exactly fiscally responsible.”
Which was why Bram had agreed to go along with this. The fifty thousand dollars a month she’d promised him.
But Trev didn’t know about the blood money. “He’s decided you’re the ticket he needs to raise his profile. This publicity could help him get some decent parts again. He pretends not to care that he’s basically made himself unemployable, but, believe me, he does.”
She moved restlessly from the veranda into the yard and gazed back at the house. A second set of twisted columns on top of the first held up the roof of the balcony that ran across much of the top story, and more vines climbed the russet stucco walls. “He can’t be destitute,” she said. “This place is amazing.”
“And mortgaged to the hilt. He’s done a lot of the work himself.”
“No way. He’s talked some lovesick woman into paying at least some of his bills.”
“Always a possibility.”
She needed to know more, but when she pressed, Trev shut her down. “You’re both my friends, and I’m not getting involved in this, although I definitely want a dinner invitation so I can watch the fireworks.”
She had a total of thirty-eight messages and texts on her cell, with her father accounting for ten of them. She could imagine how frantic he was, but she couldn’t bear talking to him yet. April had left with her family for their Tennessee farm two days ago. Georgie dialed her number, and as she heard her friend’s voice, some of her defenses fell away, and she bit her lip. “April, you have no way of knowing that just about everything I’m getting ready to tell you is a pack of lies, so that means you can pass on the information with a clear conscience, okay?”
“Oh, sweetie…” April sounded like a worried mother.
“Bram and I met accidentally in Las Vegas. The sparks flew, and we realized how much we’d always loved each other. We decided we’d wasted too much time being apart, so we got married. You don’t know for sure where we are, but you suspect we’re still holed up at the Bellagio enjoying an impromptu honeymoon, and isn’t everyone glad that Bram Shepard has finally reformed and the world has the happy ending they didn’t get when Skip and Scooter was canceled?” Georgie’s breath snagged in her throat. “Would you call Sasha and tell her the same thing? And if Meg resurfaces…”
“Of course I will, but, honey, I’m really worried about you. I’m going to fly back and—”
“No.” The concern in April’s voice made her want to burst into tears. “I’m fine. Really. Just shaken up. Love you.”
As she hung up, she made herself face reality. She was trapped in this house for the immediate future. The public would expectBram and her to be glued together while they were newlyweds. Weeks would pass before she could go anywhere without him. She leaned back on the veranda chaise, shut her eyes, and tried to think. But there were no easy answers, and eventually she dozed off to the sound of the brass wind-bells.
When she awakened two hours later, she felt no more refreshed than when she’d fallen asleep, and she reluctantly headed upstairs. Latin music reverberated from the far end of the hallway. On her way to investigate, she passed Bram’s bedroom and spotted her suitcase sitting in the middle of the floor.
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.
If she’d had to guess what Bram Shepard’s bedroom looked like, she’d have imagined a disco ball and a stripper’s pole, but she’d have been wrong. The barrel vault ceiling and roughly plastered buckwheat-honey walls defined a space that was rich, elegant, and sensual without being sleazy. Rectangular leather panels set in a bronze metal grid made up the headboard of the king-size bed, and a comfortable lounging area occupied the turret she’d spotted from the front of the house.
As she went in to retrieve her suitcase, the music stopped. Moments later, Bram appeared at the bedroom door in a
Which was why Bram had agreed to go along with this. The fifty thousand dollars a month she’d promised him.
But Trev didn’t know about the blood money. “He’s decided you’re the ticket he needs to raise his profile. This publicity could help him get some decent parts again. He pretends not to care that he’s basically made himself unemployable, but, believe me, he does.”
She moved restlessly from the veranda into the yard and gazed back at the house. A second set of twisted columns on top of the first held up the roof of the balcony that ran across much of the top story, and more vines climbed the russet stucco walls. “He can’t be destitute,” she said. “This place is amazing.”
“And mortgaged to the hilt. He’s done a lot of the work himself.”
“No way. He’s talked some lovesick woman into paying at least some of his bills.”
“Always a possibility.”
She needed to know more, but when she pressed, Trev shut her down. “You’re both my friends, and I’m not getting involved in this, although I definitely want a dinner invitation so I can watch the fireworks.”
She had a total of thirty-eight messages and texts on her cell, with her father accounting for ten of them. She could imagine how frantic he was, but she couldn’t bear talking to him yet. April had left with her family for their Tennessee farm two days ago. Georgie dialed her number, and as she heard her friend’s voice, some of her defenses fell away, and she bit her lip. “April, you have no way of knowing that just about everything I’m getting ready to tell you is a pack of lies, so that means you can pass on the information with a clear conscience, okay?”
“Oh, sweetie…” April sounded like a worried mother.
“Bram and I met accidentally in Las Vegas. The sparks flew, and we realized how much we’d always loved each other. We decided we’d wasted too much time being apart, so we got married. You don’t know for sure where we are, but you suspect we’re still holed up at the Bellagio enjoying an impromptu honeymoon, and isn’t everyone glad that Bram Shepard has finally reformed and the world has the happy ending they didn’t get when Skip and Scooter was canceled?” Georgie’s breath snagged in her throat. “Would you call Sasha and tell her the same thing? And if Meg resurfaces…”
“Of course I will, but, honey, I’m really worried about you. I’m going to fly back and—”
“No.” The concern in April’s voice made her want to burst into tears. “I’m fine. Really. Just shaken up. Love you.”
As she hung up, she made herself face reality. She was trapped in this house for the immediate future. The public would expectBram and her to be glued together while they were newlyweds. Weeks would pass before she could go anywhere without him. She leaned back on the veranda chaise, shut her eyes, and tried to think. But there were no easy answers, and eventually she dozed off to the sound of the brass wind-bells.
When she awakened two hours later, she felt no more refreshed than when she’d fallen asleep, and she reluctantly headed upstairs. Latin music reverberated from the far end of the hallway. On her way to investigate, she passed Bram’s bedroom and spotted her suitcase sitting in the middle of the floor.
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.
If she’d had to guess what Bram Shepard’s bedroom looked like, she’d have imagined a disco ball and a stripper’s pole, but she’d have been wrong. The barrel vault ceiling and roughly plastered buckwheat-honey walls defined a space that was rich, elegant, and sensual without being sleazy. Rectangular leather panels set in a bronze metal grid made up the headboard of the king-size bed, and a comfortable lounging area occupied the turret she’d spotted from the front of the house.
As she went in to retrieve her suitcase, the music stopped. Moments later, Bram appeared at the bedroom door in a
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