Manolos in Manhattan (34 page)

With a sigh, Holly drew her mother into her father’s now-empty office. The remains of her birthday cake sat on the table. “It’s Ciaran,” she confessed. “I haven’t heard from him in a week. Not a word.”

A disapproving look flickered over her mother’s face. “Indeed? Well, I’m not surprised. A tiger never changes its stripes, after all.”

Holly stared at her. “What? Why do you say that?”

“It’s just...he’s an actor, after all; he has a great many demands on his time. And didn’t you say he just started taping his new talk program? I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“You’re probably right. Thanks, Mum.” But as Holly hugged her and thanked her for coming to Dashwood and James for her party, she realized that her mother’s reassurances had done little to comfort her.

Instead, she felt more uncertain about Ciaran than ever.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“Happy birthday, princess.” Chaz handed Holly a glass of fizzy pink Cava and sat down beside her. “It’s Friday evening, and here you are, all moved in and watching TV on my sofa again. I guess I should be honored you could spare me the time.”

“Oh, please.” Holly took a sip of Cava and rested her feet in his lap. “I’m here, aren’t I? Thanks for letting me crash at your place for a while. And thanks for the bubbly.”

“So you and Jamie are really through?”

“He’s with Catherine now. And I’m fine with it. We weren’t getting on, anyway.” Her mobile buzzed, and she grabbed it up hopefully. Ciaran? But it was only a text from Mum. She threw the phone aside without reading it and glanced at Chaz. “Why aren’t you out with your boyfriend tonight?”

“Klaus is in Amsterdam until Sunday.”

“I meant Ian.”

“Oh, you figured out my secret, did you?”

Her heart sped up. “What do you mean?”

“Now you know that Ian’s my extra-curricular British boy toy.” When he saw her expression, he snorted. “Kidding, Holly. He’s just an acquaintance.”

“When did you meet him?”

“Two weeks ago, at a party at nY, one of those trendy art galleries in SoHo. He said he used to work in London, and now he’s an art dealer.” He shrugged. “Why the interest?”

“Chaz,” she said carefully, “he once tried to kidnap Nat.”

He stared at her. “Why would he do something like that?”

“He was obsessed with her. Still is. If not for her quick thinking, she might very well be dead now.”

“Wow. He seems so...normal. Really smart and savvy.”

“Oh, he’s very clever. Have you talked to him again?”

“Not since we met for coffee on Monday. He hinted that he was...interested in me. Romantically.”

Holly let out a soft breath. “And?”

“Not that it’s your business,” he retorted, “but I told him I was involved with someone.” He frowned. “We haven’t talked since.”

“He was in Broadmoor, Chaz.”

He set his drink down. “What’s that, a rehab facility?”

“In a manner of speaking. It’s a high-security hospital in Berkshire for the criminally insane.”

Chaz nearly choked. “Oh, my gawd! Good thing I didn’t give him my phone number, then. And while we’re on the subject of spending Friday night with each other instead of a hot date, why aren’t you with the British heartthrob tonight? I thought he was taking you out to dinner for your birthday.”

“He was,” Holly sighed, “before I ruined everything.” She held out her empty glass. “More.”

“Shut
up
!” Chaz reached out for the bottle of Cava and topped up their glasses. “Ruined everything how, exactly? Dish to your Uncle Chazzie.”

Haltingly, she told him about her night – her no-sex, chaste, nothing-but-kissing-in-the-car night – with Ciaran.

“Are you serious?” Chaz demanded. “You spent the night with Ciaran Duncan, and you didn’t even have
sex
? What did you do, take a vow of chastity you forgot to tell me about?”

“I had a few glasses of champagne, and I…” She blushed with embarrassment. “Well, I...fell asleep.”

Chaz stared at her. “That’s pathetic.”

“I know.”

“You had the hottest, sexiest man in Hollywood in bed with you, and you
fell asleep
? Oy. There are no words.”

“I don’t handle alcohol well,” she said defensively.

“A few glasses of champagne is barely enough alcohol to get a toddler drunk, Holly! You’re hopeless. Truly.” He sighed. “Still...that’s no excuse for Ciaran to stand you up for dinner, and on your birthday, no less.”

