Come a Little Bit Closer: The Sullivans (28 page)

“Hey, Val,” she said, “remember the earrings I loaned you last week? The ones with the rubies in them? I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find them. Would you mind checking to see if they’re in your bedroom?”

As soon as Valentina left the kitchen, Tatiana reached under the table and plopped a printout from the Internet into Smith’s hand. “Look at this.”

The page showed one of the “romantic” staged pictures of him and Tatiana that had been shot the week before to promote the movie while they were in character as Graham and Jo...and then another, slightly fuzzy picture of Smith and Valentina holding hands last night at the arcade. The headline between the photos shouted:
Smith Sullivan introduces his gorgeous co-star to pleasure while having a secret affair with her older sister! All the details you need about the movie star’s torrid love triangle inside.

The paper crumpled in Smith’s hands as Tatiana said, “I don’t want Valentina to see this. She’ll freak out.” Both of them knew what a major understatement that was. “But if it’s already in this magazine, that means every major entertainment show and blog is bound to pick up the story by this afternoon. I just don’t know how we can keep her from seeing it.”

Twenty-four hours, thought Smith. Had that really been too much to ask?

Yes, since last night, it felt like they’d come a long way from the point at which he and Tatiana had finished filming the sex scene. But was it far enough for Valentina to trust that they could get past this kind of crap, especially with the echo of her saying,
“I can’t imagine anything worse than being in the spotlight,”
ringing in his ears?

Or would this headline, along with a picture of the two of them from the very first time they’d held hands in public, only confirm every single one of her fears about how hard her life would be with him?

“I know how much Val cares about you,” Tatiana said as she put her hand on his arm in what he knew was supposed to be a reassuring manner. “I mean, she hates stuff like this, but you guys are so great together.”

Valentina was coming back into the kitchen with the earrings in her hand, saying, “Sorry, I thought I gave them back to y—” when she looked between the two of them and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

There was no point in pretending it hadn’t happened, or trying to hold off the truth any longer. Smith held out the paper to her. “This.”

He slid his hand into Valentina’s as she read the article, all the way through the part about how “confidential sources” said not only couldn’t he keep his hands off Tatiana, but he was also having double the fun with the older sister who managed the business side of her career.

Tatiana’s voice shook as she said, “I know we can’t control this kind of stuff, but it’s not fair if it hurts you, Val, not when you haven’t signed up for this life like we have.”

Fair.
Smith knew there wasn’t much that was fair about Hollywood, or the world that revolved around it.

“But,” Tatiana added, “once everyone realizes the two of you are actually together and that Smith and I are just working on this movie, I’m sure this will all blow over and everything will be okay.”

Maybe Tatiana was right about that, Smith thought, but even if she was, it meant the spotlight would turn entirely on Valentina.

Valentina hadn’t yet said a word, and that was what worried him most of all. Because if this had just been a picture of him and Tatiana, while he knew she wouldn’t have been at all thrilled about the false story, he had a feeling she would have been trying to comfort her sister the way she normally did.

Smith had spent so long trying to convince himself that he had control over this crazy circus life, that even as he could feel it all crumbling down around him, he told Valentina, “We make up stories to tell to the world in movies and TV shows and plays and books. These people are doing the same thing.”

The big difference, of course, was that the characters in his movies were pretend, whereas the photographers and blogs were playing with real lives. His life and Tatiana’s had been fair game for a while now.

Now, Valentina’s was, too. Because of him.

He’d known that once she’d agreed to be with him, at some point the press would want to know more about her. But he hadn’t thought it would come this soon.

Or be anywhere near this ugly.

Finally, Valentina spoke, her voice hoarse with the barely restrained fury that was choking them all. “I knew it would be hard. I knew this would happen, even though it all seemed like everything was starting to go so well, and things were so easy and perfect this morning with the three of us having breakfast together. I knew better, knew I didn’t want—”

She stopped abruptly in the middle of her sentence and both he and Tatiana held their breath as she put down the paper. When Valentina finally looked up at him, Smith was struck by the way the beautiful green and brown of her eyes were in sharp relief to her starkly pale face.

And then, she reached for him, her hands even colder than they’d been that night when they’d boarded his yacht to head to Alcatraz. His heart stopped beating in his chest as he waited for her to tell him she was done. That she couldn’t do this. That it was over.

She took a deep breath. And then another. Finally, she said, “I meant it when I said I’d try. I’m not looking forward to more of this, but it’s one thing to say I want to try. It’s another to know that I can keep trying when everything’s not perfect and sunshine and rainbows.”

Relief swamped him as he immediately dragged her into his arms and held her so tightly that only later would he realize he could have bruised her ribs. Her words meant even more with Tatiana there to witness them. Because, finally, she wasn’t trying to hide them anymore.

Was it possible, Smith wondered, that the fake story might end up being a blessing, rather than a curse?

* * *

Smith soon found out that he’d never been so wrong about anything in his life. The paparazzi lying in wait for the three of them on the sidewalk outside of Valentina and Tatiana’s house were anything but a blessing.

Already late heading to set, having ignored the last five texts that had come in from his Assistant Director, as the flashes went off in their faces while the paparazzi got big money shots of the three of them, a half-dozen images flashed before Smith.

Valentina with fire in her eyes as she faced him down in a way few other people ever had when she warned him to stay away from her sister.

The sweet joy—and longing—on her face when she’d congratulated Marcus and Nicola on their engagement.

Holding her in his arms in front of the fire while they talked about their families, and the pain of losing a parent.

The shocking heat of their first kiss in his office, and then again at Alcatraz, out on the rocks beneath a full moon.

