sixteen
I stared at the magazine, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Was he dating this blonde? Were they sleeping together? Did I even have the right to be asking these questions?
My mind whirled in a thousand directions, my eyes riveted to the picture. When I finally worked up the nerve, I read the article inside.
After the premiere in Los Angeles, Jack Hamilton went on a world tour, stopping at Time’s opening in his hometown of London, quickly followed by the premiere in Paris. He just recently popped back up on the scene in L.A. and was seen at local nightclubs every night last week. Our cameras caught him exiting a taxi outside the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood with a stunning blonde. When asked where his redhead was—older woman and rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan—Jack’s words were mumbled and undecipherable. He stumbled into the hotel and was not seen again until the following morning, when he beat a hasty retreat into the Hills. Does this mean Jack is back on the market?
Stunning blonde. Hmmpf. And speaking of not stunning, the usually beauteous Jack looked like crap. He was always such a polished pro in public. What the hell was going on?
Maybe he misses you.
More like maybe his fame is going to his head. He seems to have plenty of company.
I read the article three more times before I finally picked up the phone again. I dreaded making this call.
“Hi,” Holly answered.
“Is it true?” I asked, my lower lip beginning to tremble.
“You saw the article?”
“I did. Is it true?”
I heard her sigh. “Grace, I love you, but I have a PR nightmare on my hands here, and I have to tell you, you gave up your rights to ask questions about Jack when you broke it off,” she snapped.
“I know, I know. But you have to tell me!” I begged, my lower lip quivering as tears ran rampant down my face.
“I don’t know, Grace. He’s been so hard to get ahold of lately. After Paris, he just kind of checked out. No more press, no more interviews, and he stopped answering my calls. I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted, her tone softening.
“Oh, Holly. I messed up. I messed up big-time,” I wailed.
“Tell me something I don’t know, fruitcake,” she said, and I laughed a little in spite of myself.
She put her PR nightmare on hold, and we spent a long time on the phone. I told her what had happened between me and Michael, and she wasn’t all that surprised. Despite my determination mere minutes ago, we agreed that perhaps now was not the best time to reach out to Jack. I needed to concentrate on the upcoming show. She promised to come out for the opening, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need some girl time. I needed to focus 100 percent on the show and turn my attention back to my career. I’d been so focused on my personal life—and on Jack’s career—that I’d neglected to realize how wonderfully my own work was going at the moment. Michael had invited a few reporters in to watch rehearsal a couple of days ago, and the early feedback was good—quite good. Particularly for the leading lady.
“Just hold on, m’dear, and Holly will be there soon,” she said. “We’ll toast your success, have a few cocktails, and, if necessary, I’ll sleep with you,” she quipped, once again making me laugh.
“Well, if there’s anyone who needs to get a little, it’s you. That’s for sure. How long has it been anyway?” I asked.
“Hey, Grace, I need to scoot. Call me later if you need to, okay?”
“Okay. Will do, asshead.”
“Things will work out exactly as they should, I promise,” she said.
“I trust you,” I said, then hung up.
I looked at the magazine once more, then threw it in the trash. I would figure this out, but looking at those pictures was not going to help me.
In the final days of rehearsal, I threw myself into my work. It was my saving grace. I found strength in the connection I shared with Mabel, and I spent more time at the theater than ever. After rehearsal sometimes, I would steal onto the stage, when the crew had left and it was almost deserted. Standing center, with an empty house, I felt the energy flow through me. In this space I felt more at home than anywhere else on earth. How privileged I was to have a shot at this life, and I was taking full advantage of it. I was proud of myself and what I’d accomplished, and whether the show was picked up or not almost didn’t matter.
Well, yes, of course I wanted the show to do well. Oh hell, I wanted to see my name in lights! I could own that, but I was also thrilled to be involved in this industry in any way. Even if I couldn’t be on a stage, or in front of a camera, I now knew I’d need to look into a career path that kept me in this industry, as this was clearly where I was meant to be.
