Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) (25 page)

“I was telling you what I thought that verse meant. Doesn’t mean I buy into the Bible’s definition of love.”

“If you love her there’s only one way I know of to prove it and you know what that is.”

“I do?”

Hattie nodded slowly but said nothing. Stu turned toward the window. The sky had turned a violent orange. Another gorgeous day in Charleston blossomed. Stu’s big plans of breakfast with Kate, carriage ride around The Battery, and shopping in the city’s historic city market lay in shambles. On his flight down, he’d hoped for a fresh start built on honesty and trust. But here he was, confined to a hospital bed with what felt like a huge cigarette burn.

Which was probably nothing compared to the pain he was certain she felt right now, he thought.

He looked at Hattie, her face a roadmap of wrinkles reflecting years of wisdom. In all her manuscripts, she’d never let him down. Well, the Amish zombie, spaceship story was a disaster, but other than that, her tender words of love and sacrifice always rang true for her heroes and readers.

“My fans will crucify me,” he said softly. “I could lose everything. And that’s after my publisher sues me for reneging on my contract.”

“If you gain the whole world but lose your soul mate what does it matter?” Hattie reached over and patted his hand. “That’s a paraphrase on a scripture verse, by the way.” Hattie’s smile reminded Stu of his first grade school teacher, and not in a good way. “Now, isn’t it time you allow this woman to fall in love with the man she’s going to marry?”

* * *

Kate woke early. She had no choice. As a passenger with a connecting flight to Reagan National, her plane was set to depart at 8:35 a.m. and that didn’t leave her much time to get to the airport. Not that she minded the early departure. The sooner she left Charleston the better.

Since the incident in the Pat Conroy Ballroom, she had been worried she might get arrested for aggravated assault. Which was just what she needed … another charge on her growing rap sheet. Breaking and entering, theft, assault. In less than a week she’d gone from upstanding citizen to a life of crime as a serial felon.

Kate, a towel wrapped around her, continued brushing her hair in front of the bathroom’s steamy mirror. Ten minutes before the shuttle left for the airport and she hadn’t even packed.

The perky voice of a morning newscaster rambled from the television in the bedroom. “If you’re just joining us, we’re following a breaking news story that began last night at a downtown function where an individual rumored to be a renowned author was tased while attending a stun gun conference. That’s right, he was juiced during a stun gun event.” To emphasize the irony, the announcer chuckled, slightly. “Only in Charleston.”

Kate put down her brush. She padded barefoot into the bedroom and turned up the volume. Sitting on the corner of the bed, she nervously twirled the ends of her wet hair. The newscaster continued.

“Charleston Police are telling us this morning that the victim, dressed in a Brioni tux costing upwards up four thousand dollars, was discovered by police after they received an anonymous tip. When they entered the Pat Conroy Ballroom at the popular South of Broad Event Center, they found the victim in the fetal position and moaning.” The newscaster pressed her lips together as if trying to keep from laughing, swallowing hard enough for Kate to see the effort. “Warning! The images you are about to see may be disturbing to some viewers.” A grainy still image showed Stu curled on the floor, arms folded across his chest, with his knees tucked. Someone had walloped him with a bouquet of flowers, leaving petals scattered over his expensive suit and in his hair. Kate could only think of one person brazen enough to do that—Red.

“While we cannot confirm the identity of the victim, we have learned that a press conference is scheduled to begin at the hospital any moment. So we begin our coverage of this bizarre event with our roving reporter, Rick Shaw, who is live outside the victim’s hospital room. Rick, what’s the situation there?”

The feed switched to a balding man wearing a hairpiece roughly the same shade of gray as the throw rug in front of what used to be Kate’s patio door.

“Mary Sue, I can only describe the mood here as tense. From doctors and orderlies to nurses and interns, there is a growing sense that something big is about to unfold.”

“Rick, when you say ‘big’ … big how?”

“That’s what we’re waiting to find out. I know it may sound like a sick joke—a man getting tased at a stun gun conference, but there is nothing funny about these sorts of injuries. Some of our viewers may be surprised to learn that since 2001, there have been 544 documented taser-related deaths in America—a horrific and sobering statistic.”

“Wow, Rick, that’s – pardon the expression – stunning.”

“Stunning indeed, Mary Sue. We can only hope the victim in this hospital room behind me does not become victim number five forty-five.”

“Are we any closer to knowing the identity of the victim? There has been a lot of speculation that he could be famous.”

“That’s pure conjecture at this point. I will say, other than hospital personnel, no one has entered the room behind me and,” Rick peered over his shoulder, “as you can see, the door is being guarded.” The camera zoomed in on a large white man the size of a tollbooth standing motionless in front of a hospital room door.

“Who is that coming out now?” Kate heard Mary Sue ask, although the newscaster was no longer on the screen. “Out of the way, Tiny!” The enormous man stepped aside. Kate brought a hand to her lips. The woman coming from the room she assumed to be Stu’s was none other than his friend Hattie who shielded her eyes from the glare of camera lights.

Reporter Rick Shaw thrust a microphone at her. “Ma’am, are you a relative of the victim? Can you tell us his name? What’s this press conference about?”

Hattie seemed perturbed by the reporter’s rapid-fire questions. “Out of my way, Junior, else I’m gonna lay into you like an Old Testament prophet.”

The woman thumped the reporter on the elbow with her handbag and shuffled away.

“As you can see, Mary Sue, nerves are on edge around here in the neurology wing of …”

Behind reporter Rick Shaw, the hospital door swung open again. To Kate’s horror, Stu Summers emerged wearing a white bathrobe and slippers. His hair looked as though he’d just gotten out of bed. She leaned toward the television, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her fiancé—if she could still call him that—appeared pale on camera, his tan a sickly yellow, dark rings under his eyes. Tensioning the belt of his robe, he looked into the camera, which made him appear to look straight at her.