“He didn’t stand me up, exactly. He just never called again after our no-sex night together.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Chaz said, echoing Hugh’s words earlier that afternoon. “I mean, he’s incredibly good-looking, he’s rich and famous – he can have any woman he wants. A guy like that won’t waste time on someone who doesn’t give him a happy ending on the first or second date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Holly protested.

“What else would you call it? I knew he was a jerk as soon as I met him,” Chaz added with a sniff.

“You did not! You practically swooned, and told me you wanted to go out with him yourself.”

“I was temporarily star-struck.” He reached for the popcorn bowl. “He’s a prick, Holly. Consider yourself lucky that he’s out of your life. He’s out of your league, anyway.”

“What?” Surprise, followed by hurt, swept over Holly, and she sat up. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Oh, come on, Holly! He’s a movie star! He travels in different circles than you or me. And I hate to say it, but…” He hesitated. “I’ve heard rumors about Ciaran.”

“Rumors? What kind of rumors?”

“That he bats for the other team,” Chaz said flatly. “That all his womanizing is just a cover to hide the fact that he’s gay.” He looked at her with pity. “Haven’t you ever wondered why he’s never been married?”

“Those are just rumors, Chaz!” Holly flung back. “Gossip. He just hasn’t met the right woman yet.”

“Oh, and you think
you’re
the right woman?”

“What I think,” Holly retorted, “is that you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” he scoffed. “Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that – you
are
crazy. You’ve turned into a sexually frustrated, overly paranoid nut case.”

“I think you want Ciaran for yourself,” Holly said grimly, and pushed herself off the sofa. “You wanted him from the night of the launch party. You’re just pissed because he didn’t choose you. He chose me instead.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t choose you for long, did he?” Chaz snapped. “Three dates and you’re out, sweetie. No happy ending, no score for the home team.”

“Right, I’m leaving,” Holly said, her voice wobbling with fury. She grabbed her jacket and purse from the chair and stalked to the door. “Enjoy your TV and popcorn, loser.”

“Pot, kettle, black,” he called out after her. “And don’t forget to shut the door on your way—”

Holly slammed the door behind her with as much force as she could muster.

“Out!”

Back in her car, Holly shut the door and burst into tears. How had everything gone so spectacularly
wrong
? Ciaran had abandoned her, Hugh Darcy pitied her, no one but Coco had remembered her birthday, and now she’d destroyed her relationship with Chaz, who up until tonight had been the best, most loyal friend in the entire world.

Somehow, between weeping and driving and blowing her nose, she made it to her parents’ townhouse in Gramercy Park. Holly put her key in the lock and opened the door. “Mum?” she called out as she stepped inside the hallway. “Dad? Is anyone home?”

There was no answer.
Of course,
Holly realized,
they must be out for the evening
. How depressing to think that her parents had a more active sex life than she did.

As she tossed her keys onto the hall table, Holly paused. A huge bouquet of at least three-dozen antique white roses sat in the middle of the table; a handful of pink balloons were tied to the vase. A card was thrust in the middle.

They’re probably from Dad
, Holly cautioned herself,
or Mum
. Or they might be from Chaz – before she’d pissed him off tonight and called him a loser, that is. But as she opened the card with unsteady fingers, her heart skipped with the faint hope that perhaps Ciaran hadn’t forgotten her, after all...

Holly,

Please accept my abject apologies for missing our dinner tonight. I’ve been stuck in L.A., meeting with the director, going over the script, etc. I return tomorrow and I hope, after sufficient groveling, you’ll allow me to take you out to celebrate your birthday in proper New York style.

Again, I offer my sincere apologies for missing your special day. Perhaps the blue box inside the bouquet will go a small way towards making amends.

I miss you more than words can possibly express. I’ll call you tomorrow. Until then, I remain,

Yours,

Ciaran

Holly bit her lip. Part of her – admittedly, only a very, very tiny part – wanted to take the bouquet and the card and hurl them straight in the trash. But the rest of her was thrilled.

He hadn’t forgotten her birthday.

Smiling, she pulled the vase towards her and saw, just as Ciaran’s note had said, a slim, unmistakably blue box thrust in the center of the roses. She withdrew the box with trembling fingers.

Tiffany.

She’d only ever had jewelry from Tiffany once, on her sixteenth birthday, when her father had bought her a diamond pendant.