Her tears falling as they filmed another emotional scene from his movie.

And then, the way she’d bravely faced him and told him she wanted to try, that she was willing to see if they could make things work despite his career and her aversion to ever having to be in the spotlight with him.

Smith had fifteen years of experience at dealing calmly with this kind of situation. A week before, he might have bragged that he could have taught a class on it to new actors. Hell, just minutes ago he’d been telling Valentina that they should just look at it as being similar to the kind of make-believe they created with their movies and stories.

But as he tried to shield Valentina from the paparazzi, as he told them again and again to stop and they didn’t, and as he heard one of the photographers tell another, “Talk about living the dream by banging two hot sisters,” all he could think was,
She’s going to leave me now. She’s going to leave me now. She’s going to leave me now,
until the words blurred together inside his head into something that resembled the hard shape of a fist.

Smith’s fist crashed hard into one of the cameras first, before crashing even harder into the jaw of the man holding the camera.

Chapter Twenty-six

Oh God,
Valentina thought as she sat in the passenger seat of Smith’s car with Tatiana in the backseat,
I don’t want this life. I’ve never wanted this life.

Smith gunned the engine and flew down the street, away from the paparazzi who were still taking pictures. Valentina’s mind felt at once totally full, yet completely empty. She didn’t know what to think, didn’t know how to deal with the strange sense of satisfaction over watching him defend her and her sister that was combined with her fear that he’d get hurt in the scuffle. Not to mention the fallout that was sure to come from his complete loss of control.

In the backseat, Tatiana had immediately called the film’s head publicist so that they could get started on damage control. But Valentina couldn’t even begin to concentrate on what her sister was saying.

She couldn’t look away from Smith, from the way his knuckles were bruised and bloody where he’d come in contact with the edge of a camera...and then the bones of another man’s jaw. His own jaw was clenched tight, and she could feel the fury, the frustration, pouring off him.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice sounded strange to her own ears—strange enough that when Smith didn’t answer, she thought maybe she hadn’t actually said the words aloud.

She tried again. “Your hand. It’s bleeding. Are you okay?” But this time, even though she was sure she’d said it out loud, he still didn’t answer. “Smith?”

He hit the brakes hard at a red light and when he turned to her, what she saw in his eyes had her breath catching in her throat.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice even deeper than usual. And raw. So raw.

Whatever it was she was right about, she didn’t want him to say it. She just wanted everything to—

“I’m no good for you. My life is no good for you.”

Oh God.
She’d already thought things were bad, but this—
this—
was a thousand times worse.

Smith had been sure from the start. Sure that he wanted her. Sure that she wanted him. And he’d been unfailingly sure that they could figure out how to make things work when all signs pointed in the opposite direction.

She was so stunned and so deeply wounded by his declaration that she felt frozen in stone, only her sister’s hand on her shoulder thawing a tiny part of her.

How badly she wished she could tell him he was wrong, and that she could handle this life. But how could she when she’d been caught in what felt like an impossible web? One made out of her beliefs that she was not, in fact, capable of dealing with the spotlight—along with intertwining threads of a ravenously hungry media and paparazzi who would always be intent on shining that light over whomever Smith chose to be with.

And if she couldn’t say it, if she couldn’t get out the words to make everything better, what then?

Did it mean they were over?

Just the thought of it had her stomach twisting, her chest clenching, her breath faltering. What she’d felt after seeing the horrible story about the three of them, or even when the paparazzi had been taking pictures of her, was nothing compared to actually losing Smith.

Smith pulled into the cast and crew parking lot and Tatiana squeezed her shoulder once, then said, “I’ll let everyone know you’re both coming soon,” before getting out of the car.

Valentina looked at Smith’s hand again, saw the dried blood on it, and wished she knew what to say. What to do. She always had before, had been so sure about what to go for, what to avoid. Until now. Until Smith had come into her life and everything she’d believed, everything she’d been so damn sure about, had twisted and turned and flipped around until the only thing she knew anymore was how much she wanted him, how much she enjoyed being with him, how much she
needed
him.

But even though she had no idea what to say or do or feel anymore, she knew one thing: they couldn’t leave the car like this. Couldn’t go about their day on set with
“You’re right, I’m no good for you,”
ringing in both their ears on repeat.

But just as she was about to finally reply, she saw the flashes coming from the sidewalk just beyond the set. Of course the paparazzi had come. She’d just been too shell-shocked by everything that had already happened this morning to think ahead.

Smith saw them at the same moment and reached for the door handle to get out of the car and away from the cameras when Valentina put her hand on his arm.

“Smith.”

Her voice caught on his name, turning one syllable to two.

When he turned back to face her, his expression as bleak as she knew hers had to be, she had to say something. Anything. If only so he’d know that she wasn’t ready to give up yet, and that she still wanted to see if they could find a way to make their happily-ever-after work out.

She opened her mouth to try to find the words, but fear had them clogging in her throat.

The faint hope that had flared in his eyes for a brief moment burned out.

Finally, he was the one who spoke. “We need to get away from the cameras.”

Knowing he was right, she went with him in silence from the car to the set, which had been beefed up with extra security. Anything she could have said to him was swallowed up by the concern of the cast and crew who had become like family to them both. No one made a big deal out of Smith and Valentina being together, only about the indignity of the paparazzi cramming its way into their private business.

Business that, due to the extreme expense of shooting a movie on location, had to go forward as usual.

* * *

Six horribly tense hours later, during which everyone did their damnedest to do their job, and do it well, despite what had happened that morning, Valentina watched the married camera operator and lighting designer give each other a quick kiss between takes. Her chest clenched tight at their easy affection.