Triple Threat (23 page)

Oh, he knew what to do. He was going to New York to get his part back. And his girl.

Not necessarily in that order.

* * *

“
T
HANKS...”
H
OLLY GLANCED
down at the head shot on the table in front of her. “Justin. Callbacks are next week. We’ll be in touch with your agent if we need to see more from you.”

“Is it me?” Ethan crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at the door as it swung shut behind the latest actor vying to fill Nick’s size-thirteen shoes. “Or are they getting worse?”

“Now, now.” Holly flipped Justin’s head shot over and put it on top of the when-hell-freezes-over pile, which was about three times the size of the you’re-not-Nick-but-we’ll-give-you-another-shot pile. “I’m supposed to be the temperamental one. Remember?”

“Is that
Post
thing still bothering you?” Judith sniffed. “Everyone who was in the room that day knows what really happened.”

Holly doubted that. Ethan had covered for her, falling back on the tried-and-true “family emergency” excuse. But the reality was that sleep deprivation and stress—all thanks to her breakup with Nick—had finally caught up with her. She was a loose cannon waiting to explode. All it had taken to light the ignition was an offhand remark from an actor that he’d seen the show at the Rep and would make “different choices” than Nick in the role.

At least she’d had sense enough to get out before she’d said something really embarrassing, like that no one could replace Nick. In the show or in her heart.

“I’m over it.” Holly shrugged halfheartedly. “Today’s another day. Who knows? Our new star could be right outside that door.”

“Maybe.” Ethan lifted his sleeve to check the Tag Heuer watch he’d bought himself as an opening-night gift in New Haven. “But we’ll have to wait until after lunch to find out. Who’s up for the Westway?”

Judith shook her head and stuffed some papers into her oversize purse. “I’ve got a status conference at the Churchill Foundation. But I’ll be back in time for this afternoon’s session.”

“I’m out, too.” Holly pulled her laptop from the messenger bag at her feet and put it on the table in front of her. “My agent wants a rough draft of my next play by Friday. Apparently we have to start shopping it ASAP. Can you bring me back my usual?”

“You mean that disgusting concoction of leaves and twigs you call a salad?”

“It’s not disgusting.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” Ethan linked arms with Judith and steered her to the door. “Don’t work too hard, Hollypop. Just ignore the fact that we’re all counting on you to pen our next hit.”

“Right.” Holly said. “No pressure or anything.”

Within a few minutes she was immersed in her latest script, a bittersweet tale of love, loss and liberation. Not surprising, given her tendency to follow the write-what-you-know school of thought. As she pecked at the keyboard, her muscles loosened, the pressures of the past few days forgotten. There was something about the creative process that calmed her, even when she was ripping herself open and exposing her wounds to the world.

She was deep into her story when the door squeaked open.

“Back already? You can put my salad over there.” She waved her hand to indicate the opposite end of the table. “I want to finish this scene before my muse deserts me.”

“Oh, I’m back, all right,” a familiar voice, low and husky, drawled. “And I brought you something. But it’s not a salad.”

The hair at the back of her neck stood on end.

Nick?

She looked up, slowly, hesitantly, and sure enough, there he stood, lounging against the doorjamb as if he owned the place.

“What happened to the Equity monitor?” She winced. Seriously? Almost three weeks apart and those were the first words out of her mouth? Devin and Noelle would be sorely disappointed in her.

“I gave him twenty bucks and an autograph and told him to come back in half an hour.” He crossed the room, rested one butt cheek on the table next to her computer and leaned in, invading her space so she could feel his breath on her cheek and smell his cologne—the same woodsy, earthy scent that she would forever associate with him. “That gives me time enough to convince you to come with me.”

She closed her laptop and pushed away from the table, trying to escape his sphere of influence. Like that was possible. “I can’t go to Indiana, Nick. Or wherever you’re filming now. I’m needed here.”

“We’re not going to the set.” He pulled a key ring from the pocket of his leather jacket. “The destination I have in mind is a bit closer. And much more personal.”

