A Hollywood Bride(6)
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that information. I need to check the records.”
How the fuck can she know that they let Paige go, but not know if my fiancée is okay or not? With an effort, I rein myself in. Yelling at this nurse won’t solve anything. It probably wasn’t even her who processed the paperwork for Paige.
I turn my phone on. The latest text is from my agent Mira. Are you at a hospital? The story’s trending on Twitter.
God, I hate social media.
There are also several earlier texts, all of them from Paige. The last one is fifteen minutes old. I start typing.
* * *
Paige
The car is moving along slowly in the LA traffic. I look outside and notice that Julian’s driver is taking a roundabout way to Ryder’s mansion. But I should’ve known that Julian didn’t show up just to give me a ride.
“Here.” Julian twists the cap off a mini-bottle of water—the kind you’d normally find on an airplane—and hands it to me. “You should stay hydrated.”
I take it and have a sip. Then I realize I’m thirsty. I haven’t had anything to drink since I went to Anthony’s club. “Thanks. But I’m sure you aren’t giving me a ride just to make sure my fluid levels are okay.”
“You’ve probably only heard negative things about me from my son, but I’m not the villain here, Paige.”
Suuuuuure. “Then why are you having me followed?
“Having you followed?” He raises an eyebrow. The angle of his raised brow is exactly the same as Ryder’s when he cocks his, and it disorients me for a moment. They look so different, I sometimes actually forget he’s Ryder’s father. “What do you mean?”
“How else did you know to find me at the hospital?”
My phone pings with a new text. I’m about to ignore it, but Julian says, “You should answer that. Might be important.”
Well. If he insists…
It’s from Ryder. Where are you?
On my way home.
Cab?
No. I start to type I’m in a car with your father, then hit delete. That won’t go over well. My head hurts. I don’t want to have any kind of serious conversation about his father or anything else via text right now. I’ll explain later.
Okay.
I drop the phone back into my purse.
“Who was that?” Julian asks.
“Ryder.”
“Hmm. Guess he wants to know who’s giving you a ride home.”
“Actually you can take me to my car. I left it at Z.” I doubt Ryder remembered to fetch it. I want my Altima back.
Julian gives me a speculative look. “I can manage that.” He hits the intercom button and instructs his driver to take us to the popular club. “As for your worry that I’m stalking you, I don’t need to bother with such mundane things. There’s this thing now called the Internet. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
I don’t buy that one bit. “I’m not famous enough to warrant an article.”
“Social media is more or less instantaneous, and you are a person of great interest now, especially with that unfortunate tape of yours.”
“It’s not my tape,” I mutter as my face heats. Did Julian watch that too? My skin crawls at the idea.
He shrugs. “There were pictures of you and Ryder.” He looks at my belly. “How’s the baby? Still kicking?”
I tense. He’s got to be fishing. I wish I could check my own social media to see what’s being said, but doing that would give myself away. Assuming I could even find the tweets and mentions about my hospital visit, of course. There’s probably more stuff about that damn sex tape. People love to say horrible things about women when things like this happen. So instead I play dumb. “What baby?”
“The Internet said you were bleeding. I’m pretty certain it isn’t due to a feminine hygiene product malfunction.”
You could fry a steak on my face now. I always knew how difficult it was to maintain privacy in Hollywood, but this is ridiculous. I’m nobody famous.
“Don’t look at me like I eat babies for breakfast. I only do that with other people’s babies, and this one’s going to be my grandchild.”
It’s his version of a joke, but I shudder. If his actions as a father are anything to go by, he’s going to make a horrible grandparent.
Julian taps his lower lip. “I wondered why you agreed to marry my son. Ryder isn’t the sort to be okay with commitment, and most likely he’s going to cheat on you. No matter how desperate he is for the portrait, he is who he is…and you’re not his type.”
He isn’t saying anything I don’t know. When Ryder makes love to me, I can almost believe he really cares about me, but I’m also aware that all this is transient. Ryder’s mansion isn’t my home, even if I do live there at the moment. I’m just a temporary guest.