Now a Major Motion Picture (38 page)

Nothing. Only one thing could ever make his life feel like his again, and it was the one thing he couldn’t have. His shoulders slumped even lower under the weight he’d carried way too long.

I’ve hit rock bottom.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling so low.
But I can’t stay depressed over her forever, can I?

He rubbed his temples and scooted back on his bed, lying back to stare up at the ceiling. He guessed maybe he could. He had this long. And if it was going to, wouldn’t time have healed his wounds by now?

It had been ages—years—since he’d prayed. Even longer since
her
name had entered his prayers. He’d long ago stopped believing, hoping, her life was meant to be intertwined with his.

He’d stopped believing in anything.

Still, he prayed now, more fervently than he’d ever prayed in his life. He knew he had to get past this, and obviously he wasn’t doing such a great job on his own.

* * *

Two hours later Noah woke with a start. He glanced around, disoriented, and realized he’d fallen asleep where he’d landed, his clothes and light still on. He scooted to the edge of the bed and slowly stood, shedding his wrinkled shirt before wandering out of his room and through the quiet condo. In the living room, the heavy, dark brown panels that hung on either side of the sliding glass doors were wide open, giving him a view out over his small patio. The only sounds he could hear were crickets chirping on the other side of the doors and the even rise and fall of Amos’ breath.

He slunk down onto the sofa, his head filled with a buzzing mix of images—the Miami party, the principals in his office popping a bottle of champagne, Adam slapping him on the back, Erin on her date. Amelia. Always Amelia. He reached up to rub his bleary eyes as the haze of sleep slowly lifted. What was he going to do about this constant, hopeless fixation on Amelia? How was he ever going to quit her?

He had to get his life back, but how? How could he ever again find the peace that had eluded him since the day he’d lost her?

Maybe I’m just not meant to.
The idea caused a shudder of pain to ripple through his body. He didn’t see how he could go on feeling this way for the rest of his life, but he didn’t see how he’d get past it, either. He imagined himself old, gray, sitting bitter and alone on the front porch of a home he shared with no one, wondering where life had taken Amelia and wishing she was in the empty chair beside him.

No!
His head snapped up in a moment of sudden, violent clarity.
What the fuck am I doing? Why am I just sitting here, letting this happen?

All at once, he knew what he had to do. It was crazy, reckless, unthinkable.

But it was the only way he was ever going to get any peace.

He didn’t stop to think. As Amos popped his head up and cocked it in his direction, Noah crossed the room in three quick strides and flipped open the lid of his laptop. He started searching, only this time he wasn’t aimlessly wandering headlines in a fog of depression. He needed information.

He googled the title of Amelia’s first book and studied the list of entries to find the movie studio’s official site. He clicked the link, skimmed over the home page, clicked a few more links, and reached for a pad of paper and a pen. Thirty minutes later, he shut the computer’s cover with a snap.

He leaned his head back and drew in a sharp breath. He couldn’t lose his nerve.

He had to see her.

Commitment

Amelia, May

Amelia sat with her legs crossed, her right foot bouncing uncontrollably in its Christian Louboutin stiletto heel, the signature red sole bobbing up and down in a rhythmic frenzy.

The shoes were part of the flood of items pressed upon her by insistent publicists, paid for simply by her agreement to wear them when she crossed the red carpet later tonight. The perks of celebrity were incredible, Amelia thought. How easy it was to get sucked into this crazy world.

And she was in it. Man, was she in it.

Neck deep.

Her fingers fluttered to the delicate indention between her collarbones and caressed the diamond that hung there, this accessory not part of the product placement haul that adorned the rest of her body. No, this was all hers. A gift from her very sweet and unquestionably too-generous boyfriend. Her first instinct had been to refuse to accept it—she shuddered to think how much the necklace had cost—but one look at Colin’s face had made her bite back her protest. His eyes had been so excited, his expression so eager, like a little boy on Christmas morning.

