Illusions of Love

chapter 2



Michael Walsh needed to work, and at fifty-eight-years-old he was showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. He needed to keep busy. He’d never been one to sit around and wait for things to come to him; he’d always been the one to seek out the opportunities. And the opportunity to work with India, his beautiful, super-talented ex-wife, wasn’t something he was going to ignore.

He was certain that this soon-to-begin-shooting Las Vegas-based romantic comedy would be a sure-fire box office winner. When he’d first seen the script he’d known there was only one actress who could play the main female lead, and studio bosses couldn’t have agreed more. So they’d banked on him to make sure he got India on board, because this movie had come at a time when everyone was only too aware of the amount of work being put her way, now that she’d finished filming ‘Covert One’ and was making a return to the big screen. She had options, a lot of options, but Michael had been determined to have her in his movie. To have the chance to work with her again, to direct her in the kind of movie she did better than anyone else out there right now. There was no way that opportunity was going to pass him by. He had a major studio backing his movie, and they’d wanted India too. Because, with her leading the cast, and Michael directing, that was movie gold, right there. That was movie gold. And she hadn’t hesitated in saying yes.

But this movie wouldn’t just be the first movie India had made in a while, it would also be the first time India and Michael had worked together since the near-fatal accident that had nearly killed her just over a year ago. Her first movie since all that had happened. So Michael had gone one better than just making sure India was on board. He’d also managed to secure Reece Brogan – India’s very famous movie star dad – to star alongside her as her on-screen father. The studio had been ecstatic, and Michael had become the hero, guaranteeing his position as one of Hollywood’s most sought-after and powerful directors.

He was finally in a place in which he felt comfortable, after years of not knowing where he really belonged. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d always known where he’d belonged. She just hadn’t wanted him.

‘Michael, honey, you know I’m going to India’s tonight, don’t you?’

He swung round as Layla, his thirty-three-year-old actress and TV presenter girlfriend entered the room, all blond hair and prettiness, exuding Chanel No.5 as she walked over to him. But it wasn’t really her that had caught his attention. It was the mention of his ex-wife’s name.

‘Erm, yeah… yeah, of course. You… you told me this morning.’

She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. ‘Are you okay? You look tired.’

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, looking forward to a night on his own with a bottle of bourbon and the TV. He’d be glad of the peace. He needed to think, because there was a lot to think about before he headed off to Vegas.

‘I’m fine, Layla. You just… you just enjoy yourself. Have a good night.’

Layla didn’t take her eyes off him for a few minutes, even when he’d turned away and started gathering together the pile of papers he had strewn all over the kitchen table. She wasn’t stupid. Just the mention of India’s name and his whole demeanour changed. An award winning actor he might be, but he wasn’t good enough to hide his feelings where his ex-wife was concerned.

Layla had long since gotten used to being second best in his life, because to compete with India wasn’t something she had the energy to do anymore. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on like this. She’d lived in India’s shadow for far too long now and it was quite obvious that Michael wasn’t going to take their relationship any further. But she was only thirty-three. She wanted to get married, she wanted to have a family, and that was never going to happen with Michael. Even though she loved him. Far more than he’d ever loved her.

‘You’re invited you know,’ she said, fastening her watch onto her wrist, still watching him as he packed away his files and papers into his briefcase. ‘To India’s. You can come too, if you like.’

He turned round and looked at her. ‘No. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ He turned away, pushing his chair back under the table.

‘Why not?’

He swung back round at her quick reply, not meeting her eyes because he couldn’t. He really couldn’t look at her and trust himself when talking about India.

‘Because, I… I just don’t feel like it, Layla. Maybe I am a little tired. I could do with an early night.’

‘Do you want me to say hello for you?’

He knew what she was doing, and he couldn’t really blame her. They’d been together for a long while now yet their relationship had all but stagnated. She wanted marriage; he just wasn’t willing to make that commitment to her. She wanted a baby, he just couldn’t go there. It didn’t feel right, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t right at all. Layla was a wonderful, beautiful woman, but she wasn’t India. Nobody was India, and even though he’d tried to stop comparing everyone to her he just couldn’t do it. From the second he’d laid eyes on her almost twenty years ago, when she’d been nothing but a shy and pretty twenty-two-year-old from the U.K., he’d been in love with her. That love hadn’t always been perfect, and he’d made some horrific mistakes that he was more than lucky she’d forgiven him for, but he’d never got over losing her. Not when it had taken him so long to win her love in the first place.

He’d overcome the obstacle of Kenny Ross – major movie star and India’s closest friend. Kenny Ross – India’s first husband, albeit for all of a few weeks. Kenny Ross – a man that would constantly be in her life. A man Michael had always seen as his biggest threat as far as India was concerned. But, when her short-lived marriage to Kenny had collapsed, Michael had been there to pick up the pieces, he’d made sure of that, and she’d eventually made every dream he’d ever had come true by falling in love with him in a way he could never have imagined. And they’d been happy. They’d been so happy, until he’d ruined it all with one act of terrifying stupidity that had caused her to cut him out of her life for so long; too long. And he was lucky she’d ever accepted him back, even if it was only as a friend. She’d done it for the sake of their son, he knew that, he was under no illusion it meant anything else. But he’d never stop hoping. Especially now it looked like her marriage to JJ Foster was coming to an end.

‘Michael?’

Layla’s voice shook him back to reality and he looked at her.

‘Jesus, Michael, you were miles away. I’m going now, alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure. You go enjoy yourself.’

She walked over to him, kissing him lightly on the cheek, feeling sad at the ever-growing distance between them. ‘Have a good night, okay? And get some rest. You’ve been working too hard.’

He watched her go before leaning back against the table, throwing his head back, sighing heavily as he pushed a hand through his hair. He was relieved she was gone, relieved to be alone.

Pouring himself a large glass of bourbon he went into his study and closed the door behind him, switching on the large TV on the wall opposite his desk, watching as the images flickered into life in front of him. The same DVD had been in the player for months now. He saw no reason to change it. It was something he enjoyed watching, something he could watch time and time again and never get tired.

Sitting back in his chair he swung his feet up onto the desk, taking a sip of bourbon, not taking his eyes off the screen, because there she was – the only woman he’d ever wanted. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. His ex-wife. India Walsh. Movie star. Mother of his son. The woman he was still very much in love with.