We both laugh. "Maybe dinner would be a good idea," I say, taking his hand. "Thank you so much. Really. This was one of my best days ever."
"Mine, too," he says.
The restaurant is Steakhouse 55, and when we're seated with our wine and bread, I remember that I'd intended to apologize for Greg's punch, but got sidetracked by the stunning diamond now glowing in the dim light.
"He's just overprotective," I say now, after delivering the belated apology.
He nods thoughtfully. "Is there something between you two?"
"What? No. Well," I amend, "we're trying to start a business. But there's nothing sexual between us, if that's what you mean."
"Do you want there to be?" He asks the question casually, but there's an undercurrent of heat in his voice. And I can't deny that I like it.
"No," I say firmly.
"Good," he says, and that heat seems to settle inside me, warming my blood and making me tingle.
"Why good?" I ask, looking at my wine and not him. "Because it's convenient for you? What with me being shown off to the world as your wife-to-be."
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and I look up into face, his blue eyes dark with an emotion I don't recognize. "Maybe I'm the jealous type."
"Oh." I swallow, tugging my hand away so that I can wipe my palms on the napkin in my lap. "Lyle, this is..."
I want to say this is starting to feel real, but I can't quite get the words out past my fear of utter mortification if he tells me it's just another acting gig for him. Which is why I finish lamely with, "...a really nice surprise. Thank you."
He says, "You're welcome," as the waiter returns with my steak, and we spend the meal on safe topics. The food, which is delicious. The wine, an entire bottle of which we finish off. The pro's and con's of Disneyland versus Disney World, a topic I'm unprepared for since I've never been to Florida.
"As far as I'm concerned, Disneyland is the sentimental favorite," he says.
"Noted. Why?"
"It's the original. And," he adds as he lifts his wine glass, now filled with the first glass from our second bottle, "I'm here with you."
"Oh." I twist my napkin in my lap, feeling ridiculously pleased.
"I had a really good time today." His voice is low and earnest, and although I know that the appropriate response is, I did too, my mouth has other plans. The kind of plans that are going to toss cold water all over these tingly feelings, and yet I can't stop the words from coming.
"Why don't you do this more often?" I ask.
"Well, we only just met..."
"I'm serious," I chide. "And maybe it's none of my business, but from everything I've seen, you're this really great guy. So why don't you date? Why do you, well, do what you do? With the hotel and the girls and the paying, I mean."
"I know what you mean. And I told you before. It's hard to date in LA, especially if you're a celebrity. You never know for certain why a woman's interested."
"That's what you said, but I don't buy it."
"Well, it's the truth. Take it or leave it."
The sensual tone is gone now, and I want to kick myself. Because just like I said, it really isn't any of my business. And yet I had to poke the beast, and probably mess up a pretty nice evening. And all because I'm attracted to the guy who's paying me to be with him. Really not a recipe for future bliss.
"Forget it," I say. "I should never drink wine. It makes me both nosy and stupid."
He doesn't look at me. Instead, he picks up the saltshaker and stares at it as he slowly twists it between his fingers. "I know you must think I'm an asshole, but I do have my reasons."
"I don't think you're an asshole."
"No?" He looks up from the saltshaker. "What do you think?"
For a moment, I consider lying or dodging the question. But he deserves the truth. "I think you're lonely," I say. "And I think you're exhausted."
His forehead crinkles. "Exhausted?"
Now it's my turn to fiddle with the table setting. I pick up a packet of sweetener and turn it over and over in my hand. "It's just that it's a lot of work pretending to be someone you're not." I shrug, as if these words are easy and casual. "Hard enough doing it in your job. But you do it in your life, too."
He says nothing, but I'm watching his face. I see the shadow in his eyes. And I see the way his throat moves as he swallows.
"Maybe I'm wrong," I go on. "But I think I'd like the Lyle Tarpin you're hiding. Just saying," I add with a tentative smile, "in case you ever want to introduce him to me."
18
Her words seemed to hang over the table in a cartoon balloon, and Lyle wanted more than anything to reach up with a pin, pop the bubble, and have everything she'd just said crumble into dust.
Across from him, she winced. "I really should have stayed quiet. Like I said, me and wine and words can go very, very wrong."
"It's okay," he lied. "Really."
"Good." She twisted the engagement ring absently. "That's good."
For a moment, an awkward silence hung between them. Then she pushed away from the table. "I'll be right back. Ladies' room," she added before moving with remarkable speed across the restaurant.
He wasn't sure if she was leaving to escape what she'd said, to give him space to ponder, or if she really needed the restroom.
He didn't care.
Right then, he was grateful to have a moment alone.
Because she was right. What she'd said was spot on. Bottom line. End of story.
The not-so-fun toy surprise in the bottom of the cereal box.
He'd been playing a role for years, and she was the first person to ever call him on it.
Which was both a delightful surprise and rather disconcerting.
With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled out his phone.
He held it for a moment, his finger poised over his contacts. Then he drew in a breath and pulled up Marjorie's name.
It would be so easy, he thought. So simple to make a call and find a woman who didn't see his baggage. Who took money in exchange for sex, and that was it. Clean. Simple. Uncomplicated.