This was what she’d signed on for, she reminded herself, as if it were a bad thing. But the truth was, she wasn’t settling into this world without privacy, this world of lavish gifts, glamorous hotel suites, constant travel. Her life, which used to fit like a glove, felt five sizes too big. It was Colin’s world, not hers. She was successful as a writer, sure, but her books weren’t the reason paparazzi followed her every time she left her house or strangers pressed their faces against the glass when she was spotted in a restaurant.

She was regularly ambushed by photographers now. She thought back to three weeks earlier, a few days after the L.A. junket, when she and Colin had attended a promo event together in New York. After leaving the party, Colin stepped away from her for a few seconds to sign an autograph. As soon as his back was turned, she heard someone yell her name and paused to look over her shoulder. A short, chubby, and completely creepy pap was hurtling toward her, and in his maniacal attempt to land a shot, he crashed into her left side. His camera clattered to the sidewalk, where she hoped it had suffered irreparable damage, but not before it collided full-on with her left arm and ribcage. She stumbled a few steps and would have fallen if Colin hadn’t turned back toward her just in time. He caught her in his arms and ducked with her into the waiting car, his crystal eyes shooting daggers at the photographer, who was being led away by a member of Colin’s security team.

She still had a bruise above her elbow, and for a week it had hurt to take a deep breath.

But that wasn’t the worst beating she’d taken in the past few weeks. A new rumor had started up about Colin, this one linking him with his newest co-star, Nathalie Rousseau, after he was spotted with her at a New York nightclub.

Amelia had left him in the city a day earlier for an appearance on a San Francisco morning show. When the photos broke, Nina called her first, and she was still on the phone when Colin beeped in. By then she was already online, and the pictures had already gone viral. When she saw them she felt sick, but he’d smoothly refuted the rumors, and she believed his story. He’d gone to the club to unwind after a day of interviews, and he’d run into Nathalie in the VIP lounge. He’d ducked into her booth, and they’d exchanged hellos, giving each other pecks on the cheek in the process—she was French, after all. Somebody had snapped pictures that made the encounter look more intimate than it really was and others had run with them.

It was a plausible explanation, and Amelia didn’t want to doubt him. But when she studied the photos closely, the kiss sure didn’t look like a peck on the cheek. Nathalie was practically in Colin’s lap, and they appeared to be in a serious lip-lock.

She desperately wanted to believe he wasn’t cheating on her, but even if he wasn’t, she couldn’t help but worry that her life would continue to be like this, one false report of cheating after another. She knew there were thousands—who was she kidding? hundreds of thousands—of women out there dying to take her place. Would Colin always be able to resist that? At what point would one of the stories be true?

The Nathalie incident still wasn’t the worst thing she’d experienced in the past two weeks.

One of the most malicious celebrity blogs had posted an exposé on Colin’s rise to fame that accused him of bedding Amelia to land the role in
Shattered
to kick-start his movie career. Amelia knew that was ludicrous. For one thing, Colin’s agent had been in talks with the studio before they’d even met, and for another, he was already fifty times more famous than she was. The only true part of the story was that
Shattered
really had given him the big break he’d needed to move from the small screen to the big screen. Before her books and the ensuing movie franchise, his only silver screen experience was supporting roles in box office flops. The hype surrounding
Shattered
was a game-changer for everybody involved, and it hadn’t even released yet.

But the article, maligned as it was, had gone viral and given rise to days of speculation among more respectable media about Colin’s motivations for being with Amelia. Since she’d never understood herself what he saw in her, it was enough to plant more doubt in Amelia’s mind.

The fact was, they were living in a pressure cooker. And that meant she was no closer than she’d been weeks ago to answering Colin’s question about their living arrangements.

Twenty-four hours earlier, they’d been having what could almost be described as a normal evening. They’d met in L.A. after a hectic few days on opposite coasts, determined to get in a tiny sliver of relaxation before the chaos of the Hollywood premiere. He had again dismissed his staff, not an easy thing to do the night before the premiere—his manager was almost impossible to shake—and he and Amelia snuggled together on one of the huge modular sofas in his media room.
Theater
, she corrected herself.
Might as well call a spade a spade.
The in-home theater was so state-of-the-art he could easily charge admission.