The days and nights of final rehearsals sped by, and soon I found myself collecting Holly and Nick from the airport. They’d flown in for my big night, and it felt wonderful to have them with me again. I focused on them and tried not to think about what Jack might be up to right now. But I did wonder if he remembered when my show was to open.
On the way into the city, they stared like complete tourists as the driver took us down Broadway. Although Nick had been a screenwriter for years and Holly by now was a grizzled old Hollywood veteran, they were just as taken aback by the lights and the built-in energy of the Great White Way as I was—each and every time I passed by Forty-Second Street. As the three of us stared at the marquees of the landmark theaters, we were mesmerized.
“Can you believe I’m here, Holls? Actually here?” I breathed, squeezing her hand.
She smiled and squeezed my hand back. “Yes, I can totally believe it.”
Between rehearsals, I spent the next few days showing them my favorite haunts around the city, and in a flash it was opening night. That evening, in a tizzy of nerves and panic, my stomach once again reminded me who was in charge, and I vomited my lunch all over the floor of my dressing room. Michael, anticipating my stage fright (perhaps also fearing for his shoes), had a mop standing by.
Just before the music began, Michael found me. He was as nervous as I was, and we clung to each other for a moment before he headed out to watch from the house.
“Grace, you’ll be amazing. I know it. I’m so glad you’re in this show,” he whispered. “Knock ’em dead.” He kissed me on the cheek and went out to pace.
I gathered myself, centered myself, and when I heard my cue, I walked onstage. And I was home once more.
I floated about three feet above the floor all night. I let myself go, gave myself over completely to the character, and just . . . was. I gave it everything: my excitement over my move back to Los Angeles, the thrill of being a part of this industry again, the pain from my recent breakup with Jack, the confusion of my almost-something with Michael—all of it. Everything about this exact second of my life, and all the experiences that had brought me here, came out onto that stage with me and helped me create a performance I could do again and again and never grow tired of. I’d never stop finding something new. I felt alive, exhilarated, and scared to death, and I loved every second of it.
I felt the audience and the energy they gave me. They laughed when Mabel laughed, cried when Mabel cried, and we went through it together. That’s the thing about live theater. It’s different every night, and when you’re truly there and truly present, it’s magic. Pure and simple.
When the curtain came down and the cast assembled for bows, I finally let myself feel it. I’d made it to where I’d wanted to be since I was seven, singing along to My Fair Lady in front of the mirror, a Ken doll as my scene partner. Since I’d auditioned for my first play at eleven, singing “Memories” like every other damn kid in the country. Since I’d won my first leading role when I was fourteen and played Maria in The Sound of Music. Since I’d seen Rent and bawled my eyes out at the thought this was no longer within my grasp.
So to stand in the spotlight, hear the applause, and know the people I loved were onstage with me and in the audience, and that I was making a living doing something I would gladly do for free?
I lost it. I cried and laughed simultaneously as Leslie pushed me out front for my very own curtain call.
And that’s when I saw him. Standing next to Holly and Nick, with a smile as big as I’d ever seen, was my Brit. He clapped harder than anyone else in the audience, with a look of such pride—and all three of them probably had bruised hands, from the way they carried on.
And if I’m being honest? I fucking killed it!
I was five different kinds of thrilled. He came! He came for me on my big night. My tears flowed as I smiled huge.
After the curtain call, I paced nervously in my dressing room. The cast was in and out, offering congratulations. Michael was on cloud nine, and the early feedback from investors in the audience was good. I knew Holly and Nick would be coming backstage, but would Jack be with them? Surely he wouldn’t fly all the way out here and then not come see me. Would he?
I continued to eat Tums like they were going out of style, and I heard a soft knock on my door.
“Yeah?” I said through a mouthful of chalky grit and opened the door.
“These are for you, Grace.” One of the stagehands handed me the biggest bunch of peonies I’d ever seen. Where anyone found peonies in late November was beyond me, but there they were. As I peered through the blooms, I found a snack pack of Chex Mix buried inside, with a Post-it note attached. I laughed out loud as I read the “card.”
