Anywhere You Are (26 page)

Grace had pushed him so far past his limits, he couldn't even see the lines he'd drawn for himself until she was gone. But none of that mattered, because he'd betrayed her. Rejected her for who she was after she'd embraced him with open arms.

“You love her,” Press said quietly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice sad. “Yes, I love her.”

Damn Press and Jake for making him think about this. For making him
feel
. Because he did love her. Desperately, in a way that no matter where he traveled, no matter whom he was with, he could never truly forget. And thinking about spending the rest of his life without her made him feel physically ill.

“What do I do?” he croaked.

“You love her,” Jake said. “Fine. So start fucking acting like it.”

He would go to her. Right away. Tell her he loved her, he needed her, he couldn't live without her. Throw himself at her feet and beg her to take him back. Because everything without her was colorless. Dull. And now that he'd had a taste of what it could be, he couldn't go back to the way things were, ever. But as always, things were complicated.

“What about Briarwood…the affidavit?” Giving Grace the green light for her publishing deal meant she needed all the publicity she could get.

“Tell me this,” Jake said. “Is the woman you love worth more than a patch of green grass?”

To hear Jake talk about Briarwood—his love, his salvation—so casually, so dismissively, made Marc realize how deeply his friend cared about him.

Marc gave one short nod.

“Good,” Jake said, satisfaction in his voice. “Then we'll figure it out.”

“Just do what you have to do,” Press said.

Numbly, Marc nodded. He'd always been the man with a plan, but for the first time, he was drawing a blank. He had no idea how he was going to get her back—had no idea how to even start.

As if reading his mind, Press spoke. “Begging her forgiveness is usually a good first step.” He gave Marc a wry smile. “Or so I'm told.”

Oblivious to the rest of what was being said, Marc shoved the stacks of papers away and rose from his seat.

He hadn't known it until this instant, but the annoyance of a few flashbulbs in his face was nothing compared to a lifetime of pain without Grace. How could he have been so stupid, so shortsighted?

He needed to go to her, immediately. Figure out some way to get her back, to make their relationship truly work. Because living without her meant more than simply living a life without color.

It would be a life without meaning.

“You look beautiful, darling.”

Grace turned on her four-inch-high stilettos to find her mom and dad standing there, beaming at her.

It was the opening night of her show at the Anderson Gallery and over a hundred people had shown up to support her. For sleepy Eastbridge, the turnout was great, and Maribelle assured her it was the largest crowd she'd ever seen for an opening.

Thanks to her mom's stylist, Grace's shoes were Louboutins, her dress was Lanvin, and her hair had been teased and coiled and shaped to within an inch of its life. Her makeup she'd done herself. Otherwise she'd have ended up looking like she was about to head out on the runway.

The entire ensemble made her look like a petite copy of her mother. Which, in her opinion, wasn't such a bad deal. Tonight, her mother was resplendent in a knee-length silk dress that clung to her body, her hair flowing down her back, her eyes aglow with excitement.

“I'm so glad you came,” Grace said, hugging her.

“We wouldn't have missed this for the world,” Sophie said. She pulled away and gazed around approvingly. “Your first gallery showing,” she said proudly. “But not your last. Definitely not your last. When this showing is over, you'll be in New York at my gallery, of course.”

“Of course,” Grace said.

“Congratulations, love,” her dad said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Your mum and I know how hard you worked for this.”

“Not as hard as some,” Grace said.

“That's not what the
Times
says,” Sophie said, pulling the paper out of her large handbag. She made a big show of smoothing the paper down and paused before reading. “I quote, ‘Grace Davingham could easily have relied on her fame and submitted sub-par paintings for her first gallery showing, yet her work shows remarkable depth of technique and style. Though still very young, Ms. Davingham is on her way to becoming a master in the genre.' ”

“If the
Times
says it, that means it's true,” Jer said.

“That's the
Eastbridge Times,
not
The New York Times
, Dad,” Grace said with a laugh.

“Oh, pish, darling. I'm sure
The
New York Times
will say the same thing when you show your work at my gallery next month.”

Grace gulped. “What makes you think the
Times
will review my show?”

“Because I asked them to. And I know it'll be just as well received there as it is here. Besides, even if they pan it, you'll still be on your way to achieving your goals.”