Two-thirds of the way into
Casablanca
, which Colin put on just for her, he paused the film—freeze-framing a larger-than-life image of Bogart and Bergman gazing at each other with expressions of hopeless longing—and turned to face her.

Startled, she met his gaze in the light reflecting from the 110-inch screen. He stared at her for several seconds.

“You’re killing me,” he said. “I’m trying to be patient, to give you space. I know things are nuts right now. But I keep waiting for you to bring it up, and it’s clear that you’re not going to.” He paused. “You don’t want to live here.”

It was a statement, not a question.

She bit her lip as she raced to formulate a response. The silence in the room was distracting, and she looked down, away from him.

“Why not?” He tipped her chin up so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered.

“Why, then?” he asked in a hurt tone, and she realized her reaction had confirmed the answer she hadn’t been able to voice. “I want you here. I want you all the time.” He paused again. “Don’t you want me?”

She would have smiled at the puppy-dog earnestness of his expression if the conversation hadn’t been so serious. Of course she wanted him.
Who doesn’t?
she thought dryly. And he knew that. He
used
that.

But do I want all of this?
She gazed beyond him to their luxurious surroundings. Did she want paparazzi constantly breathing down her neck? Talk shows having field days at her expense? Did she want to move across the country, leave behind her old friends, her old life? And even if she
did
want those things, could she trust Colin? Really, truly trust him? Her uncertainty around that question weighed more heavily on Amelia’s mind than any other factor in her decision.

She made several unsuccessful attempts to form words. She wanted to open up to him, to voice her concerns and let him talk her out of them, one by one, in that rational, compelling way of his. But she couldn’t. Not with the unnerving way his eyes were holding hers, waiting.

She bit her lip. When she answered him, her voice was low. “Yes, Colin. I want you.
You.
Isn’t that enough?”

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his, and the tension in the room slowly dissipated. But she knew the conversation wasn’t over. It was just on pause, like the movie he’d eventually restarted. Then the next afternoon—a few hours ago—he’d presented her with the necklace. Was it because they’d sort of had their first fight?
Probably.
That thought increased her guilt.

Her fingers continued to caress the smooth, hard surface of the stone. She was sitting in Colin’s marble foyer on a gilded bench with a padded velvet seat, waiting for him to come downstairs. As she glanced up the sweeping stairway, light from a massive crystal chandelier glinted off her beaded dress and bathed the room in a warm, prismatic glow.

Her foot still bounced frenetically. She was so tense from all of this premiere stuff, it was no wonder she and Colin were experiencing friction. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed nervous, too. She was glad the premiere was almost over. By this weekend they’d be seeing box office numbers.

That thought didn’t bring much relief when Amelia considered its implications.

She could scarcely fathom the idea that her books were what had generated this madness. The money the studio had sunk into the production, the cast and crew that were assembled, the months of preparation…it made her head swim, and she was paralyzed with fear at the idea of failing everyone. What if the movie tanked? What if it was such a disaster that it hurt Colin’s career instead of helping it?

She thought her head might explode from the anxiety. Quickly she scanned her brain for thoughts to replace those of empty theater seats, of scathing reviews…and what she thought of was Noah.

Earlier that day Reese and Brooke had arrived in L.A. to attend tonight’s premiere. Amelia had sent a car to pick them up, and she’d met them at the spa on the ground floor of their hotel. While the three of them spent two and a half hours getting pampered from head to toe, Noah’s name came up in conversation. Reese had heard from her mom—who’d heard from Noah’s mom—that Noah had broken up with his girlfriend.

“Why are you telling me this?” Amelia complained to Reese. As if she needed another complication in her life. And yet, the most complicated thing about it was that it shouldn’t
be
a complication. At what point would hearing Noah’s name not tie her stomach into knots and send her thoughts into a tailspin?