Congratulations, Gracie.
This celebratory Chex Mix should help settle your tummy.
If you like, save the melba toasts and bring them to me tomorrow at lunch???
Jack
P.S. You were radiant.
I looked out into the hallway to see if he was there, but all I saw was a flash of Holly as she barreled into me.
“Oh, girl, you were fierce!” Nick cried, taking the opportunity to look down my robe and nod approvingly at my boobies.
“Thanks, Nick. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Holly! Hey, Holly?” I tried to dislodge my best friend from her death grip on me.
Finally, she released me and attempted to clear her throat. “You were great, ya little fruitcake,” she said, her voice gruff and thick.
“Thanks, dear. Wait a minute. Are you crying? Holly, no . . .” I gasped as she raised her eyes to me.
“Oh, shut up, asshead. You were amazing, okay? I’m allowed to cry once every ten years. Now piss off,” she warned, smacking me lightly on the cheek. She saw me looking over her shoulder toward the hallway, and she smacked me a little harder.
“He went back to his hotel, if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was coming!” I sank into my chair, beginning to remove my makeup. Nick quickly started brushing out my hair, not wanting to miss a word of what was going on. It was amazing how quickly things fell back to normal with us.
“I didn’t know until the last minute. He asked me last week when your opening was, and then the next thing I knew, he had a ticket waiting at Will Call next to mine tonight. Go figure,” she said, tossing her hair and looking away too quickly.
“Hmm,” I said, eyeing my face in the mirror. Nick was chuckling behind me.
“And what, may I ask, is so funny, mister?”
“Holly was talking about your opening.” He giggled, and I rolled my eyes.
“So he mentioned something about lunch?” I added, looking at her sideways to see if she would dish the dirt.
“Yes, I’ve been instructed to provide you with the details of where Mr. Hamilton will be dining tomorrow, precisely at noon, if you should be so inclined,” she answered, her eyes dancing.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d finally be able to talk to my George and ask him if I could be his Gracie again. I’d have to come clean about a lot of things, but it was time. Feeling immensely relieved—and thrilled to have Holly and Nick at my side—I set off for a celebratory dinner with the cast. My two-drink rule was back in full enforcement, and I went to bed that night feeling proud, confident my eyes would be cabbage-free in the morning, and a teeny bit hopeful.
The next day, a few minutes before noon, I walked into the Four Seasons. I let the concierge know I was a guest of Jack Hamilton, as I’d been instructed to do, and he immediately said, “Ah, yes. Ms. Sheridan? Yes, Mr. Hamilton is expecting you in one of our private dining rooms. Allow me?” he asked, taking my coat and gesturing toward a semi-hidden elevator.
We went up a few floors, then he took me to an ornate door at the end of a darkly paneled hallway. As he prepared to open the door, I smoothed my skirt. I had nixed several outfits before settling finally on this one: a trim black skirt with a soft pink angora sweater. Fabulous tits (my strong point in this scenario) and black boots completed the look, and the nervous smile on my face hopefully didn’t show everything. I took a breath, and he opened the door.
Jack sat at a table for two, facing the door. He rose when I came in, and I was struck stupid once again at how beautiful he was. The face, the curls, the eyes were the same, but the smile was sad. I was the cause of that sadness, and shame gripped me once more.
Suck it up, lady. It’s time to sing for your supper.
As much as I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him—and my legs for that matter—protocol and our last encounter precluded this. So I waited for him to make the first move. We both stood, staring, and finally the concierge broke the tension by asking us to let him know when we were ready for lunch. Jack nodded, and we were left alone.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” he said, and just hearing his voice brought tears to my eyes.
“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And the Chex Mix—that was a nice touch,” I added.
He grinned. “I thought so.”
We were silent for a few seconds, then we both spoke at the same time.
“The show was great—”
“Thank you for coming last night—”
We laughed, and the tension eased a bit. I stepped a little closer to him, and he moved toward me as well. I set my bag down and admired the room. Wood paneling, gilded mirrors—it was beautiful. When I turned back toward him, he was right behind me. Having him so close affected me as it always did, and before I could stop myself, I reached for him.
