A Hollywood Bride (Ryder & Paige 2)

He raises an eyebrow. “Where is she?”

“Not here.”

“Oh.” He nods sagely. The thing I like about him is that he knows me well. But sometimes he knows me too well. “Is she at her actress friend’s?”

“No.” The word grates out. If it were so, there wouldn’t be that nasty taste lingering in the back of my throat.

“Are you guys okay?”

I consider. I don’t want to answer him since it isn’t anything pretty, and I feel like if I say it out loud, it’s going to become real—a reality I won’t be able to ignore.

There’s no way to spin her decision to accept Anthony’s offer. She might as well have sliced my balls off. A dark apprehension in my gut say she’s also going to turn down my proposal at Samantha’s office. I shove it down deeper before it makes me do something rash.

“Ryder?”

I almost jump off the couch at the soft voice coming from behind me. I turn and blink. I didn’t imagine it.

Paige.

She’s in the same clothes she had on earlier, albeit freshly laundered. Still, the ketchup and mustard stains are visible on her top. The tear in the sleeve hasn’t been mended.

Her face is bare, free of makeup, and her hair hangs limply over her shoulders. Something fragile lurks in her gaze, and my heart leaps to my throat.

I don’t know what to say. People think that I never run out of perfect lines. I suppose that makes sense if they only know me through cinema. After all it’s easy to be fearless on set. I have the words, emotions, and props. I know exactly how my costars are going to react.

But here, at this moment, I feel like a derelict actor who didn’t bother to study his script. Sweat slickens my palms, and my brain works frantically to come up with something to say.

Elliot squeezes my shoulder, nods at Paige, and leaves.

Finally I manage, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It felt wrong to stay there.” Paige’s voice is barely a whisper. She meets my eyes for a brief moment then drops her gaze. “I shouldn’t have gone with Anthony.”

She doesn’t have to say anything more.

I step forward and wrap my arms around her. The tightness in my chest eases, and I can breathe again. Unable to help myself, I bury my nose in her hair. I absorb her warmth and her softness and the sweet scent that is uniquely hers. Of all the women I know, she’s the only one who can seem to comfort my soul. What my brain and experience tell me means nothing when I feel like this, a weary man finding sanctuary.

Does it matter that the sanctuary may be temporary?

“You made the right decision,” I rasp out. “Welcome home.”

* * *

The dinner offerings could be described as, well, masculine. The chef initially prepared it for me and Elliot.

The lamb chops are amazing, a fresh mint sauce really bringing out the flavor of the meat. I realize how little I’ve eaten all day, which isn’t like me. And the potatoes, garnished with some sort of green flecks that kind of look like mint but aren’t, are excellent as well.

In deference to Paige’s condition, I forgo a glass of cabernet, opting for ginger ale instead. To be honest, I’d prefer some scotch to loosen up the small knot in my gut. Even though she’s back, I can’t really relax. She hasn’t mentioned my proposal back at Samantha’s office, and there’s the whole unresolved “if you don’t trust me, we shouldn’t marry” business.

“Don’t force yourself to eat this. We can always get you something else,” I say, watching Paige cut the meat with care. I don’t recall her liking lamb before. She’s more a steak and chicken kind of girl. Besides, she’s entirely too pale, with circles under her eyes so dark they almost look like bruises. I can’t help but think I’ve contributed to that by being stubborn. I’ve probably been a terrible dickhead if Elizabeth felt compelled to call me the a-word.

“But why? This is fine.” She pops a small piece into her mouth and chews.

“I don’t want you to get sick afterwards.” My eyebrows pinch together as I study her expression for any signs of distaste. “I know you’re supposed to be all nauseous and everything when you’re pregnant.”

The smile she gives me is bemused. Warmth unfurls in my chest, and some of the ugliness that’s built up since the night of our engagement party ebbs away.

“Not everyone suffers from morning sickness,” she tells me. “I’ve been okay so far. And the doctor at the hospital didn’t seem too worried about my diet.”