A Hollywood Deal(32)

I don’t speak much afterward. It gives me an odd ache in my heart to know I’m playing a role, and I don’t even know why. I play parts all the time. Why so morose about this one?

It might be because I’m starting to realize I may want more from my life than just one role after another. It’s my damn cousins’ fault. I go out of the country for a while on a project, and when I come back every one of them—except Dane, who’s too cold for anybody to want to marry—is settling down. Even Vanessa’s married…and already pregnant! And the thing is, they look happy. Content. The whole lot of ‘em. Mark looked like he was about to explode with joy at the wedding. Who would’ve thought? He wasn’t as bad a player as I am, but he was pretty bad. Never dated anybody for more than three months and was plenty satisfied with that lifestyle.

I shake my head. It isn’t a good idea to think about stuff like that. I’ll never find anybody to share my life with, and I’m not cut out to be the kind of man women deserved for their happy endings. Things work out in movies because the ending’s scripted. In real life, shit gets messy.

By the time we’re done with our pizza, the apple pie’s ready. When I bring it out with extra cold vanilla ice cream, Paige shakes her head. “You bake, too?”

I laugh. “No. I mean, I can handle pizza dough, but not pies. I had to bribe Jane.”

“Jane?”

“My cousin Iain’s fiancée. She’s a personal chef.” And generally busy. But she’s friendly, down to earth and as sweet and soft as her signature apple pie. I asked her prettily, and she made one for me, instructing me to bake it for exactly an hour before serving, so that it’d taste fresh when we eat.

Paige pats her belly. “I’m stuffed.”

“You have to try at least one bite,” I say, giving her a slice. “It’s the best apple pie I’ve ever had.”

Licking her lips, she eyes the piping hot dessert on her plate. “It does look good. Okay, just one bite.”

She forks the smallest portion she can manage and puts it in her mouth along with a bit of vanilla ice cream. Her eyes flutter close, and I can’t help but smile as I take a big bite. The hot gooey apple chunks and perfect crust and cold ice cream blend together. It’s pure food orgasm.

“Oh my god,” Paige says. “I feel like a traitor for saying this, but it’s even better than my sister Bethany’s. And she had the reputation for making the meanest apple pie in Sweet Hope.”

“Just one bite…?” I tease.

She shakes her head. “I never understood why the Romans spat food out so they could keep eating, but maybe they had something like Jane’s apple pie back then.”

I laugh. And we destroy the pie together.

Afterwards, she smiles. “Thank you. This is lovely.”

“Made even lovelier by a beautiful companion.”

I reach over and hold her hand. Her pulse throbs under my thumb. And the skin-to-skin touch sends a zing down my spine. Then suddenly I realize: in the four years she’s been working for me, we’ve never let our bare skin touch on purpose.

Without letting go of her, I get up. This is it. The pivotal moment, the one that the paparazzi have been waiting for.

Even though I know it’s necessary, it somehow feels wrong to do this for show. I don’t know where the hesitation’s coming from. She already agreed to the farce. There’s nothing unethical about it.

Putting on an earnest and besotted expression, I get on one knee, the pose elegant and romantic, making sure my best side is toward the hidden photogs on the beach. I reach into my pocket and pull out a velvet box. “Paige, will you marry me?” I ask, opening the lid with one hand.

Her mouth parts. The ring inside glitters under the lantern lights around the patio. Impeccably cut diamonds sparkle, while the band shimmers like a promise of heavenly love.

It’s a Miyoko Hamada one-of-a-kind design. There is a huge princess-cut rock in the center and two smaller ones on each side. That part isn’t that interesting—tons of rings have the same basic layout. But the band is beautifully entwined in pale pink gold and platinum in a complex, fluid design. The detailing is unique and exquisite. If you look at it on edge one way it shows a string of hearts. The other way, it’s two linked hands.

I bought it years ago and almost ended up giving it to someone who was about as real as a magic trick. Seems fitting that it should go now to a woman who’s never lied to me.

Paige swallows, her hand tight around mine. “Ryder, you shouldn’t have.”

“Is that a no?” I joke.

“Of course, it’s a yes. You knew I’d say yes.” She takes the box, puts it on the table then turns to me. “Get me a simple solitaire and save this for the woman you really want to marry. It’s too special to waste on something like this.”