“Wait a minute.” She tilted her head to study him, noticing for the first time the dark circles under his eyes. It looked as if she wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. “Why aren’t you on set? You’re going to get fired.”

“I’ll explain on the way there.” He jangled the keys and stood. “Come on. We’re burning daylight.”

“Hang on, superstar.” She sat back, crossing her arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay. We’ll play this scene your way.” He grabbed a folding chair and sat facing her, so close their knees touched, setting off a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. “I’m not on set because I’m not doing the film. I quit, Holly.”

“What?” she shrieked. “You can’t...”

“I can. And I did.”

“Why?”

He reached over, taking her hand. “I think you know why.”

“No.” She shook her head and tried to pull away, but he held her hand in an iron grip. “Please tell me you didn’t throw away your career for me.”

“I didn’t throw away my career. I chose a different one. One that lets me do the kind of work I want, when I want and with whomever I want.”

“But Spielberg...”

“Isn’t who I want to be with right now.”

“Nick, I can’t let you...”

“You’re not letting me do anything. I’m doing what’s best for me. Personally and professionally.” He brought their entwined hands to his lips and brushed them across her knuckles. “What good’s all the success in the world if you can’t share it with the woman you love?”

“Love?” She stared at him, her anxiety giving way to something that felt a lot like hope.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” He massaged her hand, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb. “I’m in love with you, Holly. And you’re in love with me, too.”

The hope growing in her heart took root and bloomed like one of her father’s prize azaleas, and her mouth curled into a smile. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“So sure I bought you a present.” He jangled the keys again.

“Keys?”

“What the keys go to.” He let go of her hand to trace a finger along her temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “A house. Our house.”

“You bought us a house?” she squeaked.

“In Stockton. It’s on a lake, with a dock where we can fish, swim...” He paused, his eyes darkening to almost black. “Make love. Of course, the pagoda will have to go.”

“Oh. My. God.” She drew in a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe you bought the Paganos’ house.”

“It’s where we began.” His eyes locked onto hers. “I figured it was where we should grow old together.”

“Grow old?” Her head reeled and her heart skipped what seemed like ten beats. Did he
mean
...?

“I want to marry you, Holly. I want to work with you and play with you and have babies with you and—”

Anything else he was going to say was lost as she cut him off, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and tugging him to her for a deep, soulful kiss. When she pulled back he had a grin as wide as the George Washington Bridge.

“I take it that means yes.”

“You bet it does. Yes to everything. The work, the play, the babies.” She ran her hands down his jacket to rest on his chest. “Lots of babies.”

“Girls with your eyes and my hair. And boys who can play any sport they want. Or not.”

A flash of disappointment crossed his face, making her frown. “You won’t mind living in the same town as your father?”

“Not as long as you’re there, too.” His heart beat steady beneath her hand. “Besides, we’ll still have the apartment at the Plaza. And my place in Malibu.”

“I love you, Nick. I don’t want to be without you.”

“You won’t be.” He kissed her, quick, hard and reassuring. “There may be times our careers pull us apart temporarily, but we’ll make it work. I swear.”

“I know.”

“So what do you say?” He stood, the keys swinging from his fingers. “Want to go home?”

“What about the auditions?”

He pulled her up, lifting her off her feet, and kissed her until she was aching and breathless. “How’s that for an audition?”

“You’ve got the part.” She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Let’s wait for Ethan and Judith so we can tell them the good news. Then I’m all yours.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had all year.” He quirked an eyebrow and smiled. Not his movie-star smile, but a slow, sultry one, especially for her. “Except I don’t know what we’ll do with ourselves in the meantime.”

She rained kisses down his throat, breathing him in. “You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

And he did.

Epilogue

T
HE LAST TIME
Holly sat in the audience at Radio City Music Hall she was eight years old, with her family in the nosebleed seats, watching the Rockettes high-kick to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

Now she sat in the fourth row, next to her stage-and-screen-star husband, watching Neil Patrick Harris and a bevy of Broadway gypsies deliver an epic opening number at the Tony Awards.

