A Brand New Ending (Page 70)

“Love you, too.”

She rested her forehead against the wall. Why did this whole conversation seem so damn familiar? She couldn’t be the one to make him walk away. It had to be his decision, on his terms, or she’d always wonder if deep inside, he blamed her.

The familiar worry gnawed at her nerves, and an inner voice reminded her how, once Hollywood called, it was hard for him to say no.

Mia’s words drifted in her mind, reminding her she’d made her own choices based on the past. She thought about her promise to Kyle, his urgent plea to share her gift.

Wasn’t it time to challenge herself, too? She had a responsibility to be real with herself and admit she loved singing. It was time to stop hiding behind her past experiences and move forward—on her own terms.

She had no control over whether Kyle came back to her, and she didn’t know if this second chance with their marriage would work. Though it would tear her to pieces to lose him again, she deserved to give herself her own second chance. To do something she’d always loved.

She picked up the phone and punched in the number before she changed her mind.

“Hi, Albert. I wanted to talk to you about your offer to sing.” She dragged in a breath and took the leap. “I want to do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kyle parked his car and began walking down Rodeo Drive. The hot sun beat down ruthlessly on his shoulders, and the stink of money drifted in the humid air. His mind sifted through the past few days, and he thought about how everything had changed.

The other night, he’d attended his first party since he’d left. It was the usual potpourri of useful contacts and glam squads. Robbie had introduced him to the hot new casting director they were using to try to score Hemsworth. Endless women flirted and hung on his arm. Drinks got pushed into his hands, urging him to get drunk. Conversations swirled around surface niceties, and subtle cutting insults were shared with hidden glee.

God, he’d hated every second.

He longed for the scent of fresh hay and earth, the vision of clean blue sky and white clouds hovering over the majestic Gunks. He longed for the bite of cold air dragged into his lungs. Ophelia’s face haunted him, carving out an empty ache in his soul that cried out to be filled. Everything he looked at was shiny and fake—like empty calories gobbled up only to make him feel more ravenous.

He was lost. He missed home. Missed his wife. Missed the old life he’d rediscovered.

Could he grit his teeth and bear being in this lifestyle for the next few weeks? Maybe months? Traveling back and forth, caught between two worlds? Was the film worth it?

All he’d worked for his entire life was finally being offered to him.

The script of his dreams. Producer credit. Academy Award–winning director and a stellar cast. After this, everything would change.

He thought of all the upcoming battles and stress, the endless nights of revisions while he fought to have his original vision remain. He thought of the love story he’d written that meant something to him and how, once again, he’d have to compromise to put it on the big screen.

Then he’d steeled his resolve and made the only decision that made sense for him. The decision that his heart cried out for, no matter what he was giving up.

He’d called off the entire deal.

A small laugh escaped at the memory.

Holy shit, Robbie had flipped out. Called his career dead in the water. Begged him to reconsider. Funny, it was so much easier than he’d thought to walk away and explain he was done with compromise.

He didn’t know what was going to happen to the book or screenplay, or where his career would end up. There was only one thing he knew he wanted.

His wife.

He wanted to go home.

The bell over the door tinkled merrily. The sharply dressed staff bolted to attention, exhibiting the perfect balance between anticipating questions and not seeming too hungry for a sale. He didn’t need to play games today, though. He walked up to the gleaming counter and spoke to the gentleman standing with perfect poise in front of the signature robin’s egg–blue wall of Tiffany’s.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Yes. I want to see your wedding rings, please.”

“Of course. Follow me.” The man walked to the next case. The gleaming sparkle of exquisitely cut diamonds winked at him and temporarily blinded his view. “We have a varied selection here. Is there a particular style you prefer?”

His gaze swept the display, then stopped on a stunning platinum band encrusted with diamonds. His heart stopped, then resumed beating. His finger tapped the shiny glass. “That one.”

“A perfect choice.”

The man took it out of the case and laid it on the thick black velvet cloth. It screamed elegance rather than extravagance. It beat with pulses of romance rather than glitz. It was everything he’d always dreamed of in a ring for the woman who was his soul mate, and who’d refused to replace the cheap, tiny ring he’d scrimped and saved to give her when he was eighteen years old.

“I need it in a size seven, please. Gift wrapped.”

“Of course, sir. Just a moment.”

Kyle dragged in a deep breath, thinking over his last conversation with Ophelia. Thinking over the past two months they’d spent together.

Finally, after all this time, he’d gotten it. Even to the very end before he’d left, he’d been selfish—telling Ophelia over and over that he’d choose her over his career, as if it was a gift he was finally able to give her. Every claim and reassurance he’d uttered had always revolved around him.

He shook his head with a touch of shame. He’d never asked her the most important question of all.

Would she choose him?

It was time to find out.

“How do you feel?” Mia asked, adjusting the final pin in her hair.

“Like I’m going to vomit. I can’t believe I agreed to perform so soon. I figured I’d have a month to plan.”

Mia laughed and stepped back to survey her handiwork. “You got this. Just remember this is low-key, and everyone out there is a friend. We’re all here for you.” Mia gave her a brilliant smile. “Go and enjoy yourself, sweets. Sing your heart out.”

Ophelia smiled back, her muscles unlocking a few fibers. Mia was right.

She was doing this for herself because she loved it. The venue was perfect.

She looked at herself in the mirror, pleased with her appearance. With her hair pinned up and just a few curls spilling over her shoulders, and wearing a simple black dress with an elegant, square neckline, she felt like herself.

Albert stuck his head around the corner and motioned her out. “Ophelia, you’re up. I just announced you.”

“Thanks, Albert.” She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked to her spot at the piano. The chandelier drenched her in light, and it took her a few moments to adjust her vision before she introduced herself at the microphone.

The tables were packed. Generous applause hit her ears. Ignoring the jumble of nerves in her belly, she dove right into her first song—an easy favorite by Barbara Streisand to warm up her vocal cords. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her voice melting into the strains of harmony in a way that emphasized, not overpowered. Soon, she fell into the beauty of the music.

The hour drifted by like a misty dream, until before she knew it she came to the last song of the evening.

“I’ve always had a weakness for musicals,” she said to the audience, “and since we’re in the no-judgment zone here tonight, I’d thought I’d share this lovely song from La La Land. It’s called ‘City of Stars.’ Enjoy.”