We fell into each other’s arms, instantly molding into what was once so familiar, and was now so desperately missed. My skin remembered his. His touch and his scent filled my head. Once again, tears sprang to my eyes as I clutched him to me. I felt his lips graze the top of my head, and I absolutely melted. I lifted my face up, my lips seeking his.
But then his arms straightened, and I found myself back where I was when I’d first walked in: alone.
“I can’t do this, Grace. I can’t just see you and hold you and have everything go back to the way it was,” he said, his eyes roaming over me.
When they finally came back to my eyes I saw such hurt there, and . . . anger?
“I’ve been trying to decide what I wanted to say to you for weeks now. I was so angry with you, Gracie. I am so angry with you.” He sighed and turned from me, running his hands through his hair.
“I know. You have every reason to be angry with me, but if I can just—”
And he snapped.
“Dammit, Grace. I don’t want to hear it! If I have to listen to you say again that we aren’t right for each other, I’ll seriously lose my shit. Do you have any idea what it was like to hear that from you? Now you’ll sit there, and you’ll listen to what I have to say,” he instructed, pointing to the chair across from his.
Surprised by his vehemence, I sat and waited for what I surely had coming to me. I owed him that. I owed him more.
He began to pace, and I was struck again by how hurt he was. I had truly broken his heart.
“What you did that night . . . was thoughtless and so cruel. And I don’t mean choosing the worst possible night for your little flip-out, I mean ending this relationship without even discussing it with me. What we’ve gone through, what we’ve shared— Jesus, Grace, if that meant so little to you that you couldn’t even try to explain your feelings to me, well, that makes me question everything I thought you felt for me. Maybe you never really loved me.”
He choked out that last bit, and with that I was out of the chair and in front of him.
“No! That’s not true, I—”
He looked at me fiercely. “Grace, seriously. I really need you to shut up right now and let me get this out,” he warned.
I fell silent again, returned to my chair, and nodded for him to continue.
“But then I realized that was too easy. That was bullshit. Because I know you, Grace, and I know you loved me. I know you still love me. Whatever you think is too much to get around, or push through, or work past, I know it isn’t—because you love me. And, fuck me, but I love you too,” he said, and abruptly stopped pacing. He looked me square in the eye, his green eyes blazing.
“So if you think for a second I’m going to let you end this without giving me a legitimate reason, you are truly crazier than I thought. I’m in this thing with you, a willing participant, and you can’t decide for both of us,” he finished, and we stared at each other.
I watched as his face darkened with tension, waiting for me to argue with him.
“Can I say something? Please?” I asked, and his eyes grew dark as well. I hated myself for hurting the person in the world I loved more than anyone else. The one who was made for me.
“I think you damn well better,” he huffed, slouching into the chair across from me.
I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to come clean on everything.
“You’re absolutely right that I can’t make decisions like that for both of us. You’re also right that I was cruel. I’m sick over what I put you through. I was and am so proud of you, and I hate to think I ruined your big night. It was childish and reactive and wholly inappropriate,” I said. “And most important, I am very, very sorry.”
He nodded in agreement, and I continued.
“I need to try to explain why I said the things I said, why I decided the things I did. Maybe that will help you understand the true level of crazy you’re dealing with here,” I said, and he smiled briefly at the word crazy. I allowed myself one tiny swell of excitement at the thought he might let me be his Crazy again, then I launched in.
“See, Jack, the thing is, when I came to L.A. the first time, well, things didn’t go exactly according to plan,” I began, and as I told my story, I lived it again. I saw it all happen and went through the emotions of realizing I wasn’t nearly as special and unique as I’d thought I was. I remembered how I came to the difficult decision to leave L.A.
“Holly nearly throttled me, she was so mad,” I said, feeling the waves of self-loathing all over again. “She called me a quitter and told me she couldn’t believe I was giving up so easily. Part of me knew she was right, but part of me also believed that show business wasn’t the right place for me. So I went home. And I went back to school.”
