Let's Misbehave (24 page)

She sighed. “I’ll just be happy to afford sending my kid to school.”

Gigi took Holly’s hand and pressed the check into her palm. “I’d like you to spend this on his school.”

She shook her head, trying to give the check back. “I can’t—”

“I insist.” Gigi smiled. “Not that I’m calling you my charity.”

“I don’t deserve this,” she whispered, staring at the piece of paper. She glanced up. “I came here to apologize and make reparations. I didn’t expect this.”

“We take care of our own”—Beatrice lifted her drink in a salute—”and Gigi has declared you ours.”

Gigi squeezed her by the waist. “For better or worse.”

The skinny sister waved her arm at the redhead, who was a bartender. “This woman needs a drink,” she called out. “She probably doesn’t even realize how badly.”

“What do you mean?” Holly asked as she sat in the chair Gigi pulled over for her.

The skinny one leaned across the table. “This is the most meddling, troublesome group of people on earth, and they’ve claimed you. You’re stuck for life now.”

“In other words,” Gigi said as she sat down, “we’re family.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Titania stormed into the kitchen and slapped a magazine on the table in front of her. “It’s out.”

Gigi nodded, calmly sipping her tea as though she wasn’t a bundle of nerves inside. She wasn’t this nervous the first day of filming her very first role. But then she hadn’t been naked on set that day.

She hadn’t been physically naked during Titania’s photo shoot either, but she may as well have been. She took another sip of her tea, hoping it’d drown the butterflies in her belly.

“Well?” Her sister put her hands on her hips and glared at her. “Have you already seen it?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“What’s Malcolm doing down here?”

Gigi looked at the garden gnome, perched happily next to her on the table. She liked his company. It made her feel closer to Merrick.

Titania leaned down and got directly in her face. “Are you stoned?”

“Why? Do you have something good to offer me?”

Fran bustled into the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist. “No one will be offering any such thing in my kitchen. Titania Summerhill, come give your Franny a hug.”

Titania grumbled as Fran engulfed her. “It’s not as if you never see me.”

“I’d miss you even if you lived here again.” Fran surveyed Titania head to toe. “And we should talk about that, shouldn’t we? So I can put some meat on your bones. To look at you, I’d think you never eat.”

“You should see her refrigerator, Franny,” Gigi said. “The only thing in there is mustard and moldy bread.”

Titania glared retribution at her.

“Sit, sit.” Fran pushed Titania into a seat. “I just took scones out of the oven a wee bit ago. They’ll be perfect now. Why is there a wee garden figurine on the table?”

“Are they orange and clotted cream?” Titania asked, giving Gigi a look as she dropped onto the seat, letting her know she was doing her a favor by distracting Fran.

“As a matter of fact.” Fran smiled at them. “I know what my lambs need.”

Gigi looked at the magazine in front of her and murmured, “This lamb needs a shot of vodka.”

Titania rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I’d show you if it was that bad? Just open it.”

“Easy for you to say.” But she exhaled and turned the cover open.

Titania scooted her chair next to her and leaned against her. “It’s in the center.”

How appropriate, being the centerfold. Because though she was completely clothed during the entire shoot, after she’d seen a couple of the proofs she realized she’d never been so exposed in her entire life.

The first picture was her, on set. She sat in a canvas chair, her legs crossed, shoes kicked off, in elaborate makeup pouring over the script. The background was blurred, and concentration hardened her face.

Titania tapped the page. “I took that when I visited you in New Zealand last year. I took a great one of the director and camera guy, studying a scene. I sent that to each of them as a thank you for letting me hang around.”

“I didn’t know that,” she murmured, stunned by the image. It showed her how she saw herself—hard working and determined.

“Turn the page,” her sister said.

She did, to a picture of her caught in a yoga pose. “You caught the humor in my expression, Tawny.”

“Anyone who’s done yoga will be able to relate to trying to hold a difficult pose and still remain serene.” Titania shook her head. “Yoga is sadistic.”

The next photo was of her at her vanity. She was wearing a silky red robe that exposed part of one shoulder. Her hair waved down her back, and she leaned forward putting mascara, her face set with determination.

