His eyes flickered to my phone. “Let me guess, she took a picture of the two of you, right? While you were kissing?”
I stiffened, my glare lifting to his.
He grinned. “She put it on your phone, right? Made it her avatar?”
I frowned, unable to conceal my stunned confusion.
He laughed. “I know because she did the same thing to me. She does the same thing to everyone. It’s all part of her little game.”
My heart did an odd sinking thing, and my mouth fell open, my mind a mess of contradictions. I’m ashamed to say, he almost had me doubting her. Almost. He was a good actor, plus he was motivated.
But then he said, “She wants you to go with her to London, to the premiere. Marta will talk some sense into her.”
And that was his mistake.
His words came into focus, the key fit into the lock, and the door opened wide.
I laughed, saying, “Of course,” mostly to myself.
Mr. Low’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What’s the joke, hick?”
I surveyed him, this successful man, this icon of film, of our society. Here was a person who cared too much about his image, but spent no time on what actually mattered. I felt sorry for him. His life was sad.
“What?” he snapped, obviously not liking how I was looking at him.
“Let’s see it.” I kept my tone gentle, showing him he had my pity, not my anger.
He stiffened. “Let’s see what?”
“Let’s see the picture. The one Sienna put on your phone.”
He took a half step back. “I don’t have my phone on me.”
“Bullshit.”
He held himself rigid. Though he was a really good actor, I recognized he hadn’t expected me to call his bluff.
I shook my head, pressing my lips together in a sympathetic smile. “Sienna didn’t put a picture on your phone. But her sister obviously told you about the one she put on mine.”
My words did not settle well with him. His bitterness and helplessness was just as plain as the nose on his face. Mr. Low’s eyes flashed with hatred. He wanted to hit me. Wanted to beat the tar out of me, make me bleed. Again, I felt sorry for him. It must’ve sucked to be so incapable.
I glanced at my phone again. It was past time for me to leave. “We don’t believe in false pleasantries around these parts, nor do we kick a fella when he’s down. So I’ll just say, bless your heart, and leave it at that.”
CHAPTER 33
“Until you've lost your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is.”
― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
~Sienna~
I called my mom on my way to the airport. Dave was driving. Henry was next to me in the back, and Tim was in the front passenger seat, leaving me with both hands and all my attention free. I hadn’t spoken to her since she’d given me advice about Jethro. She and my dad had been on a cruise and were due back today. I’d missed our phone calls.
Selecting her number, I tapped the call button and waited. It went to voicemail.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me. I’m on my way to the airport for London and miss your voice. I know you get back today. Call me when you get this. I might be on the flight, but I’ll call you back when I land. Love you and Dad.”
Peering at my screen, my heart sunk. I wanted to tell her about Jethro.
No. That’s not right.
I needed to tell her about Jethro. I wanted her to know her advice had been correct, and that she had been right. He was my one. And I was his.
I needed to share the news about our engagement. I needed to hear her scream and get excited and ask me when we would start having babies. I was the first of her daughters to get married, though Maya and Rena were in committed relationships, they were both career focused and had no immediate plans to have children; that was me just months ago. Whereas my brothers and their wives brought up children as a maybe someday concept.
My mother had lamented, loudly and frequently, to all of us on several occasions about how she wanted grandchildren.
“I love you all, so smart, so capable and accomplished. I’m so proud of you. But where are my grandchildren?” she would ask, her hand on her hip, her eyebrows raised. “Who am I going to give my china to? Hmm? Who is going to inherit my jewelry?”
These were the things she fussed over, but we all knew she just loved babies and wanted one to spoil and squeeze.
Dave dropped Henry, Tim, and me off at the side terminal reserved for chartered flights and parked the car. After checking in and meeting back up with Dave, we were ushered to the tarmac where the jet was already waiting.
I held my phone the whole time, hoping my mom would call me back before we departed. Thus, I received Jethro’s text message as soon as I started climbing the steps to the plane.