I told him all about the work I discovered for myself. How I enjoyed the writing and the educational details I worked on with clients. I told him how that was good enough for a while, but then I started to change.
“I worked all day and all night, but from home. I could go days without actually seeing anyone, and while the relationships I had with my clients were good, I kept myself very isolated,” I said. “I, well, I put on some weight. And then some more weight, and, well, eventually—you saw my picture. I stopped dating. I didn’t allow myself to meet anyone or take a chance on anything. Holly came home to see me once, and even though she never said anything, I knew she was disappointed in me,” I said, thinking back to the sad look she had when she saw me for the first time in years.
She’d caught herself and recovered quickly, and we went on to have a wonderful girls’ weekend. But I could still feel the awkward pain of knowing that when she thought I wasn’t looking, she was looking. She was watching, and she was worried. But I made myself forget it. I pushed it down and away and continued on with my life, such as it was.
“Jack, I was so introverted at that point— All the stuff you say you love about me? The crazy? You wouldn’t even have recognized me back then, and I don’t just mean physically.” I sniffed, the tears beginning to collect and spill over. But I wiped my nose on my sleeve and pushed on.
“Eventually, I realized leaving L.A. had been harder for me to deal with than I thought. It represented all the things I grew up wanting, but when they didn’t come easy, I quit. Holly was right: I was a quitter. And to ignore that, to push that down, I coped the only way I knew how. I just withdrew. And as the layers of protection added up, I shut down. I don’t know what I would have done or what I would have become, if it wasn’t for one totally random night when my few friends dragged me out.” I sniffed again, feeling my emotions threaten to overwhelm me. But I welcomed them, as it meant I was feeling something again.
I told him about going to see Rent and how it had reawakened something inside me. How it changed me, altered my course, reminded me of who I was, and revealed who I’d let myself become. As I talked about the power I felt, sitting in that theater, Jack’s face came alive and he nodded. He seemed to know exactly the feeling I was talking about. I explained how that night had become the catalyst for everything in my life to change. In the following weeks and months I started counseling, began working with a trainer, and began to allow myself to dream about the life I’d always wanted again.
“And even though you might not want to hear this part, at that point, I hadn’t been on a date in years—years! When I started to feel better about myself, and I began to look more like myself, I found I enjoyed being in the company of men again . . . I might have gone a little crazy,” I added with a shy smile.
He just grinned back, and I felt lighter and lighter as I continued, explaining how I’d battled my way all the way back to L.A. and letting go of the black fear I was still cloaked in—even after all this time.
I told him our relationship had taken me by surprise, and I was unprepared for how completely he’d captured my heart and loved me, crazy and all. I told him I loved him so intensely it scared the shit out of me.
“But, Jack, as much as I’ve fixed things on the outside, there’s still a lot of work to do on the inside. That’s still very much a work in progress, and my baggage, sadly, has become your baggage. The meltdown at your premiere? That’s evidence right there. Do you know how hard it is for me to even conceptualize that you want to be with me? With everyone in the world wanting you, you want to be with me.” I shook my head in wonder. “That’s a heady thing for any woman—especially one with such big issues.”
He started to speak and reached for me, but I took his hands and asked him to bear with me just a bit longer.
Then I told him the truth about the relationship Michael and I had in college. I told him how Michael and I had been closer since I’d moved to New York, and that this had made me question what was “right” and “appropriate” and “good” for me. I told him how Keili had put me on the baby train, making me question things I thought had been decided years ago. I’d had some major tunnel vision.
On the morning of the premiere—fueled by nerves and paranoia—I saw myself, in my mind’s eye, with children I didn’t even know I wanted. And rather than discuss it, or let the idea marinate a bit, I immediately dove for the opposite end of the spectrum, where the idea of Jack and me, and the idea of children, could never coexist.
“You were totally right when you said I push happiness away. You knew it before I knew it. There’s a part of me that doesn’t really believe I deserve good things,” I said. “That’s going to take some time to change. I clearly have a lot more work to do.