So easy to go back to the way it was before Sugar. A time that seemed years away, not just days.
Easy, he thought again, as he tapped the button.
Not to make the call, but to delete the contact entirely.
Symbolic, maybe, but important.
Because since he'd met her, something had shifted inside him. And no matter what happened with Sugar, he knew that he'd never be able to pay a woman for sex again.
"I have a plan," she said as she returned to the table.
"For world domination?"
"Not exactly." She slid into her seat and looked at him earnestly. "This day was perfect until I went and shoved my foot into my mouth. So I propose we go back to Disneyland and pretend like dinner never happened."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'm listening."
"That's it. That's my entire plan. It's pretty much all about turning back the clock so that I don't feel like a bumbling ass. But if you'd rather stay and have dessert than let me off the hook, then you just go right ahead and be evil."
"I don't do evil," he said, his expression totally bland as he signaled the waiter. "Don't you read the trades? I'm that nice actor from Iowa."
"Well, then. I guess we're going back to the park."
By the time they were back on Main Street, it was eleven-fifteen, which left them only forty-five minutes inside the Magic Kingdom, but Lyle figured that would be enough. She was right, after all, just being back inside the gates felt like a second chance.
"This is what I used to think it was like," he said, surprising himself with the admission.
She turned her head, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't grow up in the best of homes. It was ... challenging." He remembered the cramped rooms. The leering men. The haunted women.
"When I was little, I used to hide in t
he cellar. I'd sneak down after I'd done my chores, and I'd sit on the dirt floor and I'd close my eyes and let myself fall asleep as I fantasized about this perfect place. Where the people were friendly, and everyone was happy, and the streets were clean. Where there weren't needles and condoms in the wastebaskets, and a kid didn't have to plan out when to talk to his mother, because without precise timing, she'd either be drunk or high."
They were walking side by side, and now she reached over and took his hand. "I'm so sorry."
He tightened his grip, taking comfort in the feel of her skin against his. "I ran away," he said before he could change his mind. "I was sixteen, and I wrangled a fake identity, and I ran away."
"Oh, Lyle..."
"Only one other living person knows that," he said. "So you were right about the hiding. The truth doesn't exactly fit my Iowa farm boy persona."
"Thank you for trusting me."
"I don't think trust is something you thank someone for. I think it just is."
Her soft smile tugged at his heart. "Then that's even sweeter," she said as they walked toward Sleeping Beauty's castle, now shining in the dark.
By the time they reached it, the park was closing up, the employees starting to herd guests toward the exits.
"I had a really nice time," she said. "Thank you so much. For everything. The house. The ring. This," she added, her arms wide to indicate the entire park.
"You're welcome," he added, not mentioning that the house was her price and the ring was a prop. He didn't want to think about the show they were putting on for the public. Tonight felt too genuine to spoil it with harsh reality.
"It's been magical," she added, then pulled him to a stop beside the circle of flowers at the center of the town square. Then she kissed him, very slow and very sweet, and his arms went tight around her, holding her close as he reveled in the taste of her. The feel of her. As he imagined so much more, and then tried to shove those fantasies aside, knowing that wasn't what she wanted.
She'd made perfectly clear that sex wasn't on the agenda, and he couldn't blame her. She deserved something real with a man who wasn't broken.
Gently, he eased back, and his heart twisted at the way she was smiling at him. Like this had been a real date and they were a real couple. But they weren't. How could they be when she still didn't know the truth?
Once she learned it--if she learned it--she wouldn't want him anyway.
"Hey," she said. "You okay?"
"Just a little melancholy. I like this fantasy." He indicated the park, but meant something else entirely.
"Me, too."
"No regrets? In coming with me?"
"Just one."
He frowned. Considering the way she'd kissed him, the answer surprised him.
"We got here so late, we didn't get to do everything. And we didn't have the chance to do anything twice."
He laughed, relief sweeping over him. "That kind of regret I can handle. In fact, I was kind of hoping you'd say that. How do you feel about the Disneyland Hotel?"
She squinted at him, obviously completely baffled. "What are you talking about?"
"I had Nat book us a suite. Just in case you wanted to stay."
He watched as happiness lit her face, as bright as the afternoon sun.
"Are you kidding? That would be amaz--oh. But I can't. Tomorrow. I've got work. A full schedule, actually, and I have to--"
"You don't."
Her mouth tugged into a frown. "Remember my speech about eating and taxes? Money is an unfortunate necessity."
"I mean you don't have to work tomorrow. Joy cleared you for Tuesday, too. And if I'm not mistaken, Nat's already emailed you an expense report."
"You were serious about that?"
"Reimbursement? Of course."
She nodded slowly, licking her lips. "Does that mean Natasha knows? About me, I mean."
"That our engagement is a show?" he asked, surprised by how much saying those words stung. "Yeah, she knows." He hadn't forwarded her an official memo, but she'd been in the gym when he'd discussed the fake girlfriend issue with Evelyn, and Nat was more than capable of putting all the details together.
"Oh."
