Chapter Ten

Becca

 

The crew Tootles brings on is small and among the best. Not just because of their skills, but because of their ability to be discreet. Their contract for this shoot, like most they’re solicited for, includes their silence. They’re kept from discussing any details about the shoots and are required to leave before the photography begins. Still, I’m not taking any chances. I made sure they signed NDAs ahead of time.

In addition to being a creative consultant, Tootles is a gifted photographer. He’s taught me all I know about taking the perfect shot, and what I’ll need to conduct the more intimate interviews with Hale. But for Vogue, Forbes—all the big names—I need better than me. I need Tootles.

Hale’s laughter booms from the bedroom, overpowering Tootles’ softer chuckle. Hale managed to charm Tootles with his kindness. I knew he would. Hale can recognize someone who’s had it rough, especially those who soared to success regardless of it.

Right now, I’m not loving their budding friendship. It works against me, instead of for me. I’m in a robe and nothing else for the love of all. How do I get myself in these dilemmas?

The manicurist buffs my nails with expertise. I was wearing pink and was hoping for something similar. Tootles has other plans. “No,” he says, hurrying in. “No color. French or nothing at all.”

“Nothing at all,” Hale echoes, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms. The dogs skip in behind him and spread out on the floor. After a few shots on the beach, a few more in front of the fireplace, he’s won them over, too. Bastard.

The team worked on Hale long before they ever thought to touch me. He wasn’t thrilled about receiving a new hairstyle and complained more than once. He’s not complaining now, giving his hair another pass with his hand.

The stylist trimmed the sides and mussed the top, leaving the impression of a good night with very little sleep for all the right reasons. I never pictured Hale like this. Never mind, I have. I’ve always loved how he looks. Even at his most angry, I enjoy everything that makes him Hale.

All those mushy thoughts aside, I love his hair. It amps up his sex appeal and makes him look more hero than heartbreak. Whatever the team did to his scruff managed to add another helping of sexy and brightened his smile.

Like me, Hale is in a robe. My guess is, there’s nothing beneath the cotton material. I try not to give it too much thought. Those thoughts eagerly appear when I’m around him and now even when I’m not, reminding me I’m no longer in control of my raging and lonely womanly parts.

Hale looks at Tootles, but that smug grin that casts a shimmer across his mesmerizing irises is all for me. “What do you think about a shot of Becca’s short nails dragging down my back?”

“Oh,” Tootles says over my very audible gasp. “That could be sexy.”

“I think you’re looking way too much into this vision,” I say, my face heating.

Tootles disagrees, of course. “No. I like where he’s going with this. Infinite, your title suggestion, not mine—”

“Which you love,” I remind him.

“Agreed,” he says. “It suggests all those long-term successes we want for Hale, including love.”

“Love?” I stammer.

This time when I turn back to Hale, all evidence of mischief is gone. Only tension remains between us, accelerating with every stunned blink of my eyes.

“What’s wrong, Becca?” he murmurs. “Don’t you want me to find love?”

With a heavy breath, my attention falls to my lap. “Of course, I do,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so sad.

Tootles’ tone softens. It’s not sympathy or understanding he feels for me. This is all about this shoot and how enraptured he’s become with it. “Infinite,” he says, repeating the word. “A long-term love affair with the one woman Hale will share his bed with, forever.”

God, if you’re listening, help me. I’m in trouble, serious trouble.

Tootles bends to look at me, appearing depressed. “Do you really think readers want Hale, their hero, in bed with a one-night stand when we’re using a title like Infinite?”

“Yeah. Do you?” Hale asks.

Again, I blush. This time with anger. I may have to kill them and find a remote place to bury the bodies. “What does forever have to do with short nails scraping down Hale’s bare back?” I ask.

“Passion,” Tootles says like it’s obvious.

“What he said,” Hale agrees.

“Becca,” Tootles says. “There’s a horrible theory that when people marry their initial passion dies.”

“Horrible theory,” Hale reiterates.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Tootles says.

“Nope, not even close,” Hale adds. “I say kill that awful theory.”

“Agreed,” Tootles says.

“Don’t you let that passion die,” Hale presses.

Tootles grins. “Not on my watch,” he assures him. “Now, about the nails. Let’s go a little shorter. We don’t want them long. Just long enough to tease her husband.”

“In bed,” Hale agrees. “Hey,” Hale interrupts when the stylist reaches for a straightener. “Don’t touch her hair. I like it how it is.”

The way he speaks, as well as how he eyes me, gives me tremendous pause. His irises shimmer, reflecting the heat streaming through my body.

“Excellent point. We don’t want the images to appear overly posed,” Tootles explains to the stylist, oblivious to the escalating tension spreading between me and Hale. “Same with the makeup. She shouldn’t look like she has any on.”

The make-up artist nods. “I’ll just touch her up a little so the sheets don’t wash her out.”

“Lovely,” Tootles confirms. “Hale and Becca will be the ultimate couple if it kills me.”

My shoulders slump. It may very well kill me.

“Props,” Tootles says, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “I need a ring.”

“A ring?” Hale and I say at once.

“Becca isn’t a one-night stand,” Tootles patiently reminds him. “There has to be a ring.” He shoves his hands on his hips. “Am I the only one committed to this campaign?”

“No,” Hale replies.

Nice. He can still talk. Good for him.

