Page 22 of Every Step She Takes
“You didn’t read it,” I say. “Not past a line or two. You didn’t give a damn what I had to say. You had something to say. You had alotto say.”
“I…”
“You presumed my letter was excuses and apologies.I’m so sorry, Isabella. I didn’t mean to screw your husband. I just couldn’t control myself.Please accept my deepest apologies… and is there any chance I can come back next year, maybe get an internship on your new show?”
I look at her. “The letter was an explanation. Not an excuse. I wrote it and rewrote it until I’d erased any hint of self-pity or blame-laying. I made a mistake. But my mistake was not what you saw in the papers, and I needed you to know that. I would think you already did, considering you were still with Colt. Whatever he intended that night, I’d have made damn sure you knew he never got it.”
Silence.
“What did he tell you, Isabella?”
She fusses with the coffee cup, and I’m about to prod again when she says, “We separated briefly after that night. I needed to get the children away before the media circus began in earnest, and I needed to make rational decisions, not emotional ones. Colt tried to contact me, of course. Tried many times in many ways until I said, if he kept trying, I’d respond with divorce papers. After that, he gave me my space. We reconciled. I suspect you know that.”
“Kinda hard to miss,” I say, “when every move you two made brought a fresh invasion of paparazzi… and a fresh onslaught of vitriol from your fans.”
God, that sounds bitter. Sarcasm sharpened on fourteen years of pain, and I am ashamed of myself. I want to be stronger, want to tell her none of it affected me.
How could it not affect me?
“You reconciled,” I say. “Presumably then, he told you what actually happened.”
“He said the papers got it wrong, that there hadn’t been anything more than what I saw in those pictures. Which seemed convenient. He couldn’t deny the photos, and clearly, nothing happenedafteryou two realized you were being photographed, but the chance that some paparazzi just happened to be there to record your one and only encounter?” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t that stupid. I told him that I wanted to set it aside and move on.”
“And he wasn’t going to insist on clarifying and jeopardize the reunion.”
She says nothing.
“As for the chance that someone recorded our first and only encounter? It was a party. There were paparazzi skulking in the bushes and getting their long-range shots from the water. They certainly caught me swimming with Justice Kane. The guy who took those shots saw Colt sneak off with the nanny. Of course he followed. Of course he got the shots. Thatwasour only encounter, Isabella. While I no longer care whether you believe that, at the time I wanted nothing more than for you to understand… and you tossed out my letter and wrote me a reply that had me with a bottle of pills–”
I stop, biting off the words and shaking my head fiercely.
“Oh, Lucy,” she says, and she stands and makes a move as if to cross the space between us.
I raise my hands, almost falling back in my haste to ward her off.
She settles into her seat again and says, “Will you tell me now?”
I lift my gaze to hers, my face as impassive as I can make it.
“Will you tell me what happened that night?” she says. “I would like to know, and I’d like to hear it from you.”
Chapter Twelve
The Hamptons, 2005
Isabella kept stressing that the party would be a casual affair. As I discovered, that meant a whole other thing for celebrities. The patio and yard were transformed into a fairy wonderland of sparkling lights so expertly entwined that the trees and bushes seemed to glitter with fireflies. Our dresses may have been summer casual, but we had our hair, nails and makeup done by the same women who’d pampered us in the city, brought in for the day.
At six, the guests began arriving in a procession of chauffeured luxury cars and self-driven sports cars. Valets whisked vehicles off to some unknown location where they wouldn’t clog the residential street.
Isabella had invited fifty guests. I counted sixty, presumably some unable to resist sneaking in a friend. Everyone was A-list – actors, directors, musicians, producers, all flying from around the world to celebrate Colt and Isabella’s anniversary.
The impulse to run and hide nearly overwhelmed me. It might have, too, if I hadn’t kept reminding myself that, to them, I was the hired help. If Isabella took pains to introduce me, they assumed she was simply being kind, and they were kind in return, but they’d forget my name a minute later, and I was okay with that.
I mostly hung out with the children. Hid with them, really, taking refuge in my job. There were a few other kids to keep Tiana and Jamison company, and I played hostess to their corner of the party.
There were two guys my age. One was Parker Harmon, an actor in a hit TV series and the son of a director. The other was Justice Kane, lead singer of the Indigo Kings, the hottest boy band around, and the nephew of a family friend.
Earlier, Tiana had said Isabella invited Parker and Justice for me, and I will admit that I entertained a few fantasies of kissing a Hollywood prince that night. Those fantasies were dashed when Isabella introduced us… and I found an excuse to flee the moment she walked away. Kissing princes was one thing; talking to them was quite another.