Grace smiled at her parents. Once they'd figured out exactly how passionate she was about conservation, they'd been incredibly supportive. In fact, they'd encouraged her to think even bigger than simply a book deal, and the papers had just been filed to establish the Davingham Conservation Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated specifically to preserving endangered Connecticut wildlife. Thanks to the press her book deal had gotten, money had started to pour in, and already they had enough cash to start doing some real outreach work throughout the state.

Professionally, things were going so well, but personally? Not so much.

These last couple of weeks without Marc had been…hard. Really hard.

When she first moved to Eastbridge, she'd craved the solitude and the peace that being away from the public eye had brought. She'd been grieving for so many things, and it had taken time to heal. Yet once she had, her life had been lonely.

Until she met Marc.

She'd never considered herself lucky in love. Typically, she sucked at men. So when she'd finally found a guy—a good guy—she would have done anything to keep him. But she'd screwed that one up, too, hadn't she?

Crystal kept telling her that it wasn't her fault. That Marc was the kind of guy who would have left anyway, but Grace couldn't believe it. She kept going back to that fateful day in her kitchen when everything had come crashing down around her. Maybe if she'd told him ahead of time, if she'd given him fair warning that this was going to happen, the two of them could have come to an understanding. But she hadn't. And Marc had been taken by surprise. He hated surprises.

If she could only go back and do it all over again, she would. But it was too late. She'd been right from the beginning—men like him and women like her didn't fit. They never would. And the sooner she got that into her head, the sooner she could move on.

“We're so proud of you, darling,” Sophie said. Then something over Grace's shoulder caught her eye. “Oh, look!” she cried. “There's Christophe. Oh, I must go say hello!” And her mom was off.

Grace watched her go, bemused. No matter where she was, her mom never changed.

But Grace's dad lingered, watching her carefully. Deliberately, he covered his mike so the recorder and the camera couldn't pick up his words. “I know you're hurting.”

“I'm fine,” she said automatically.

Jer shook his head. “Ah,” he said, with a rueful smile. “There's no conning the con man, I'm afraid. You miss him.”

Her dad always had an uncanny ability to cut through all her crap. Just like now, as if he could see into her soul with those watery blue eyes of his.

She couldn't hide anything from him. All at once, the pain she'd buried reared up and smacked her silly. To her shock and dismay, her lips trembled, and sharp tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Francine, ever vigilant about her shoot, had caught on to Jer's trick and was now making gestures for Jer to uncover his mike. Grace ignored her, and when Jer glanced down at her mike, she covered hers, too.

“It
hurts,
Dad,” she told him. “So bad.”

Pulling Grace in for a big hug—thereby muffling both their mikes—he pressed her head to his chest. “I know, love. I know.” She wanted to cry so badly, but she held her tears in. It was what was expected of her. What was required now that she was back in the spotlight.

Grace gave a little sob. “I didn't want to miss him this much.”

“His loss,” her dad said, stroking her hair. “Didn't know what he had.”

“He knew, all right,” Grace said, reaching up to blot an unshed tear from the corner of her eye. “He just couldn't handle it. And I don't blame him. My life is a lot to handle for anyone. I guess what we had wasn't enough for him to get over the fact that I'm always going to have to deal with the fame thing, one way or another.”

“Gracie,” he said. “You are enough. You are always enough. And if that bloke couldn't figure out that you're worth it, then he doesn't deserve to have you.” Jer squeezed her tighter. “I always knew you were going to change this world, my girl. And I know your heart is breaking right now, but you have to smile. Smile and hold your head high and never let them know. That's for you alone.”

He pulled back and she saw it, then. All the strain of hiding who he truly was from the press, from adoring fans, and even sometimes from his own family. He'd given up so much to become a superstar, buried himself just like she had. Yes, Jerry Davingham was her dad, but she still felt privileged that he was allowing her to see this—the true him.

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you, too.”

By this point, Francine was having a conniption fit. She started toward them, but just as she drew near, Jer kissed Grace's head and withdrew. “I'd better go find your mum. Remember. Keep that chin up.”

As her father wandered away and Francine slunk off, Grace snared a glass of champagne from a server passing by. Almost immediately, she was surrounded by several fans and a reporter from the
Hartford
Courant
who'd come to review the opening. Pasting on a smile, she played her part to the hilt.

This was it.
Everything she'd hoped for. Her dream, the thing she'd been working toward for so long, and now that it was here, she felt a sense of triumph.

And also of loss.

Because she wasn't sharing it with the man she loved.

So she smiled, and answered the same questions over and over again, drank champagne and kissed way too many cheeks to count.

