Long after they were out of sight, the reporters stood huddled in a group, stunned and chastised. Instead of smashing cameras and pulling rolls of videotape as some stars were wont to do, Alex Rivers had managed to shame them subtly and thoroughly. It was obvious that Alex Rivers hadn’t done anything to harm his wife. It was just as obvious that she was still crazy about him. And set in front of them was the proof—a beautiful little boy with the legacy of Alex Rivers’s silver eyes.
The reporter fromNBCgestured to her cameraman and found a quiet place to film her comments. She pulled a compact out of her pocket and smoothed her hair, turning to aUPIrepresentative beside her who was still furiously scribbling down notes. “I’ll be damned,” she said.
“He’s turned himself into a hero again. A hundred million people out there are going to see us as the big bad meddling media, while Alex Rivers and his nuclear family come off as crusaders just trying to be normal, everyday people.”
She shook her head, taking small comfort in the fact thateverynetwork was going to be swallowing some humble pie that day, and raised her hand to signal readiness for the camera. She squared her shoulders.
“Tonight atLAX, celebrity Alex Rivers revealed the answer to the mystery involving his wife’s disappearance several months ago. In spite of overwhelming rumors circulated by the media that negatively affected his career in Hollywood, Rivers did not step forward with his wife’s whereabouts, which, apparently, he’d known at all times. Cassandra Barrett Rivers returned to L.A. tonight on her husband’s arm, bringing with her Alex Rivers’s newborn son.” Here the reporter paused meaningfully. “It is a sad fact that in today’s world a star like Alex Rivers would have to endure a false scandal simply to guarantee his family’s privacy,” she said, carefully absolving herself from blame. “One can only hope that if little Connor Rivers decides to follow in his illustrious father’s footsteps, things will be different. This is Marisa Thompson,NBCNews.”
CASSIE STOOD IN FRONT OF THE BATHROOM MIRROR, RUNNING HER fingers over the green marble countertop and gold-plated sink fixtures.
She couldn’t help wondering what the point of that was. What had seemed luxurious before now seemed simply overdone.
She stepped into the bedroom, turning up the volume of the portable monitor that hooked into Connor’s new room. Cassie had been amazed:
in the hours since he’d come for her, Alex had had one of the guest bedrooms wallpapered with fat cartoon sheep and tumbling cows, the edging of the sills and doors had been painted bright blue, and skycolored curtains dotted with clouds fluttered in the windows. Connor was asleep in a whitewashed cradle.
She listened to the even rhythm of her baby’s breathing. She shouldn’t have been surprised; Alex had always been able to do the impossible.
It was quiet in the house; the staff had retired for the night. There had seemed to be fewer people, and those she’d recognized—like John, and Alex’s secretary—were all distantly polite to her, acknowledging her position in the household, but no one was overly friendly. She kept waiting to hear a maid say, “It’s nice to have you back,” or for the chef to touch her arm and tell her he’d missed her, but these things did not happen, and Cassie realized that if she wanted to win everyone over again, the first friend she would have to make was Alex.
She found him downstairs in his study, sitting in the tremendous leather desk chair, his body bent over a list of financial holdings. Spaced across the top of the desk were the three Oscars he’d won when she was in Pine Ridge. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
Alex looked up. “He’s asleep again?”
Cassie nodded. “For the next couple of hours, anyway.”
She reached across the desk and picked up the Oscar in the corner, smoothing her fingers over the streamlined back and the crossed arms.
It was much heavier than she had expected. “I was so proud of you,”
she murmured. “I wanted to be here.”
“I wanted you to be here too.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Alex’s hand covered hers on the Oscar and set it on the desk. He pulled her onto his lap.
Suddenly nervous, she splayed her hand across the sheaf of papers on the desk. “How much are you worth?” she teased.
Alex looked away. “Not nearly as much as when you left,” he said.
“You probably noticed we’re down to a skeleton staff, and I ought to tell you the apartment’s been on the market for a couple of months now.I—Itook a big loss producingMacbeth.”
Again Cassie felt her stomach cramp at the pain he’d suffered as a result of her disappearance. Trying to smile, she tipped up Alex’s chin.
“The good news,” she said, “is that I’ve learned a lot about roots and berries. We’re in no danger of starving.”
The corners of Alex’s mouth turned up. “I don’t think we’re quite at the brink of bankruptcy yet,” he said. “But I would get a kick out of watching you forage your way through Bel-Air.”
Cassie wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck and pressed her cheek against his heart. “I really missed you,” she said. She wished he would put away his files and take her upstairs. She wished at the very least he would kiss her.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Alex said.
Cassie looked up, and then beamed, realizing he was giving her the choice. Hadn’t he said he would sleep in a different bedroom if she wanted? Obviously all he was waiting for was a hint, a clue, a caress.
“I know you’re going to want me to see . . . someone. A psychiatrist or something. I was just hoping you wouldn’t go mentioning it. You know, to someone like Ophelia, or your cop friend in South Dakota.”
He lowered his eyes. “That’s all.”
