“He was such a monster,” she whispers. “But you made me pity him.” Her eyes are confused.
Nodding, I reach out a hand and she accepts it. I pull her gently inside so she stands between my knees.
Sliding her hands through my hair, a light scrape that sends a shiver racing over my skin, she pulls my head against her.
Breathing her scent in, I wait to see if she has anything more to say and feel her curve her head down to rest on mine.
“My heart hurts for that little boy. He must have been so scared that night, but he was so brave. I can’t believe he got away and ran. Then to be chased … by his father, by a person children are supposed to love and trust, and know that if he got caught …” her voice breaks. Yes, all the untold horrors that boy might have looked forward to, what he’d even woken up to that night … that he’d never see his mother again might have been the least concerning. Keri Ann’s chest heaves with emotion and anguish beneath my cheek, and I squeeze my arms tight and hold her.
“I was scared,” I say finally when she calms. “I was terrified, and I made it. I survived him.”
“And you made me cry for him, too. I almost didn’t want him to end his life, but I felt his relief. Oh, God. It’s brilliant. I hated it. It’s the darkest story I’ve ever read. And so much more painful because it’s you.” She reaches for a tissue from the box she placed on my desk.
I loosen my arms and tilt my head up to look at her beautiful face filled with such torment. A tight knot around my heart loosens slightly. I’ve been terrified to let her read the script I wrote, even letting Devon read it first.
Production on The Missing Earl begins in eleven weeks.
In England.
Devon says he’s never fast tracked something that quickly in his life.
“But are you sure about this? Playing the part of your own father? And telling the world who you are?”
It was Devon’s idea, and when he first suggested it, I balked. I was shocked and horrified, and truly didn’t think I had it in me. The more I thought about it though, I realized, it could only be me. And really it will be the hardest role I’ve ever played, that anyone could ever play. But I know I can do it. I will do it. Moreover, I know with a quiet certainty, I’ll do it brilliantly.
I nod.
“Why did you wait so long to let me read it?”
“I was nervous,” I say truthfully. I like Keri Ann thinking the world of me. I don’t want her not liking something I’ve written. The fact she thinks it is good, absolutely humbles me. Relief washes through my veins. The publicity will be big though. “And look, if you would rather I didn’t announce it’s about me, I won’t. It’s enough for me that it’s out there. It will only add extra publicity to our lives.”
“Publicity that will help an incredible movie become even more important and mind-blowing? Of course you need to own it. You need to tell people it’s your story.” She smiles. “I can handle a bit more publicity. And since it will be on you rather than me, perhaps it will give me a break from “ring watch” and “baby bump watch.”
I try not to react to her observation of ring watch and baby bump watch. I feel like I’ve been doing the same as the press for three years … watching and waiting until she’s ready. I’ll be on “gay watch” soon.
“But we’ll be in England,” I remind her. “The paparazzi are worse there, it seems. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she responds to my concern. “Your mom and I will be fine. Besides, I want to go and visit the coast again. There’s so much sea glass there. I get really inspired when we’re in England.”
Every time we go there, Keri Ann insists we stay with my mother and Jeff rather than one of the fancy hotels I push for. I always concede, knowing it makes Mum happy, too.
Making muted love to Keri Ann in the guest bedroom, trying not to be too loud, always drives me nuts and makes Keri Ann giggle. I smile thinking about it and lift her sweater revealing her soft belly. Kissing it reverently, smoothing my lips over the silky skin, I inhale the soft fruity scent of her.
She pulls back and runs her hand through my hair, tilting my face up again. “I’m so proud of you,” she says seriously.
Pulling her face toward me, I capture her lips with mine, feeling her soft sigh, and slip my tongue into her warm mouth. God, I love kissing her. “I’m proud of you, too,” I whisper against her lips a few moments later. And I am. She dealt with the fall out of being blown up into a tabloid scandal with the most poise and grace I’ve ever seen, and continues to earn nothing but respect and starry eyes from the public who now look at her as some kind of Cinderella instead of the sleazy gold digger Audrey had planned. She’s sweet and funny to the people who want to take her picture and gracious to the ones who deserve to get a fist in the face.
I don’t know how she does it.