“So…you feel sorry for him? For a rich, spoiled, self-indulgent movie star?”
“You don’t even know him. How can you judge?”
“His mistakes are public knowledge!”
“I see a different side, okay? He’s a good man.” She cringed because she had no confidence in that statement. She’d fantasized about him as much as anyone, but she’d known in her heart that the real Simon couldn’t live up to the man in her dreams. “Can you give him a break? Please? For me?”
“I’m just saying…before you get too committed to Simon, maybe you should come home and see if there’s anything between you and Matt. Matt’s a great guy.”
Callie would know. He’d been her neighbor growing up. But Gail had too much on the line to risk it all on the hope that Matt Stinson would finally return her interest. Dropping onto the bed, she watched the fan rotate overhead. “My relationship with Matt has been completely one-sided.”
“You kissed last summer.”
“He hasn’t called since.”
“Because he’s too focused on his career. He doesn’t want to risk getting involved with someone like you, someone who’s marriage material. He’s not ready for that kind of commitment. He’s said as much.”
“He has?”
“Not in so many words,” she hedged. “But I know he thinks you’re amazing.”
Torn, Gail rubbed her face. “He could’ve followed up, come to see me.”
“At the moment football is his whole life. But at least he’s not some hotheaded philanderer who’s using his power and money to destroy everyone around him. Where can you expect your relationship with Simon to go? If even one-tenth of what I’ve read about him is true—”
“Have some faith in me, Callie. I don’t fall in love easily. There’s…something inside him that’s worth fighting for.” She believed that much. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of Simon’s good side, saw how warm and generous he could be. If she could figure out a way to avoid his rougher edges, they might be able to establish an equilibrium of sorts—build a friendship over the course of their marriage. “Besides, people can change.”
That was the classic line used by every woman who’d ever dated the wrong guy, but it couldn’t be refuted so she had to go with it. People could change. But they seldom did, and Callie latched on to that immediately.
“And if he doesn’t? Why take the risk? His last wife was heartbroken and publicly humiliated—”
“You don’t know what caused the breakup of his marriage.”
“I think six affairs would do it, don’t you?” Obviously Callie thought being with Simon was a huge mistake. The other people who cared about Gail would, too. But they didn’t know she already understood how the whole thing would play out, that she wasn’t in love with Simon and never would be, because she knew too much about him.
“You’re being really hard on him. You’d like him if you gave him half a chance.” Simon had to be the most charismatic person on the planet—but only if he cared enough to bother pouring on the charm.
“When will we get to meet him?” Callie asked.
“Maybe I’ll bring him home for Christmas,” she said, but just talking to Callie had convinced her that she’d never contest his decision not to visit her hometown.
“Okay, but…I wish you were coming next month. Everyone was looking forward to it.” Callie’s voice reflected her disappointment. No doubt she thought a few days with the old gang would set Gail straight.
“I’ll reschedule soon.” The buzzer that indicated someone was at her front gate sounded, so Gail got back on her feet. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Would the paparazzi be bold enough to come to her house and ring the doorbell?
Some would. Her gate faced the narrow street leading down to the beach, which meant it was accessible to anyone passing by. And the value of taking the right photographs made the paparazzi unbelievably intrusive.
“I’ve got company,” she said. “I have to go. Don’t tell anyone about Simon, okay? Not yet. First, I need to break the news to my dad.”
“I won’t say a word, but…good luck with Martin.” Callie knew he wouldn’t take the news well.
“Thanks. I’ll call you in a few days.” Gail disconnected as the buzzer went off again.
Setting the phone aside, she hurried out of her small cottage and down the flagstone path dividing the abundance of plants in her front yard. There was a man at her gate. Despite the foliage that provided her with a modicum of privacy, she could see part of his dark head above the tall stone fence and arch of the gate. He appeared to be wearing a uniform, one typical of a courier service, but that could be a trick.
“Who is it?” she called.
He tried to look over at her, so she flattened herself against the gate and peered through the crack.
Unfortunately, he was standing too close for her to see more than a four-inch square of his chest.
“Courier,” he said. “I have a package for you.”
“Go ahead and leave it.”
“Can’t. Requires a signature.”
Really? She opened the gate by a wary inch, just enough to see a little more of the guy.
He seemed legit. He wasn’t holding a camera, he seemed to be alone and an ID badge hung from the collar of his shirt.
“Are you going to sign for this or not?” he asked impatiently. “I’ve got other deliveries to make.”
When she spotted a small truck with his company logo double-parked on the street, she finally released her death grip on the gate and swung it wide. “Yes. Sorry.”
He handed her his clipboard. “Right here.”
She scribbled her name, and he gave her the small box he’d been holding.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He walked off without responding; a moment later, she heard the rumble of his delivery truck. No doubt he thought she was some kind of paranoid hermit. But she didn’t care. She had reason to be skittish.
After shutting and locking the gate, she examined what the courier had given her. The return address indicated it had come from O’Neal Productions—Simon’s company.
Ian had said he’d mail her a copy of the contract once Simon had signed it, but this wasn’t flat. The size and shape resembled a jeweler’s box.
Most likely the wedding ring, she supposed. But that wasn’t it at all. Once she opened the package, she saw that Ian—she assumed it was Ian—had sent her a pendant, one with a giant ruby and two diamond baguettes. Classy, solid and probably expensive, it was exactly what she might’ve chosen herself if she’d had a cool ten or twenty grand to drop on a necklace.