She did well…for a while. But at some point, the crush of people got to be so much that she felt claustrophobic. She desperately wanted to excuse herself to gulp some fresh air in the alley behind the gallery, and was actually considering it, when all at once, something felt different. The energy had changed; the air was charged with electricity.

She should go, get out of here before she did something truly undignified like collapse in these heels in front of all these people. She turned to bolt for the exit.

And then she saw him.

Moving his way through the crowd, intent on reaching her.

A hundred different sensations hit her at once—shock, sadness, a tiny bit of rage, and love. Yes, love.

She loved him. She couldn't just stop because he'd rejected her. But seeing him here brought back all the memories she'd tried to forget.

Grace wanted to run, to hide. But instead she forced herself to stand still, surrounded by people, yet never having felt more alone in her life. She wouldn't let him see her hurting. She refused.

So she did exactly what her dad had told her to do. She stood up to her full height, grateful for the fact that she had on heels that gave her a few extra inches, tilted her chin up, and waited.

God, he'd never looked so good. The swept-back hair, the custom-made suit that hugged his body, the shiny wing tips. He looked completely out of place amidst all the sleek, arty types with his banker glasses and his silk tie, but she knew, without a doubt, that he couldn't have cared less.

He finally reached her and stared with wide eyes, as if he'd never seen a woman in a dress before. “Grace,” he croaked. “You look…” He stopped, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

But Grace didn't let him continue. She immediately went on the offensive, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked, and all at once he was back to his normal, collected self. “I came to see you.”

“No. You can't just come in here and do this, Marc.”

Without meaning to, she'd raised her voice, and the people around them had ceased their conversations to listen to what was transpiring between the two of them.

Marc hated crowds, hated people knowing his business. Any second now he was going to realize that they were being watched, and then he would leave in disgust. But to her surprise, he continued.

“I also came to tell you I was wrong. About so many things, but most of all, about us.”

“Marc,” she hissed in warning. “People will hear.”

“See, that's the thing. I don't care anymore. Because I love you, Grace.”

Hearing him say those words with that look on his face made her heart break all over again. Because things could never go back to the way they were before.

“I love you too, Marc. But there's always going to be this.” She swept her arm out as if to encompass the room, the crowd…everything that was her very public life. For better or for worse, she'd chosen this, and she wasn't going to change for him. She couldn't. This was who she was. She struggled with this every day, and if he didn't understand or accept that, he shouldn't be in her life.

“I'm not leaving,” Marc said, his voice firm.

“What about the photographers? The questions?”

“It doesn't matter,” he told her. “Because I figured out what I really wanted and that's you, Grace.” He truly wasn't backing down, that determined look on his face she knew so very well making her heart patter like crazy. “You're maddening. Infuriating. You make me crazy. You're scattered and passionate and yet everyone loves you. Even my own damned dog loves you more than he loves me! You argue with me about everything and you tease me about my clothes. You challenge me every single day.”

She couldn't believe he was saying this in front of everyone, in front of her friends and family and strangers, showing the world her flaws.

“It's insane,” he continued. “You're everything I'm not and yet I can't stay away.” Marc shook his head. “Before I met you, I couldn't imagine being with someone like you. You were too wild, too impulsive. Until I realized that is
exactly
what I need in my life. In the past few months, I've done things I thought I'd never do. I made peace with my father. I made love under a pier in the rain.” There were some muted gasps, but he continued. “I embraced my inner child. And I fell in love with a beast who chews up my dress shoes. All because of you.”

He took a step forward. “You shake me up, get me out of my own head. You don't just push me past my limits, you obliterate them.” He gave her a plaintive look, so honest, so true. “I love you, Grace, and my life is better and richer because you're in it.”

She stood there numbly, hardly able to believe that this Marc—
her
Marc—was making such a spectacle of himself.

He pulled some papers from his breast pocket and held them out in front of him.

Nervously, she licked her lips. “What is that?”

“The affidavit you signed,” he said simply, right before he ripped the papers up, right before her eyes, little white pieces scattering onto the gallery floor.

“Marc, no! What did you do?” That affidavit was going to help Briarwood. Help
him.

He met her gaze evenly. “It was the only way I could show you.”

“Show me what? That you're crazy?”

He shook his head, his lips holding the barest hint of a smile. “That the only thing that matters to me, Grace, is you.”

There was dead silence in the room.

“Grace?” he said, closing the distance between them. He was so close she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. But still he stayed apart. “Please forgive me.”