“But I never wanted anyone but you. You have to believe that. For weeks I’ve been searching for the right time to call you and beg you to take me back, to apologize for being so shortsighted and not realizing that every single solitary thing I’ve ever wanted in a man is in you.”
I’d left my seat by this point and was on my knees in front of him. The tears had begun at Rent and hadn’t stopped since.
He was perfectly silent, just taking it all in. When he started to speak again, I stopped him.
I still had one more confession to make—one that could break him. This was where he’d either stay in this with me or decide it was too much.
“There’s something else I need to tell you. I know in my heart if we’re ever going to get past this, I need to be totally honest with you. About everything.” I took a deep breath.
Say it. Be strong. You have to tell him.
“A few weeks ago, I went out with Michael,” I said.
The color had drained from his face. His eyes were almost gray.
“We went out for dinner, and then he came back to my place,” I continued, my throat beginning to close.
I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t not finish.
You can do this. Tell him. Come clean.
“What did you do, Grace?” he asked, his voice gruff and almost inaudible.
I breathed deep.
“Did you fuck him, Grace? Did you? Oh, God, you fucked him, didn’t you?” he snarled suddenly, standing and leaving me on the floor. I scrambled after him.
“No, no, it didn’t get that far, I swear!”
He whirled toward me. “Did he kiss you?” he hissed, his face stormy.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Did he touch you?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“Yes.”
He put his hands on me.
“Did he you touch you here?” he asked, placing his hands on my breasts.
I started to sob.
“Did he?”
I nodded. I nodded in horror at what I had done, what I’d allowed to happen.
He stared at me, and I saw the tears. He had tears.
He sat back down, head in hands.
“This is so fucked-up,” I heard him murmur, and I went to him. I was going to fight for this.
“Jack, I’m telling you because I don’t want to keep anything from you, not anymore. When I was with Michael—” I started.
His eyes closed as he winced. Without another thought, I clasped his hand. I needed to feel him, and instinctively I knew he needed my touch as well. He calmed a bit, and I continued.
“You may not want to hear this, but I need you to know. I need you to know how close I came to throwing this away, but I stopped! I stopped because I realized I don’t ever want to feel another man’s hands on me. Not ever.”
I lifted our hands between us and looked at them. I felt his hands grasp mine more tightly.
“These are the hands I want to hold, that I want on me, and around my waist, and in my hair, and holding my boobies when I go to sleep at night,” I said fiercely, no tears anymore.
Jack seemed captivated. He held one of my hands in both of his, and I raised my free hand to his face, brushing his hair from his forehead, then letting my fingertips graze his lips.
“This is the mouth I love—the only mouth I want on me,” I said.
He sighed heavily, tension either beginning to leave his body, or starting to build again.
I dropped my hand to his chest and worked my way inside his jacket. I rested my palm flat against him, and I could feel the warmth through his shirt.
“This wonderful heart right here?” I said, tapping his chest. The side of his mouth quirked up a little. “This is the heart I need. And if I have this—and a little schmaltz—I don’t need anything else in the world,” I said. He finally smiled, the smile that had changed my life months ago.
But then his face changed. “But what about everything that you said? What about the nine-years age difference?”
“I don’t care. Clearly you are more emotionally mature than me, so we balance out.”
“What about the fame, the cameras, the photographers? What about people finding out about us? What about the next time someone posts a picture of us and says something nasty about you?”
“I’ll deal with it like an adult.”
“What about Michael? What if you decide you want to be more than friends with him again?”
“That’s a fair question. And he will likely be around—we’re working together. But know that there could not be anything other than friendship between us. I thought he was back in my life for a reason, but I know now that reason is nothing other than being a friend and the creator of the show I’m in. That’s all there is, and that’s all there ever will be. I know this, he knows this, and now you know this. I belong to you, if you’ll have me.”
After what seemed like an eternity, he smiled again.
“So screw lunch. Let’s go fix this,” I said, tugging on his hand. He finally stood, but once again, he pushed me away.
My heart sank. What if everything I’d said wasn’t enough?