Holly gasped as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled snugly against the blue velvet, was a diamond bracelet of exquisite beauty. She took it out and slid it on, fastening the clasp and admiring the sparkling strand of brilliants on her wrist.

That bracelet must have cost a fortune.

She couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift from Ciaran. She’d have to give it back.

No way
, a voice inside her head argued.
Keep the bracelet, and kick
him
to the curb!
After all, he put you through hell this past week. Don’t be so quick to accept his apology. Why didn’t he call, or text? Does he think he can buy your forgiveness with one sparkly bauble from Tiffany?

“Well,” Holly murmured, “it doesn’t hurt.”

As she reluctantly removed the bracelet and returned it to the box, she caught sight of a note on the table, next to the lamp.

Holly, we’re off to dinner. Someone’s sent you the most gorgeous roses. I sent you a text, but you didn’t answer. I was dying to peek at the card, but you’ll be happy to know I refrained.

She smiled.

I hope you won’t be persuaded to take Ciaran back, if the roses, as I suspect, are from him. He isn’t worthy of your affection – or your forgiveness
‒
in the slightest.

Holly’s smile faded. She crumpled up the note without reading the rest and flung it aside.

Her mother was wrong about him, and so was Chaz. Ciaran Duncan was charming, and thoughtful, and incredibly romantic, and she wouldn’t hear another word against him.

With new resolve, Holly picked up the vase and the Tiffany box and carried them into her room.

They were wrong about Ciaran, every last one of them.

She’d make him grovel when he returned, of course, and she’d demand an explanation as to why he hadn’t bothered to call or text her from L.A., not even once.

But Holly knew that no matter what his reasons were, she’d forgive him.

After all...she pretty much already had.

Chapter Sixty

Holly woke the next morning to the shrill of her cell phone. She sat up groggily and saw the bouquet of roses sitting on the nightstand next to her. The memory of the night before came rushing back, and a smile curved her lips.

She grabbed the phone and said breathlessly, “Ciaran?”

There was an infinitesimal pause. “Sorry to disappoint, Hols, but it’s only me. You know, ‘loser?’”

“Oh, Chaz,” Holly blurted, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize. I was a jerk last night. I had no right to say those things about Ciaran...even if most of them were true. I figured you must’ve gone to your folks’ place.” He paused. “So have you heard from his Royal British-ness yet?”

Holly sat cross-legged on the bed and eyed the roses. “He sent me three dozen of the most gorgeous antique white roses you’ve ever
seen
, Chaz. They had to cost a fortune. And he sent an apology...and a diamond bracelet. From Tiffany.”

“Get
out
.” Chaz lowered the volume on
The Devil Wears Prada
. “He sent you a Tiffany bracelet? Wow. Now I really
am
jealous. So what was his excuse for not calling you even once in a whole week?”

“He’s been in L.A. He got a part in the new Mike Newby film and he’s been in meetings, and going over the script, and...well, he’s been really busy.”

“Hmm.” Chaz didn’t sound convinced. “Okay. But they have this thing now, Holly, called texting. It takes, like, two seconds. You can’t tell me he couldn’t have sent you at least one text.”

“Well,” she said doubtfully, “maybe he dropped his phone in his soup, or something. It happens.”

Chaz snorted. “Right. And maybe he’s full of crap.”

“Chaz,” she warned him, “don’t go there...”

“Okay, sorry. Just don’t be too quick to forgive him. That’s all I’m saying.” He turned off the TV. “You’ll be happy to know I cleared out the rest of my posters from the spare bedroom. If you still plan to come back, that is.”

“You mean you finally threw out your posters of Jake Gyllenhaal and Ciaran Duncan...for me?” Holly said, touched.

“Sorry, sweetie, but Jake stays in my closet...so to speak. Ciaran, however, now officially belongs to the New York Department of Sanitation.”

“I’m proud of you. So what’s up?”

“I’m craving a Reuben from Shatz, with lots of Russian dressing and a big dill pickle on the side. Let the psychologists make of it what they will. Are you in?”

Holly laughed. “Oh, Chaz...of course I’m in. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

“No – I’ll pick you up. After lunch, we’ll finish packing up your stuff.”

“Sounds perfect. See you soon, loser.”

Halfway through her pastrami sandwich, Ciaran called. His warm, British voice filled her ear. “Holly! I’m so glad I caught you. Did you get my flowers? And the bracelet?”