In a somber tone he announced, “Last night in the Pat Conroy Ballroom at the South of Broad Event Center, while attending the Tasmania Taser convention, I was electrocuted with a personal protection device and left temporarily paralyzed.”

He hesitated. Probably for dramatic effect, thought Kate, so when he announces he’s bringing the full force of the criminal justice system against her it will produce the expected result. Her pulse raced as she waited for him to continue.

Stu brushed back his bangs. “But the attack on me is not why I have called this press conference. This morning I am here to announce that I have perpetrated a fraud upon the American people, my fans, and most importantly upon the woman I love. My name is Stu Summers.” His jaw flexed. “Yes,
that
Stu Summers. And I am a fraud.”

Chapter Thirty

Kate glanced at the clock beside her bed. 7:25. Her plane would begin boarding in one hour and she hadn’t even finished dressing. The hotel shuttle driver had warned the trip to the airport could easily take twenty to thirty minutes, depending on traffic. And then there were the security lines to contend with. Despite that and the fact that she was dressed only in a towel and her suitcase was still empty, Kate could not take her eyes off the television.

“Some time ago, I embarked upon a mass conspiracy to deceive the public. Unbeknownst to my publisher, I contracted with another author, an individual of exceptional talent, to write my novels. Without any acknowledgement or recognition, and with only a small stipend for the effort, this individual crafted a series of bestselling books. Books on which I placed my name and took full credit.”

“Oh … My … Goodness,” Kate said under her breath.
That
was what he’d been trying to tell her on the beach and the boat. That he hadn’t written any of his books, not a one. She bet he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Kate glanced at her ring finger. She noted the way the diamond, the one she had not been able to talk herself into removing, caught the morning light streaming through her window. Kate felt her stomach sink. Leaning away from the television, she silently scolded herself for ignoring her inner psyche. Never trust men; that was her motto. She had and now look at her. Engaged to a con artist.

“Last week, for reasons I will not go into,” Stu was saying, “it became clear to me I could no longer sustain the lie I’ve perpetrated upon the public. It was a serious lapse of judgment on my part, one that is entirely my fault. I went for the quick fix, the short cut — you pick the cliché — and in doing so I hurt people. People I love.”

Again he paused and stared into the camera, focusing those steel blue eyes as if he knew she was watching. She squeezed her eyes momentarily to fight off the tears. She should have kept her guard up. Stuck to her rule of never getting involved.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Knocking at the hotel room door interrupted her thoughts. Kate bounded off the bed, cracked open the door, and peeked into the hallway.

“We’re on the shuttle, waiting,” said Red, arms folded. “Oh my gosh, you’re not even dressed!”

Kate opened the door wider and asked, “Are you watching this?”

Red’s overly-painted eyes widened. “Would you look at that? Is that … him? He looks awful.” Red shoved her way into the room. “What’s he babbling about?”

Kate gave Red a quick rundown of what he’d said thus far.

“So he
isn’t
a bestselling author?”

“Apparently not,” Kate said. She twirled the diamond on her finger until it rested along the small pad above her palm.

“My way of thinking, he’s still good to look at. Even in that bathrobe.
Especially
in that bathrobe. Those bedroom slippers, though, not so much. That’s never a good look on a man.”

“Hush,” Kate said, slapping lightly at Red’s arm. “I can’t hear what he’s saying.”

On the television Stu continued, “In addition to my anonymous ghostwriter, I regret that I deceived the editors and staff at Little Brown Pelican. You believed in me when no one else did and worked hard to make those books successful. Unfortunately, I let you down, both in the past and now.”

“Is this for real?” asked Red. “He’s really pulling an Oprah?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he burst into tears any moment.”

“Most of all, I apologize to my readers for tricking you into thinking I was someone I am not. I led you to believe that the words of my novels reflected my heart when in fact, they only showed to what level a man will go for fame and money.”

“What about me?” Kate said under her breath. “Don’t I get an apology? I’m the one who believed your lies.”

“You tell ’em,” Red added, turning up the volume on the TV.

“Finally,” Stu said after drawing in a breath and releasing it. “To the person who tased me with her stun gun, the woman with whom I am madly in love and want to spend the rest of my life, to her I want to say …”

“
Hey
! What’s the deal?”

Kate and Red whirled. Another conference attendee stood in the doorway. “You two coming or not? The shuttle driver told me to tell you he’s pulling out. If you’re not outside in ten seconds he’s leaving you.”

“I’ll grab your suitcase and bathroom bag,” Red offered. “You put on some clothes.”

“But what about—?”

“Kate!” Red barked. “Let’s go!”

Chapter Thirty-one

That went well, don’t you think?” Stu stepped away from the door, a prisoner in his hospital room. The one he would probably pay entirely too much money for: now an issue more than ever.

In the hallway, Earl Butler continued to rebuff reporters—sometimes physically—as the paparazzi pushed and shoved in their efforts to gain access to Stu. Inside his room, Hattie, who had just returned clutching what appeared to be blue scrubs, stood next to his bed, lips pursed.

“Look, Hattie,” Stu said after it became apparent she would say nothing. “The press conference was a stroke of genius.” He pointed to his phone. “Within minutes of my confession, Little Brown Pelican Publishing pulled the first four chapters of
Man’s Best Friend
from their website. Although …” Stu used his index finger to flip to his Twitter account, “… believe it or not, no one seems to believe a word I said. Look at my Twitter account.” Hattie leaned in to get a better view of the phone’s screen. “It’s blowing up, Hattie. They think my apology was a hoax designed to increase sales.”

Hattie tossed the scrubs onto the bed. “Well? Did it?”