Someday: 3 (Sunrise) (18 page)

The kind Elizabeth had asked him to find.

Rain started falling well before sunup. Ashley would’ve made a day of staying home and pushing Tonka trucks across the family room floor with Devin, but during breakfast she noticed they were almost out of milk.

“Looks like we’ll be taking a quick trip to the store.” Ashley sat at the kitchen table, adjacent to Devin’s high chair, and tickled his chin.

He giggled and slapped his hand against the Cheerios scattered across his tray. His hair was just as blond as Cole’s but it was curly, and in the mornings it stuck out in a dozen different directions. Devin used his whole hand to slip two pieces of cereal into his mouth. When he succeeded, he grinned. “Big tuck!”

“Yes, big, big trucks. We’ll play when we get home.” Ashley stood and cleared her own bowl. “First we get an adventure to the store! In the rain!” She laughed quietly to herself. Her mom had taught her how to laugh at rainy Mondays. “Life’s only as fun as you make it,” she would say. The sentiment was something Ashley wanted to pass down to her kids as well.

After breakfast, Ashley dressed Devin in his most snuggly sweatshirt and jeans. She dug out her favorite coat, and they headed for the market.

Twice between the display of Jonathan apples and the milk shelves at the back of the store, she ran into people she knew. A mom with a boy in Cole’s class and the receptionist at her hairstylist’s studio. Both women seemed nervous when they saw Ashley, unwilling to maintain eye contact. Instead they hurried on with their shopping.

The first woman made just one statement. “It must be hard for your family, with Dayne Matthews always in the news.”

Ashley smiled and shrugged. “It’s the nature of his business.” She thought back to the time when she and her siblings had made the tabloids, after the paparazzi found out that Dayne had reunited with the family he’d never known. “I think we’re getting used to it.”

Ashley filled her cart with two gallons of milk, a few loaves of her favorite wheat-berry bread, a pound of sliced turkey, and a bunch of bananas—Cole’s favorite. Then she headed to the front of the store.

She saw the cover of the magazine even before she reached the checkout. There for all the world to see was a full-size photo of a woman who was clearly Randi Wells, sharing a passionate kiss with a man who from the side certainly appeared to be Dayne. The headline read, “Dayne Matthews Caught Red-Handed!”

Ashley’s head began to spin, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her heart slammed into double time, and she gripped the cart handle so she wouldn’t fall to her knees. What in the world was Dayne doing? She removed one shaking hand from the cart and reached for the magazine.

That’s when she noticed it wasn’t the only magazine with the picture. Each of the five tabloids had the photo in one form or another, and all with a similarly condemning headline. “Dayne Matthews Moves On!” or “Randi Wells Has Her Way!” or “No Saying No to Randi!” Ashley grabbed one of each and slipped them onto the conveyor belt ahead of her food items.

The checker was an older gentleman, one Ashley had seen often when she shopped. He was making silly faces at Devin. “Cutest little boy of all our customers combined.” The man put the magazines in a bag and put the bag into the cart. He seemed to make no connection that the story on the front covers involved Ashley’s brother.

Ashley was grateful because she couldn’t have talked about the picture. Not when she could barely catch her breath. Her heart raced, and she fought panic the entire way home. She managed to get Devin inside and into his playpen and the groceries into the kitchen before she took the bag of magazines to the nearest sofa. She pulled out the one with the biggest color photo on the cover.

“Dayne . . . what did you do?” she whispered. Her shock and disbelief left no room for sadness. Not yet.

She stared at the profile of her brother and the way his baseball cap was pulled low over his face. The shot was taken at night, so the cap seemed to be more about Dayne hiding his identity. That fact and the photo’s poor lighting made it clear the picture wasn’t taken while the two were filming their movie. Ashley scrutinized the image of her brother. Because of the kiss, Dayne’s face wasn’t entirely visible. If Randi’s face weren’t so clear in the shot, there could’ve been a question about the guy in the picture being Dayne. But everyone who followed celebrity gossip knew Dayne and Randi were a few weeks into a movie shoot on a remote beach in Mexico. There was no need for a full shot of Dayne’s face for the truth to scream from the cover of the magazine. Only one possible explanation existed.

Dayne was having an affair with his costar.

Ashley’s shock was wearing off, and now her sick feeling was being edged out by anger. If Devin weren’t sitting a few yards away, she might’ve taken the magazine and hurled it at the wall. How could Dayne do this? Why spend all those years wooing Katy if he wasn’t finished playing the field?

Her heart ripped in half at the thought of Katy. She might be in London, but she would find out about the photo. Someone would tell her or print it off the Internet, and her world would crash in around her. Not only that, but she wouldn’t have a private place to grieve.

Ashley gritted her teeth and flipped through the pages until she came to the spread on Dayne and Randi. Again the headline mocked Dayne’s status as a married man. “No Chemistry Problem for Dayne and Randi,” it read in bold letters over a layout of half a dozen photos. Dayne was pictured laughing with Randi, sitting near her at a picnic table eating what looked like barbecue chicken, and standing with her, their arms touching, while a man the magazine identified as the director spoke to them.

In each photo Dayne and his costar seemed beyond relaxed and friendly. Combined with the picture on the front of the magazine, they looked like they were falling in love.

Ashley noticed something else. In the cover photo Dayne wore a navy baseball cap and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. The same as in the interior photos, where his face could be seen clearly.

