I leaned forward in a rush, all but smashing my nose to the monitor.
There in high-definition graphics so real I could almost reach out and touch it was the very ring I wore beside my wedding band. Pressing pause, I studied the ring Captain Triton must find, a symbol of courage and love. Two rows of rubies encircling a cushion-cut diamond? Just like mine. An engraved band of florals and scrollwork? The same.
For the first time in days, my sluggish heart beat a new rhythm, one of hope and possibility.
Lachlandidlove me.
Didn’t the proof sit sparkling on my left hand?
If he loved me, then we had something to work with—we had a chance. Lachlan couldn’t turn off those feelings that quickly, hurt or not.
I’d spent my career turning bad situations around, and my PR analysis said our relationship could definitely be restored. It just needed a little communication, some finessing, and a special kind of brand management.
And kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
Because I loved Lachlan Hayes.
I loved his beautiful, scratchy face, his big hands, and the way his eyes sparkled when he fired off a bit of sass in my direction. I loved his deep laugh, his easy smile, and the way his hand sought mine like I was his safe place. Which I was. And would be again.
I adored how Lachlan’s mind worked, so differently from mine. He was an innovator, a creator, and a natural storyteller. I prayed he hadn’t written our ending just yet.
Grabbing my phone on the desk beside me, I punched a few buttons and pressed it to my ear.
Finally, I got an answer on the fifth ring. “This better be good, Olivia Sutton.”
“Sylvie?” I smiled at her craggy voice. “Let’s go to a movie premiere.”
My grandmother yawned on the other end. “My bag’s already packed.”
ChapterFifty-Three
LACHLAN
I’d just stepped awayfrom Ryan Seacrest when I saw her.
Olivia.
On Saturday night, the red carpet felt about as comfortable for me as a nudist colony in winter. Cameras flashed, people scurried everywhere, reporters shouted questions. I watched actors and actresses strike poses just like Olivia had taught me. Designer dresses, tuxes more expensive than a year of college.
I stood by a backdrop ofMars Warsand watched Olivia step from a limousine, a vision in a gold glittery gown that fit so well it looked like she’d poured herself into it. She wore her hair in waves that once again reminded me of old Hollywood, but her black stilettos were pulled straight from my fantasies. My gosh, she was a vision. All these plumped, tucked, and filled actresses, and none compared to the woman I’d briefly called my wife.
The red carpet area swarmed with cast and crew, while assistants and press buzzed about. But that crowd parted when Olivia walked my way. Make room for the starlet.
“Lachlan, we need some shots of you and the lead cast members,” the executive producer said as he checked a message on his beeping phone. “Join us in five?”
“Got it, Ken,” I told him, my eyes tracking every step Olivia took. What was she doing here?
The producer followed my line of focus and grinned. “Maybe we better make that ten.” And with that, Ken disappeared into the crowd, intercepted by reporters and well-wishers desperate for a moment of his time.
It had taken everything in me to ignore Olivia’s calls and texts. I’d spent months talking to her daily, texting sometimes hourly, and I’d felt her absence this week like a lost limb. To need someone you couldn’t have was almost unbearable—yet nothing new in the course of my life.
A photographer snapped rapid-fire shots of Olivia as she approached, and I couldn’t help but notice she didn’t wear that practiced, perfectly angled smile she’d taught me. Nor did she even look at the photographer. I was pretty sure that uncertainty I saw on her tired face was not the look she was going for, and it made me both curious and unsettled. I’d told her I didn’t need her here. Not because I’d mastered the necessary skills to pull off a stylish evening among Hollywood elite, but because I simply couldn’t handle pretending to be married to Olivia one more second.
That apprehensive beauty of a woman sidestepped one of the highest paid actresses in Hollywood and stopped right in front of me.
Olivia looked at me.
I looked at her.