Life. Was. Good.

“Still breathing?” Nick whispered in her ear during a commercial break about halfway through the show.

“Barely.” Her hands fluttered in her lap and she clasped them together to keep them still. “Aren’t you nervous? Your category’s next.”

“Nah.” He leaned back and stretched out his arms, infuriatingly calm. “I already got my prize.”

He bent his head to kiss her, soft and slow, with a familiarity that came with six months of marriage, just as the camera panned to them. The audience tittered, and a giggling actress who’d won one of last year’s awards announced Nick’s name as one of the nominees for best performance by a leading actor in a play.

“That’ll make Neil’s wrap-up rap,” Nick joked when he came up for air. “I’ll bet Lin Manuel Miranda’s back there writing about it as we speak.”

“Oh, God. Our parents just watched us make out on the Jumbotron.” Holly glanced up at the balcony, where Nick’s mom and her family sat, with the exception of Ivy, who was in Milan shooting the cover of Italian
Vogue.
With Nick at her side, she’d finally been able to tell them about the full extent of her ex-husband’s abuse and the child she’d lost. It hadn’t been easy. There had been lots of hugs, crying and swearing, the first two for Holly and the last directed at her ex. She hated seeing them hurt for her. But the news she and Nick shared with them had taken away some of the sting.

“We’re married now, babe.” He dropped an arm across her shoulders. “We’re allowed to make out.”

“And the Tony goes to...” The actress broke the seal on the envelope and paused, making Holly want to run up there and rip the damn thing out of her hand. Although she’d probably fall on her face doing it, thanks to the gold Donna Karan mermaid gown and matching Valentino sling-backs Noelle had convinced her were “a must” for a Tony nominee. She didn’t want to think about how long it was going to take her to get up onstage if, by some miracle, they took home the statuette for best play.

But the sexy grin on Nick’s face when she’d walked out of their bedroom that afternoon made all the primping worthwhile. They’d missed the pre-party altogether and barely made it to the ceremony in time to walk the red carpet.

After what seemed like an eternity, the actress looked up and leaned into the microphone. “Nick Damone, for
The Lesser Vessel.
”

Holly squealed and Nick swept her up in a bear hug and laid another long, wet kiss on her, no doubt to the delight of the cameras and the crowd. “I love you,” he breathed into her hair.

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Ditto.”

“See you backstage.”

“Only if I win, too.”

“You will.” He winked. “Don’t forget to thank me in your acceptance speech.”

Nick strode down the aisle to the stage, looking finer than fine in an Armani tux that showed off his sculpted body. He stopped periodically to shake hands, finally reaching the stage and dwarfing the diminutive actress as he accepted his Tony statuette from her.

Then he was at the microphone. Holly caught her name and heard him mention his mom, but the rest was a blur. Thank God for YouTube. Some overzealous fan would have Nick’s speech uploaded within the hour. Maybe by then she’d be coherent enough to actually pay attention to it.

Then again,
she thought, spotting Tom Hanks two rows in front of her yucking it up with Elton John,
maybe not.
The whole night was surreal. She’d be flying on this high for at least a week.

It was another half hour before they got around to handing out the final two awards of the night: Best Play and Best Musical. White-knuckled, Holly gripped the armrests on either side of her seat as one of the performers in last year’s winning show read the nominees in the play category.

“Got your speech ready?” Ethan, who had been sitting a few rows behind her with Jean-Michel, slid into Nick’s vacant seat. “Don’t forget to thank me.”

“Nick said the same thing.”

“And the Tony goes to...”

Ethan grabbed her hand and gave her an excited smile she was too nauseated to return. Had anyone ever thrown up at one of these things? There’d be a certain distinction in being the first. At least, that’s what Holly told herself.

“The Lesser Vessel.”

Holly’s heart swelled. She struggled to catch her breath and hold back the tears threatening to cascade down her cheeks. It was almost too much, too good to be true. She had her family, and Nick, and his mom and now a career she loved, with the respect of her peers. And soon...