but the ones she took of Ian were better. She had a deeper connection to him.

Taking Bea’s copy, she looked at the page that her sister had folded over. Filling it was Ian’s face, stretched on the couch, reading with a glass of whiskey in front of him.

Her photo.

She gasped, and then flipped through the paper. All the photos she’d taken were there. She hurried forward to the end and stared at the small photo of her and her bio that credited her with the work. “It’s not the pope,” she said, confused.

“Hell no,” Rowdy exclaimed. “Mac can’t even qualify as an altar boy.”

“How did the paper get these photos? Ian must be livid.” She gaped at him. “Rowdy, you didn’t …”

“Don’t worry, Goldie. It’s all good.” With a finger under her chin, he closed her mouth. “All I did was tell Mac he was being an idiot and needed to recognize.”

Gigi stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Now you’re definitely having dinner with us, as an honorary hero.”

He flushed. “Aw shucks, ma’am. All in a day’s work.”

Titania lifted Psyche and caught the moment. She checked the image in her viewfinder and nodded. Rowdy was going to love her forever for this one.

Speaking of loving forever … She lowered the camera and said, “About Ian.”

“Oh. That reminds me.” Rowdy reached into his coat pocket. “I brought you tickets.”

“Tickets for the championship game,” she said in wonder.

Gigi smiled. “Funny how some things work out.”

“You need to be there for Mac.” He held them out. “He needs you, Goldie.”

She looked at her photo essay in the paper. “He thinks that?”

“
You
think that, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Bea nodded. “Smart man.”

“Smart enough to carry extras with me.” Rowdy grinned at Gigi. “Think you can set me up with a date, Lady Imogen?”

She tipped her head toward the other Summerhills. “You want to pick one?”

“Surprise me,” he said, his appreciative gaze surveying the scene.

Gigi laughed. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

Bea watched them walk away. “He’s a rather successful rugby player. And attractive. Maybe I should volunteer to be his date.”

Titania frowned at her oldest sister. “Aren’t you seeing that Italian?”

“Of course not.” Bea frowned, her gaze going distant and troubled.

Titania raised her brow. “And you believe that?”

Bea faced her, her brow arched though there was a faint smile curving a corner of her mouth. “You know, it was much more peaceful when you were hiding away in your own batcave.”

She looked around the kitchen, at Rowdy teasing Chloe and Jacqueline touching Viola’s back, as if to give her extra support to keep her back up, and Portia and Summer arguing about who had to help Fran clean up.

Titania smiled, lifting her camera, because this was a moment to keep forever. “Peace is overrated,” she said to her oldest sister.

Beatrice laughed. “The new Summerhill motto. I’ll replace the existing one right away.”

Family and Honour
. Titania paused, her camera to one side. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know. For the first time ever the old one makes sense.”

“You know what? You’re right.” Smiling, Beatrice slid her arm through Titania’s and led her into the fold.

Chapter Twenty-five

Niamh had been inside the Blue Note once, right after she started playing first violin with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. It’d been a magical place, dark and smoky with the echo of music in the very fabric of the building.

Even now as she peeked out from behind the backstage curtain, there was still magic in this place—despite the nerves that threatened to make her feel sick.

It was fine. She’d be fine.

Why on earth had Pierce, the owner, wanted her to try out on a Friday night? Not just any Friday night, but opening for Irvin Mayfield Jr.?

She let the curtain fall closed and swallowed back the queasiness in her stomach.

Pierce strode toward her, smiling and calm as though this was an ordinary day. “How are you doing, Niamh? You ready to go on?”

She wanted to clobber him over the head with her violin. Instead she gave him a smile, hoping it didn’t look too sickly, and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Great.” He pushed past her, going on stage. Lackluster applause rose from the audience, but he silenced them and began to introduce her.

She lowered her head and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t have to take this gig. She was just here to appease everyone.

Who was she kidding? She’d done a lot of thinking in her free time, and the more she thought about playing music, the more she wanted it. It felt right. Really, being part of the music scene was the main reason she’d been excited about owning the Red Witch.

“Niamh Kelly,” she heard him say to more enthusiastic applause. She lifted her head and walked onto the stage.

“Knock ’em dead,” Pierce whispered to her on his way off.

She wished someone would knock her dead.

The lights were blinding, and her eyes fought to adjust. She heard the rustle of people she couldn’t see yet.

She didn’t need to see them. She needed to play.

Without any ado, she lifted her violin to her shoulder, closed her eyes, and played one long, poignant note.

The entire room went still.

She smiled, knowing they were hers—knowing she had this. Her muscles relaxed and she lit into the song.

The crowd came to life, clapping and whooping along with the music. She opened her eyes and grinned at them, going to the edge of the stage to see them better.

Right in the center, the old boys sat clapping along to her music, pride shining form their eyes. She winked at them, happy they came to support her.

Behind them, the Summerhills had pushed two tables together. Beatrice and Summer sat on one side, and Portia and Rosalind sat with their men on the other. Rosalind whispered something to her fiancé, and he stood up, holding his hand out to her. She put her hand in his, and he pulled her against him and began to lead her in a sexy dance.

Smiling, Niamh changed the music, making it sultry and mysterious just for them.

Rosalind’s fiancé looked up and winked at her.