“I’d like to see. Be my own judge. I’m a Hollywood producer with awards on my shelves, you know?”
“And a fashionista for an ex…”
He smirked. “We haven’t discussed my ex-wife again since the one time in the bar. I was wondering when you’d toss it in again.”
“I read all about it.”
“You know, you shouldn’t believe everything you read. But in this case, you should. Apple, which is her real name, was nothing more than a publicity stunt for both of us. She wanted the upscale notoriety, and well, I liked to make waves with my mom. It ended up backfiring though because it only angered the hell out of my mom until she made the society pages wearing shoes that hadn’t been released yet. Anyway, it was nothing more than a sham of a marriage, and neither of us were sad to say goodbye, except my mother. She missed the preview shoes.”
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
“I’m not. If I was still with Apple, I wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.”
It was mind-blowing how quickly we reverted to our younger selves, swapping seriousness for humor and switching back again. Our conversations flowed like an old couple who had been in love for decades. After the server took our orders, that was pretty much how the evening continued. A true-confession moment chased with a humorous one.
“I had fun,” I admitted, walking toward the valet. Ford’s arm was slung around me, our bellies full of wine and food, and the mood was light.
“Good,” he said, his voice husky.
I had to extract myself from Ford’s arm to hand the valet my ticket, and my body felt barren without his touch.
While we waited, I didn’t know what to do. Should I invite Ford over? Should I presume I’d be invited inside his place?
“Do you—” I’d started to ask when Ford’s phone let out a loud shrill.
“Shit. That’s my mom’s ringtone.” His phone did not ring all night, so she must have a separate setting. Before I could respond, he was already swiping across his phone screen and saying, “Mom, everything okay?”
He turned to face away and walked a few paces to gain some privacy. I saw a good bit of head bobbing and pacing. Finally he slid the phone back in his pocket and walked toward me, his face a blank canvas.
My car pulled up at the same time as Ford made it over to me, and he said, “Wait.” Leaning close, he whispered in my ear. “My father passed. The press doesn’t know yet. Don’t react.”
Nodding into his chest, I placed a hand over his heart and mumbled, “I’m sorry.” To the outside world, we were two people saying goodbye. A date gone awry…
I was sorry for Ford’s loss and sorry for what would be my second time losing Ford. He’d go back to California soon.
“I have to go to the hospital now. My mom is sending a driver for me. You go home, and let me know when you’re there safely, yeah?”
He was still whispering in my ear, and despite the tension surrounding the situation, I didn’t want to let go.
All good things come to an end.I recited the clichéd adage in my head as I slid my hand away from Ford’s chest and looked up and said, “I’m sorry.”
He gave a chin nod before guiding me to the driver’s side of my car with his palm on my lower back.
“Be safe,” was all he added before shutting my door and tipping the valet standing nearby.
Ford was in my rearview as I drove off. Sadly, my feelings were not.
Ford
It had been twenty-four hours since I’d helped James into her car and watched her drive off. She’d given me a chance and shared a meal with me at a place I thought meant something to her.
She was so understanding over my dismissal. I wanted to lean on her, but she didn’t need to get involved with the three-ring circus that was about to ensue. Brushing her off was the only way to save her from the tornado known as Beatrice Conway.
Sure, Jamie knew my parents were not picture-perfect, but she’d always believed I was luckier than her. I had money and a nanny and privilege. In her core, she thought my life was better.
But there was noluckierin my life. I learned this at an early age. That was why I wasn’t surprised when I arrived at the hospital to find Steven managing the scene. He was calling out orders to nurses and on the phone asking my assistant about my suit selection, aiming for matching suits for my brother and me for the funeral.
“Jesus, Steven, my father just died. Stop picking clothes for me. I can dress myself. Plus my suits are in California. What are you going to do? Overnight a suit here? Never mind, don’t answer that.” I’d hollered at him and brushed right by his tiny five-foot-two frame to touch my dad’s hand one more time.