The dogs look expectantly up at Hale when he places his hands in the pockets of his robe. I used to own a lot of jewelry, mostly rings. But when I left my daddy and the life I’d experienced with him behind, the jewelry stayed with him. I’ve accumulated a few nice pieces throughout the years, mostly earrings and necklaces. I don’t wear anything on my hands. I don’t need any more memories of my time with my father or that stupid engagement ring I wore for show. That charade I had with Denver is over, regardless of what his daddy thinks, and so is a life that includes my father.

Fumbling of drawers ensues as Tootles looks through the accessories the team brought. “I need pretty. But not too sparkly,” he says, his idea getting the best of him. “We want the focus to be on the commitment, not the jewels.”

“I have something,” Hale offers, the way he says it drawing everyone’s attention.

Hale pays us no mind and disappears into the bedroom. I’m not certain what he’s up to. The only ring he ever wore was his high school football ring. But that’s not something I’ve seen in years and not something I imagine would fit with this shoot.

“Miss Shields,” the make-up artist says. “I need to finish up.”

“Yes, of course,” I say, momentarily forgetting where I am and what’s at stake.

The soft makeup brush passes along my skin. I stare at my reflection. The blush is mild and I’m not certain it will do much in front of the camera, but my lashes are dark and long, which will be more than enough.

“Excellent,” Tootles says. “I think we’re ready.”

The team nods and begins gathering their equipment. They recognize it’s time to go and forget everything they saw.

“Found it,” Hale says from the doorway. “I just need a moment with Becca.”

Tootles starts to explain that they’re almost done, but like the rest of the team, he sees something different in Hale. No one moves, including me, our full attention on Hale and where he waits by the door.

The air changes in the room, growing somber to match Hale’s mood.

Tootles moves toward him slowly, his attention dropping to the small black box cupped in Hale’s hand. “Is that it?” Tootles asks. Hale gives a stiff nod. I can no longer see the box, but I hear the small creak it makes when it’s opened.

“It’s perfect.” Tootles glances back at me, although I’m unsure why. “I . . .”

“A few minutes,” Hale says. “That’s all I need.” He looks past the staff to where I’m sitting. I can’t move. I want to, but Hale’s mere force keeps me in place. My word, what’s happening here?

“Of course,” Tootles says, motioning to his team to hurry. “Let us know when you’re ready.”

I think I should rise from the portable makeup chair, meet Hale halfway, or at the very least assume a less submissive position. But although the shoot hasn’t started, the one where I’m to reflect the vulnerability Hale can’t outwardly demonstrate, I’m already unwillingly in character long before he kneels before me.

He holds out the square box. It’s not one of those swathed in velvet. It’s leather with a gold stamp framing the worn edges. He opens it to reveal a thin, platinum band with tiny diamonds embedded around the edge. It’s not flashy. It’s subtle. But I can sense its significance long before Hale speaks.

“It was my mother’s,” he says. “My father gave it to her the day I was born.”

I meet his face, wishing I knew the right words to say. “Why?” is all I manage.

He frowns, looking at the ring. “I think it was his way of starting over and proving he was still committed to her.”

“But not to you?” I ask before I give it much thought.

I start to apologize for my choice of words, but Hale speaks first. “No. He wasn’t ready to accept me yet.” He sighs. “Momma gave it to me the last time I saw her. She slipped it off her finger and handed it to me. I didn’t understand why she wanted me to have it. I’d only just learned I wasn’t his son.”

“I think she wanted you to know that you were still a part of everything they shared,” I say.

Hale averts his gaze. My fingers slide over his hand and I give it a squeeze. “There was a lot wrong between them,” I add quietly. “A great deal of hurt and some things they never managed to forgive themselves for. But this ring was the first step toward healing and saving what they had.” I shake my head. “They made mistakes, Hale. Big ones. Your father with how long it took him to accept you, and your mother for straying when she should have remained faithful.”

I swallow hard. My next few comments are the hardest. Somehow, I manage without stumbling and without my voice breaking, although it very much wants to. “But if she hadn’t strayed, if he hadn’t created that wedge between them, if you hadn’t worked as hard as you did, you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t have been born and I never would have known you. God, Hale,” I say, gripping his hand tighter. “I’m so blessed to know you.”

Hale trembles, not with fear, not with anger. It’s raw emotion. The same thing I feel. “This ring was the first of many long steps toward healing and acceptance.” I fight back the tear that threatens to fall. It falls anyway. “I think your momma wanted you to know that, no matter what, they did heal and that you were their son.”

Hale bows his head. For a long moment, all I see is the top of his blond, mussy hair. I want to stroke it and clutch him to me. Instead, I give him the moment he needs.

“I don’t know why I thought of it,” he says. “And I’m still not sure why I brought it out. If you don’t want to wear it, I’ll understand.”

“I would be honored to wear anything that’s a part of you,” I whisper.

He nods, his head appearing as heavy as our hearts. He pulls out the ring and places the box on the corner of the granite vanity counter. He’s still on his knees. Without thinking, I offer him my hand, waiting for him to slip this bittersweet memory on my finger.

If he hesitates, it’s brief. I watch him slide the ring that symbolizes his existence across my finger. I think I should say something. Before I can gather my thoughts, he wraps his hand around mine and draws me to him, lifting me to stand in one smooth motion.

Our gazes lock. “Come on,” he says. “Time to play married lovers.”