What I Did for Love

gone through all this, for you to walk out on me.”

The fury she thought she’d conquered burst into flame. “Gone through all what? What have you gone through? Look at you! You’re not even wrinkled. You’ve been having the time of your life!”

“Is that how you see it?”

“You’re producing and starring in a great movie. All your dreams have come true.”

“Not exactly. I screwed up with you, remember? The most important person in my life.” He trapped her against the French doors. “And I’m trying to fix that.”

She gave a dismissive snort. “How?”

He gazed down at her, his stormy eyes telegraphing an Actors Studio version of a tortured soul. “I love you, Georgie.”

Fireworks flashed before her eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because I do. Because you’re you.”

“You sound sincere. You look sincere.” She sneered and shoved his arm away. “But I’m not buying a word of it.”

Someone less cynical might believe honest pain tightened the corner of his mouth. “What happened that day on the beach…,” he said. “I know exactly how ugly it was, but I also got the wake-up call I needed.”

“Aww, that’s swell.”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I can’t even blame you.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Just listen, Georgie. We’ve cast Helene. It’s a done deal. What ulterior motive could I still have left?”

No more of the quiet suffering that had followed her breakup with Lance. She let it all spew out. “Let’s start with your career. Three and a half months ago, I was the person willing to sacrifice everything to protect my image, but now it’s you. Your unsavory past was blocking your future, and you used me to fix it.”

“That doesn’t-”

“Tree House isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime project for you. It’s the first part of a carefully planned strategy to establish yourself as a respectable actor and producer.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having ambition.”

“There is when you still want to use me to prop up your image as Mr. Trustworthy.”

“This is Hollywood, Georgie! The promised land of the divorced. Who the hell-other than Rory Keene-cares whether we stay married?”

“Rory Keene. Exactly!”

“You don’t really think I want this marriage to last just so I don’t lose Rory’s good opinion?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“What I was doing. But that’s over. I’m more than happy to stake my career on the quality of my work, not on my marriage.”

Her heart had grown calluses, and she didn’t believe a word of it. “You’ll say anything to avoid a public rift, but I’m done with faking it just so people I don’t know will believe I’m someone I’m not. I’m ordering Aaron to stop talking to the press. And this time, I’ll make sure he does what I say.”

“The hell you are.” The transformation started in his eyes, where cold calculation shifted into mulish determination. And then he went a little nuts. He gave her a hard kiss then half pushed, half shoved her ahead of him toward the back hallway. “You’re coming with me.”

She tripped over her feet, but he had too tight a grip for her to fall. “Let go!”

“I’m taking you for a ride,” he retorted.

“Like that’s something new.”

“Shut up.” He pushed her ahead of him into the garage. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t exactly gentle either. “It’s time you understand exactly how much I value my respectable reputation.” He looked like the wild man of his past.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We’ll see about that. I’m stronger than you are, I’m meaner than you are, and I’m a hell of a lot more desperate.”

Her fury burned hotter. “If you’re so desperate, why didn’t you try to talk to me as soon as you finished casting Helene? Why didn’t you-”

“Because I had something I needed to do first!” He shoved her into the car, and the next thing she knew, they were shooting down the drive and out through the gates with two black SUVs peeling after them.

He turned the air conditioner on full blast, too cold for her bare legs and thin T-shirt, but she didn’t ask him to turn it down. She didn’t talk at all. He drove like a maniac, but she was too angry to care. He wanted to break her heart all over again.

They hit Robertson Boulevard, which was bustling with Saturday-afternoon shoppers. She leaned forward in her seat as he screeched to a stop at the valet station in front of The Ivy, the paparazzi’s second home. “Why are you stopping here?”

“So we can make a promotional appearance.”

“You’re not serious.” One of the paps spotted them and tried to photograph them through the windshield. She’d left the beach house without a stitch of makeup. Her hair was a mess, her T-shirt exactly the wrong shade of blue to go with her wrinkled turquoise shorts, and she’d pulled on her beach sneakers instead of sandals. “I’m not getting out dressed like this.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t care about image, remember?”

“There’s a big difference between not caring about image and going to a decent restaurant in dirty shorts and grimy sneakers!”

Three more photographers pressed against the car, with others darting through the traffic to get to them from across the street.

“We’re not eating,” he said. “And I think you’re beautiful.” He jumped out of the car, transferred a wad of bills to the valet, and muscled his way through the shouting photographers to open the passenger door for her.

Mismatched T-shirt and wrinkled shorts. Bad hair, no makeup…and a husband who just might love her but probably didn’t. With a sense of unreality, she got out.

Mayhem erupted. They hadn’t been seen together in weeks, and all the paparazzi starting shouting at once.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Where have you two been?”

“Georgie, is Mel Duffy lying about your meeting?”

“Are you pregnant?”

“Are you still together?”

“What’s up with the outfit, Georgie?”

Bram wrapped an arm around her and pushed through the crowd toward the brick steps. “Give us some room, guys. You’ll get your pictures. Just let us have some room.”

Pedestrians gaped on the sidewalk, patio diners craned their necks, and a trio of perfectly dressed purse designers interrupted their conversation to stare. Georgie briefly considered asking to borrow a little lip gloss, but there was something wildly liberating about standing in front of the world looking her worst.

He put his mouth to her ear. “Who needs to call a press conference when we’ve got The Ivy?”

“Bram, I-”

“Listen up, everybody.” He raised his arm.

Georgie felt dizzy, but she somehow managed to curl her mouth in a Scooter-grin. And then she stopped. No more pretense. She was angry, agitated, and sick to her stomach, and she didn’t care who knew it. She let everything she felt show on her face.

A crowd blocked the sidewalk. As shutters clicked and video cameras recorded the scene, Bram spoke above the noise. “You all know that Georgie and I got married in Las Vegas three months ago. What you don’t know…”

She had no idea how he’d spin this, and she didn’t care. Whatever lies he told were his own to deal with.

“…is that we were the victims of a couple of drug-spiked cocktails, and we basically hated each other’s guts. We’ve been faking this marriage ever since.”