The next was with Portia. They were laughing, their heads bent close to each other. Gigi touched her older sister’s lovely face. They hadn’t been close until recently, and that was a gift she’d treasure forever. “I didn’t realize Portia and I look so alike.”

“We all do. It’s freaky.” Titania pointed to the next page. “That’s my favorite.”

Gigi touched the edge of the picture. She was curled up on a couch in the orangery, reading. She held the book up, the title in Russian visible, but her gaze was off to the side, dreamy, enhanced by a secret smile. “I don’t remember you taking that.”

“Because I’m amazing at what I do,” she said modestly. She sat back, arms folded behind her head, satisfaction written on her face. “This is exactly what you wanted, to show the world the real you.”

She nodded, looking at the series of pictures all over again.

“Well?” Titania poked her in the ribs. “What do you think?”

“It’s—” She shook her head. “Tawny, there are no words. This is beyond what even I expected, and I know how good you are.”

Titania nodded. “This may be my best work ever. Not that that’s surprising. I love the subject.”

Gigi threw her arms around her sister and squeezed her tight. Then she held her arms and looked her in the eye. “I love you, too, Tawny. One day, I hope I can do something this important for you.”

Titania frowned at her. “Now you’re being stupid. You do something important for me every day.”

“What?” Gigi blotted the wetness at the edges of her eyes with her fingertips.

“You accept me for who I am and love me despite it.”

“I love you because of it,” Gigi corrected. Then she grinned. “But it’s not easy.”

Titania snorted, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips.

“Scones.” Fran set a plate in front of them. “Eat.”

Gigi took one and dabbed extra clotted cream on it. She took a bite, sighing—Fran’s scones were delicious to begin with, but these reminded her of childhood.

Then she realized Titania just sat there gaping at her. “What?” she asked when she’d swallowed the bite.

“You’re eating. A scone.” Her sister pointed at it. “That has carbs.”

“Delicious, delicious carbs.” She smiled. “I’m trying to live more balanced. I was being too extreme, and it was taking the joy out of life. I wasn’t happy. I’m going to live differently now.”

Titania pretended to gape at her. “Who
are
you?”

“Your sister.” She shrugged. “Mum was right.”

“Words I live to hear,” their mother said as she swept into the kitchen. She smiled hesitantly at Titania, who went a little wooden. Then she faced Gigi. “What was I right about? And is that a garden gnome on the table?”

Gigi gave her sister a look, but Titania had already turned away. Titania had been coming to the South Street mansion, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with their mother.

Yet. Not even Titania was stubborn enough to withstand the Countess of Amberlin at her most determined. She hoped.

She faced her mother. “You were right about me. I’m realizing that there’s more to life than only work. I was missing out on things.”

Her mum ran a hand down her hair. “You’re clever. You would have figured it out on your own.”

“I had some help, and maybe not until it was too late.” She glanced at the magazine, biting her lip. “Mum, can I ask for your help?”

“Or course, darling.” Her mother smiled as Fran set a cup of tea for her at the table. She sat, far from Titania, Gigi noted, likely to give her space.

“I—”

Her mobile rang. Frowning, she glanced at the screen, her frown deepening when she saw who it was. “Sorry. I should take this,” she said as she got up to go into the hall to answer the phone.

The moment she picked up, Russell Sherman began to talk. “Imogen, baby, how are you doing?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m very well, thank you.”

“Listen, I’ve been talking to my backers, and they’d love to see you do a screen test. As soon as it fits in your schedule.”

She smiled grimly. Checkmate, faster than she expected. “What happened to Delilah?”

“Well, she might not be available.” When Gigi didn’t comment, Sherman sighed and said, “She’s a little abrasive, too. We hadn’t signed her on yet and she’s already becoming difficult.”

“Shocking,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “Why are you contacting me now? My manager’s been trying to contact you for over a week.”

“One of my backers saw the magazine spread on you today and said we could, ah, reconsider you.”

“I see.” She nodded, translating what he was really saying. That he hadn’t mentioned her to his backers, but now she’d come to their attention and they wanted to know why he hadn’t thought of her.

