When Lightning Strikes (Whiskey Creek #1)(25)
Author: Brenda Novak

“You okay?” This was the second time she’d asked, but she didn’t dare say more. Not in public. Although a gaggle of people holding cameras had thronged them at the entrance, the restaurant had done a good job of keeping out the paparazzi. That didn’t mean she and Simon could forget the roles they were playing until they had to emerge onto the street, however. The other patrons and the restaurant staff were watching them carefully and could report what they saw, especially if there was any money to be made.

To keep up the illusion of intimacy they’d come here to create, she reached across the table for his hand, and he threaded his fingers through hers. She’d expected him to be receptive. They were here to canoodle in public. But she hadn’t expected the little hitch in her chest at his touch, or the relief that came over his face when they joined hands.

There was more of the lost little boy in him tonight than ever before. Usually, he hid it quite well; at times, she wasn’t even sure it existed.

She cleared her throat. “Are you going to answer me?”

His chest rose as if he’d just taken a deep breath, but then a smile broke across his face. It looked so natural she was tempted to believe it was—but he was acting. She could already read him more deeply than even a few days ago. “I’m fine.”

In case someone was using a device that amplified their voices in an attempt to pick up on their conversation, she didn’t push for more. “My dinner was delicious. Too bad you weren’t very hungry.”

“How do you like the pendant?”

Although she could tell he hadn’t been too invested in any of their other chitchat, he seemed genuinely curious about this. The look on his face gave her the impression that he’d truly meant to please her, which was something new.

“It’s lovely.” She was wearing it; the solid weight of it rested just above her cle**age. “But…I’m not sure why you sent such an expensive gift. That really wasn’t necessary.”

“You’re worth it.”

More acting. Lies, false compliments and fake smiles were easy to combat on an emotional level. But his touch seemed so honest it confused her. It also set her on edge because she liked it. The movement of his thumb, rubbing lightly back and forth on hers, put butterflies in her stomach.

“I knew it would look good on you,” he said.

For the sake of anyone who might be watching, she gave him a smile to match the one he’d bestowed on her and resisted the urge to withdraw her hand. “It was very sweet of you.”

“Finished with your meal?”

“I am.” She used the fact that they were about to leave as an excuse to let go of him. But after he tossed a couple of large bills on the table, he put an arm around her shoulders, which kept them in close contact. At first, she thought it was part of the show but his sense of purpose soon told her he was preparing for the crowd that awaited them outside.

“Are you ready for this?” he murmured as he guided her through the restaurant.

“This?”

“The paparazzi.”

They wanted her picture as badly as his, and that was an experience she’d never had before. “As ready as I can be. I don’t know how you put up with the loss of privacy.”

“Part of the territory,” he said. But she knew it bothered him more than he was letting on. She’d heard him make statements about “being hunted.” He might have elaborated, but the restaurant manager darted into their path to thank Simon for his patronage.

“I hope you found each dish to your liking,” he said, all but bowing in deference.

Simon gave him a stiff nod. “Everything was delicious.”

Knowing the man must have noticed that Simon had eaten very little, Gail jumped in. “It was wonderful,” she gushed. “The best!”

Relieved, he thanked her profusely and begged them to come again.

“What I said wasn’t enough?” Simon muttered as they moved on.

Had she irritated him? “He was so…hopeful.”

“That’s how they all are.”

The constant attention would get tiresome. She could see that. She could also see that being a celebrity was exhausting. Tonight that was more obvious than ever. Simon could never give enough to the people he encountered because there was only one of him and so many of them. He never got to feel he’d met others’ expectations.

“There’s no break,” she said as they stepped out of the restaurant and into a sea of flashing lights.

Gail had told herself she’d smile and hold her head high whenever she encountered the paparazzi, just as she advised her clients to do.  Make them think you enjoy it, that you have nothing to  hide. After all, what were a few pictures? It was better to pose and get good ones. That was her classic line.

But because of the crush, there was a much greater sense of urgency than she’d ever seen or experienced before. And acting as if this was an unwelcome surprise was part of the campaign. She turned her face into Simon’s chest to avoid being blinded by the strobelike effect and felt his arm tighten as he sheltered her from the most aggressive of the cameramen.

“Car’s right here,” he said.

One of Simon’s bodyguards, who’d been waiting with their driver, had created a path. Relieved to have a safe resort, Gail slipped inside the same limousine that had picked her up at her house. Simon rarely traveled in vehicles like this, unless it was Oscar night, a premiere or some other special event where it was expected, but there hadn’t been any point in holding back on the accoutrements for this date. Tonight he’d planned to dive into the shark-infested pool of celebrity obsession—and he’d taken her with him.

The silence that met them as soon as the door was shut felt odd, oppressive. But it didn’t last long. The stereo went on, playing classical music, as the driver inched through the crowd, most of whom were still vying for photographs—from the curb, the street, anywhere they might gain advantage.

“Wow,” Gail breathed. This was what she had to look forward to. Could she keep up the charade?

She thought Simon might be as talkative on the drive as he’d been in the restaurant, but he didn’t say a word. Back to his laconic self, he stared out the window.

“So? How do you think it went?” she asked as they glided around the corner like a slow-moving parade float.

“Good.” His response was clipped, perfunctory. Apparently he’d been acting a lot more than she’d realized. Maybe that vulnerability that appealed to her was part of the character he’d decided to play. She hoped so. It made her too eager to defend him, whether he deserved it or not. She’d always been an “underdog” kind of girl.