I was still determined. It didn’t matter what I had to do. I was never letting this man go again.
“I need to tell you something too, Grace,” he said, sinking back into his chair. He took a deep breath.
“Tell me what?” My heart began to pound a funny beat, as though it knew something my brain hadn’t quite caught on to yet.
“Back in L.A, well, something happened with me too,” he said, and I knew without question what he was going to tell me. The pictures in the magazine with the blonde. He’d done what I’d done. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.
“After the movie came out and I got back in town, well, I went on a bit of a bender,” he said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. I took my seat once more, waiting to hear what he needed to tell me.
Breathe . . .
“I was so mad at you, Grace. So mad, and I was drinking so much and . . . other things were happening, and I just was out of my mind, totally out of my mind. One night, one thing led to another, and, well, I went home with someone. Totally random. It meant nothing, but . . . oh, God, Grace, it was awful.”
He looked at me with tears in his eyes, and I saw once more what I’d done to him.
“I tried, Grace. I was so damn mad at you, but, Christ, I missed you, and this girl, she was so beautiful, and she smelled like coconuts, you know? She smelled like coconuts, and that reminded me of you, but they were awful coconuts—synthetic, and syrupy sweet, and not at all like my girl, and I just—I didn’t, I mean, I did things, but I didn’t . . .” he rambled, so torn up inside.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d heard enough.
I came around the table and knelt in front of him again, then I lifted his head so he’d look at me. He looked so very sad and so very young in that moment. I pressed my fingers to his lips to stop his words and leaned in. My heart was thumping wildly.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to know. Do you love me?” I asked.
“What?” he asked, his voice muffled by my fingers, looking at me with wide eyes.
I chuckled lightly and removed my hand, cupping his cheek with my fingers. “Do you love me?” I asked again.
He was quiet for a moment, and I couldn’t breathe. My world stopped in that instant.
“I do love you, Grace, of course I do. But—”
I was on my feet and in his lap in a nanosecond. I pressed myself into his arms and kissed him square on the lips. This was my man, and I needed his mouth on mine—right now.
“Then I don’t care what you did,” I told him. “They can cancel each other out. I don’t want to know the details. Please don’t ever tell me.” Then I kissed him again. This time he kissed me back hungrily. His hands found my hips and pulled me against him, pulling me home.
We kissed eagerly, passionately, and I forgot everything except his lips, the scratch of his stubble, and the feel of his hands on me. My fingers found his hair and dug in. I scratched his scalp, and he sighed into my mouth at the sensation.
I heard a scuffle, then a muffled giggle. I turned to see a few ladies from the hotel restaurant peeking in, then all but one immediately scrambled out the door. The one remaining blushed deeply.
“We just came to see if you were ready for your lunch, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, clearly feeling his star power.
I looked back at Jack, and he nodded slightly to say it was my choice.
“I think we’ve decided on a little room service instead, right, George?” I asked, grinning cheekily at him.
“Whatever the lady wants.” He grinned back at me as I led him past the still-stunned hotel employee and out the door. He then led me to the bank of elevators next to the banquet center. As we waited for the elevator to arrive, we began to kiss. At first slowly, tiny little pecks, but they quickly grew into wonderfully sloppy kisses.
An elevator arrived just as the doors to the adjacent banquet room opened, and dozens of women from the Greater New York Area Quilting Society poured out after their buffet lunch. And there they found their Super Sexy Scientist Guy groping an older redhead. Shocked whispers turned to swooning frenzy in less time than it took to blink. Phone cameras appeared instantly.
“Grace, we need to get out of here,” Jack whispered in my ear, trying to shield me from the cameras as we hurriedly stepped into the elevator.
I laughed out loud. Nothing was gonna kill my buzz. “Ah, fuck it, George. C’mere.” I giggled and jumped up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him and kissed him. Like it was my job.
He responded without hesitation, kissing me back with equal force as the doors closed. The quilting bee took plenty of pictures, and I didn’t care for a second.
This was my life, his life, our life, and we might as well get used to it.