She had him in a vise-grip.

He cleared his throat. “So … What time can you come by? Any time you want.”

She nodded. “I’ll have Betty contact you.”

“Great,” Sherman said, trying to sound happy.

She hung up and pulled up Marcus Craig’s number. “Marcus, this is Imogen Summerhill,” she said when he picked up.

“Imogen.” He sounded pleased to hear from her, without the desperate mien that Sherman had had. “Tell me you’re calling to make my day.”

“I am, in fact.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about your project, and I’d like to be part of it on one condition.”

“What’s that?” he asked carefully.

“I want to play the mother, not the French actress.”

The silence stretched on the other end. Finally, she heard him exhale. “Imogen, that could be brilliant. Unexpected and much more interesting.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” To give an Oscar-worthy performance in a film made by Craig, who wasn’t lauded by the critics, would make more of a statement. It was a good sign that he saw it, too.

“We’ll do it,” he declared. “If you’re saying you’re in.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Let’s make the best movie of the year.”

He whooped on the other end.

Gigi grinned, the feeling of a choice well-made warming her. “I’ll have my manager contact you about the details.”

“Imogen, you’re a goddess.”

“See how smart you are?” She grinned. “And please call me Gigi.”

She hung up, feeling good. She texted Betty to let her know to formally accept the offer to do
Paris
.

Now, there was one more thing she had to make right. She walked into the kitchen. “Mother, do you know Lawrence Howell?”

“The Leader of the House of Lords?” Her mother’s forehead furrowed. “I’ve known Larry for ages. He pursued me for a bit before I met your father. Lawrence is a dear man and dotes on his wife in the sweetest way.”

She weighed her mother’s words but didn’t find anything there other than genuine like for the man. “Do you know him well enough to arrange a dinner with him?”

“Of course. But why would you want to have dinner with him?”

“I don’t for myself. I want it for Merrick Graham.”

Understanding lit her mother’s face. “Aren’t you a clever girl?”

“Hopefully.” She smiled. If his safety act passed, his sister’s ghost would be put to rest and Merrick would be free. There wouldn’t be any reason he couldn’t be with her, if he wanted it—if he wanted her.

Gigi patted the gnome on the head. “What do you think, Malcolm? Think he’ll come for us?”

Titania snorted, but the little guy’s smile was confident and reassuring.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Why are you so gloomy?” Valerie asked, lying across the bottom of his bed.

Merrick could hear her flipping through a magazine. He wondered what magazine it was, and if she’d seen the photo essay that had just come out about Imogen, by her sister.

Beautiful photographs. They’d exposed her in a true way that showed the innocent, the sexy, the smart, and the loving sides of her. It’d left him breathless and proud.

Not that he had that right. It’d been partially his fault that she’d had to repair her image so drastically. None of this would have happened if he’d controlled his tiger.

He focused on finishing getting dressed. He couldn’t get the knot of his tie to lie properly. It’d been difficult lately.

Life had been difficult lately.

He wanted to blame Imogen, or even Valerie, but he couldn’t hold anyone responsible but himself. He couldn’t blame Imogen for not wanting him. He fiddled with his tie, undoing it one more time.

“Is that how you’re going to be tonight? Still not talking to me?”

He glanced at her. “I’m really lucky to have you, Valerie.”

She froze, gaping at him. Slowly she sat up. “Are you sick? Do you have cancer? I swear, Merrick, if you die—”

“I like how you assume I must be terminal if I’m being sincere.” He yanked the tie from his shirt and unbuttoned the top. Better. The edge of his tattoo showed, but at least he could breathe. “Ready to go?”

“You’re going with your shirt open? Now I know you’re sick.” She came to him and held a hand to his forehead. “No fever. Let me hear you cough.”

He moved her hand from his forehead to his heart. “You’re my best friend, Valerie. I’m sorry I let you down all this time.”

Valerie blinked back sudden tears. She dropped her head to his shoulder. “You haven’t let me down. The more I think about it the more I think I’m the one who let you down.”

He lifted her chin so he could see her. “How do you figure that?”