Her mind raced. She should contact Katy and catch her before she could see the horrible photos. Ashley didn’t give the idea another minute’s thought. She set the magazine next to the bag, rushed to the kitchen table, and grabbed her cell phone from her purse. She’d picked up an international plan for the length of the shoot, and twice already she’d gotten through to Katy for an update.

Ashley punched in Katy’s number and waited. Their last conversation ran through her head.

“My costar’s a single guy,” Katy had told her. “Sometimes I think he might be trying to hit on me, but he knows I’m not interested. Calls me sis now, which is much better.” Her voice grew pensive. “Somehow my marriage gets a whole lot less scrutiny in London. They’re still more focused on a possible conspiracy with the death of Princess Diana. The pace is slower, not as much pressure.” Katy was quiet for a moment. “I’ve learned something. Making a movie is a job, and I’m going to finish it to the best of my ability. But I’m counting the days, Ash. I can’t wait to be back home with Dayne.”

Ashley cringed at the memory.
How could you, Dayne? Why?
The phone rang three times, four . . . five. Then it went to Katy’s voice mail. When the beep sounded, Ashley opened her mouth to say something, to express her outrage and hurt and to let Katy know she had a right to be angry and that she, too, was furious with Dayne. But all she said was, “Hey, Katy . . . it’s Ashley. Call me.”

She snapped the phone shut and stood there, not sure what to do. What else had Katy said the last time Ashley talked to her? Had there been a sign? a warning that her marriage was on the brink of utter disaster? Ashley tried to remember every detail. She had asked about Dayne, how he was doing, how often they were talking.

Dayne’s location was more remote, Katy had said, so reaching him was difficult. “We don’t talk as much as we’d like, but Dayne’s aware of the position he’s in . . . you know, filming a movie with Randi Wells.” She had sounded tired. “He’s careful what he says, how close to her he stands, and whether his body language might be taken wrong. Even then he’s afraid things will get misconstrued.”

No, there had been no warning—not as far as Katy had let on. Ashley returned to the sofa and looked at one of the magazines again, at the way Dayne was holding Randi, how they clung to each other, lost in the kiss. Ashley’s anger faded to sorrow, because in the short time she’d been aware that Dayne was her brother, she had actually come to believe that she knew him, that she understood the heart that beat inside him. A single tear fell onto the photo, just below Dayne’s elbow. How sad that plastered on the cover of a tabloid was the real truth. He was like many of his peers in the glare of Hollywood’s brightest lights—swayed by any wind of temptation. It was a devastating revelation. Dayne Matthews wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be.

He was nothing more than a self-absorbed celebrity.

Dayne dragged his feet in the surf as he ran down the stretch of sun-drenched sand. Twice he looked back over his shoulder at Randi, and he laughed. “See?” he shouted, out of breath, exhilarated from the chase. “You can’t catch me! I told you!”

“Watch me!” She wore a bikini top and a sheer gauze skirt tied at the waist—a cover-up for her bathing suit bottom. “I’ll catch you if I have to chase you the rest of my life!”

Dayne ran full-out, down the sand and into the crashing waves. He wore shorts and a white T-shirt, and as the water hit him, the shirt clung to his ribs. He spun around and faced her again. “You’re crazy—you know that?”

“Because I love you!” Randi ran to him, splashing and laughing. When she came within a few yards, she stopped.

Suddenly, with the admission of her feelings, the moment changed. His laughter faded first, and then their smiles dropped off and their hands fell to their sides. Their eyes held, chests heaving from the run.

“I do love you.” The wind whipped her hair sideways and back, away from her face, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I always have.” She took a step closer. “So why won’t you let me?”

“Why?” Dayne stared at the surf and gave a slow shake of his head. “You know why.” When he lifted his face again, he felt rage and frustration screaming from his eyes. He clenched his hands and lifted his face to the sky for a few beats before finding her eyes again. Behind him another wave crashed and sent white water rushing against his lower body and hers. “Does it always have to be so hard?”

“No!” she shouted with all the pent-up emotion and desire she’d held for him over the years. Like a magnet drawn to steel, she began to move toward him slowly, almost trancelike. “It doesn’t have to be so hard.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she ignored them. “Don’t leave me. . . . Please . . .”

He took a few steps toward her through the knee-deep water, angry and confused, the conflict in his heart great, his desire greater. They came together slowly, Dayne fighting the moment until he was in her arms. He trembled as he framed her face with his hands, working his fingers into her wet hair. The kiss was inevitable, marked with equal amounts of passion and anger, sorrow and exhilaration.

They were fifteen seconds into it when the command came from up on the beach. “Cut!” The director pumped his fist into the air. “Perfect! Perfect lighting, perfect backdrop, perfect emotion.”

“Perfect kiss.” Randi’s eyes danced. “Like I’ve said, that’s the trouble with you,” she whispered close to Dayne. “We’re so good together there’s no need for retakes.”

Dayne put his hands gently on her shoulders and eased free of her embrace. He smiled, but the simple act took as much effort as the previous scene. “All in a day’s work.”

The assistant director yelled his name, and Dayne was grateful for the reason to walk away. He resisted the urge to wipe Randi’s kiss from his mouth. “Coming.” He turned from Randi and jogged up the sandy slope. The movie had only two kiss scenes, and this was the first. Dayne didn’t want them in the movie, but this was a compromise from what the script had originally called for when Dayne was first linked to the picture. He’d won the battle on no between-the-sheets action, nothing with less clothing than the scene they’d just shot.