"In fact, we'll probably have to make up a few details for her to share. She doesn't talk about my personal life to the press, but in this case, it might be smart to let her leak a few facts. Just to build up the backstory we've invented."
"And the rest?"
It took him a second to realize what she was asking, but when he did he rushed to reassure her. "About meeting you through Marjorie? No. Absolutely not."
"So she doesn't know about you and--"
He shook his head. "No. Or, at least, if she's figured it out, she hasn't said anything." He considered the question seriously for the first time, and the truth was that Nat just might know he'd hired call girls in the past. He relied on her to run his life, especially when he was filming and had no time. She was smart and observant and--
"Hell," he said. "The truth is I never told her. And I never let myself think about the possibility that she might figure it out. I'm careful, but she sees a lot. She might know about the women, which means she might--"
"--know about me. Right. I figured."
"Is that so horrible?" He knew the answer would be yes. Hell, just the thought that Nat might know the kind of life he'd been leading all these years was enough to make his gut twist.
She stood still for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said, surprising him. "I had my reasons, and they were valid. I'd just rather she heard it from me than from rumors."
"If you want, you can tell her," he said.
"That you hired me to be your fiancee?"
"That," he agreed. "And how we met."
"Then she'd know the truth about you for sure."
He nodded, realizing he could live with that. A close secret among people he trusted.
It was something else that ate at him--the possibility that his past with those women would go wide. Especially now that they were permanently in the past.
"You okay?" she asked. "You look pensive."
"Just thinking about tomorrow," he lied. "We should start with California Adventure," he added, referring to the other Disney park. "And, hey, I can always clear your schedule for Wednesday, too."
She laughed, but he was half-serious. How nice would it be to stay here indefinitely, just the two of them lost in this clean, shiny world with none of the drama and pain of the real world?
"I wish I could, but Wednesday's not a day I want to miss. Greg and I have work stuff."
"Greg," he repeated, his voice flat. He had the sudden urge to punch someone--ideally Greg himself--and he realized that he was jealous.
He tamped it down. "What kind of business are you and Wonder Boy starting?"
She playfully hip bumped him as they strolled to the exit. "Flipping houses," she said, then told him about a new venture with Greg and Anderson Morton-Gray.
"I worked with his husband on The Price of Ransom."
"I know. Small world, right? At any rate, I can't wait to get started, and Anderson emailed that we can go walk through the property on Wednesday. Which means I can only afford one more day here."
"Fair enough," he said, and realized he was still a little jealous. Only this time, not of Greg, but of her. Of the fact that she was diving into a job she genuinely loved.
Oh, sure, M. Sterious was a solid script. But it was solid for a superhero movie where he'd be doing most of his work in front of a blue screen. And, sadly, the script had gone through so many revisions that it had lost a lot of its heart--a fault that the producers didn't care about so long as sequels were in the works.
No, it was only the paycheck that Lyle was looking forward to now, not the work. It had been a long time since he'd looked forward to the work.
How ironic that he was living his dream in the biggest way possible, and yet his world still fell flat.
Or, he amended as Sugar reached for his hand, i
t had been flat until she'd bounced into his life, all vibrant and thoughtful and genuine. She'd flipped a switch in him, and he didn't know how to turn it off.
For that matter, he didn't know if he wanted to.
19
By the time we get back to my house late Tuesday evening, I'm exhausted and sunburned.
As far as I'm concerned, we did Disney into the ground. We started the day at California Adventure, stuffing ourselves on fresh sourdough bread and tortillas inside the park even though we'd already had breakfast in the hotel.
We'd ooh'd and aah'd with the other passengers as we flew over the world on the Soarin' ride. And then we'd screamed ourselves hoarse when we were dropped from an astonishing height in the Guardian's of the Galaxy ride, where Lyle clutched my hand so tightly it still aches.
"I'm not a huge fan of being dropped from an insane height," he'd said calmly, once we were safely on the ground.
"Why did we ride it, then?"
He'd just smiled and shrugged. "We're here. We're doing Disney. And as far as I'm concerned, it's go big or go home, right?"
I agreed, and we'd followed that advice to a T.
All of which explains my exhaustion now that we're back in Venice. Not to mention my incredibly happy mood.
"This was such a great treat," I tell Lyle. "I needed a mini-vacation more than I can tell you."
"My pleasure," he says as he kills the engine in front of my house, then turns to me. "I enjoyed every single moment of it."
"Me, too," I say, then look down at my hands, unsure if the longing I hear in his voice is real or my imagination.
I want it to be real. Because the truth is, while I fully enjoyed the park, I enjoyed the company more.
I like the way he makes me laugh, the way we can talk. I like the way I feel when he touches me, even casually.
And I really like the anticipation that wells up inside of me when I'm with him--a delicious sort of craving that will be satisfied only when he touches me with intent.
Bottom line? I'm falling for him.
The problem? I'm an idiot. Because I'd intentionally and purposefully pushed him away the night of Wyatt's opening. Clearly, I'd been a shortsighted fool.
But he'd scored big points when he'd backed off with such sweet understanding. Hell, he'd been the perfect gentleman.
Now I'm thinking I'd like to see a little bit of a bad boy.