Run To Rome

“You walked right into that one.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired, too. And this wine isn’t helping.” The red liquid sloshed around the inside of her glass as she lifted it to point a finger at him. “Another strike against your trustworthiness. First you kidnapped me, now you’re getting me drunk.”

He arched an eyebrow. “On one little glass?”

She took another drink and rested the glass on her thigh, her head on the seat back. A tired smile curved her lips and her eyelids drooped. “Probably.”

He’d argue the wine was helping just fine, just not out loud. She needed more than the short nap she’d gotten earlier. The car chase, the police station, and the attack at the villa would be enough to exhaust anyone, but she also had a hefty shot of jetlag stirred into the cocktail. He was amazed she’d held up as well as she had, not to mention, her impromptu performance at the station had been spot on. Granted, she’d probably been channeling her terror of the situation, but for a rookie, she’d played her character almost perfectly.

He had a brief flashback of their conversation in the station’s janitorial closet. Something she’d said had struck him as very odd. Still did now. After a drink from his glass, he asked, “So, you work in television?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever acted before?”

“Not really.”

She’d turned to rest her cheek against the seat. Her lowered lashes formed dark fans against pale skin.

“You were a natural back at the police station,” he commented, staring at her relaxed mouth.

“Hmm.”

“What’d you mean when you said you forgot about back story?”

“My parents,” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

He sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, curious about her family. “What about them?”

“They used back story.”

After setting his own drink aside, Trent got up and rescued Halli’s wine glass slowly tipping off her leg. “Were they actors?”

She made a soft negative sound and shifted in her seat. He set the

stemmed glass on the floor of the boat, and hunkered down next to her, wishing the wine hadn’t taken affect so fast.

“Halli.”

With his light touch on her shoulder, her lashes fluttered, lifted to allow a brief glimpse of blue, then lowered again.

“What’d your parents use back story for?”

She mumbled again, forcing him to lean forward to catch her ever softening words. Unfortunately, sleep had finally claimed her.

Settling back on his heels, Trent rested his chin on his hand with a deep sigh. He gazed at her softened features, wondering what she’d been about to say about her parents, and surprised by how much he wanted another glimpse into her world beyond the bits of film with her siblings.

Had she had the ideal childhood growing up in the Heartland of America would suggest, or was it riddled with angst and unhappiness like his? Going off the video he’d watched of her interacting with her brother and sister, he pictured the perfect, All-American family sitting down to dinner like the classic Cleavers or the Brady Bunch. They’d have had a big, sloppy dog under the table, and lots of laughter and fun as they ate pot roast and mashed potatoes with apple pie for dessert. They probably played ball in the yard and had family game nights with popcorn and Kool-aid.

He’d dreamed of that exact scene so many nights after the nanny served him and Sean gourmet French cuisine prepared by their live-in chef. The fancy food made no sense with their father on the other side of the world filming his latest award-winning documentary, but François had refused to prepare food he considered unworthy of his self-proclaimed five star talents.

It was only in weak moments that Trent admitted to himself he still resented being left at the mercy of hired help who had no patience for two boys craving attention after the sudden death of their mother. Greg Tomlin repeatedly touted the fact that he’d provided a luxurious roof over their heads and anything they needed, but Trent felt his father’s absence was nothing short of abandonment.

When they got a little older, Sean sought and gained approval by following in their father’s footsteps. Trent, on the other hand, had rebelled by entering the very profession that’d stolen their mother. He and the old man hadn’t seen eye to eye since, especially when he succeeded despite his father’s predictions of failure. To Trent’s knowledge, the elder Tomlin had never once admitted when he was wrong.

Banishing the dark thoughts back where they belonged, he picked up Halli’s glass and stood, debating his options. She was light enough to carry below deck, but he didn’t want to wake her. Since the temperature was mild, with no rain forecasted, he decided it would be better to make her comfortable where she was.

He drank the remainder of his wine, but dumped hers overboard. Much as he would love the numbing affect more alcohol would provide for his thoughts and the steady throb of pain in his arm, he needed to stay alert. Although he wasn’t too worried about their location, Lapaglia had been resourceful enough through the day, even if he hadn’t been successful. Trent would sleep topside tonight, too, just in case.