Picture This (29 page)

Wendy drifted off to talk with some friends—fellow yarn bombers, judging by the fact that they'd all brought their knitting with them—so Niall turned his full attention to Celia. He moved her gently, with just a little pressure on her waist from his fingertips, to shift her into a flattering pose for the cameras. “Keep smiling. Don't let them catch you with that serious look on your face. So? Who's Tiffany dating?”

“Um,” Celia said again, this time through her teeth. “. . . Naomi?”

Niall didn't think it was possible to choke on his own saliva, but it happened. He recovered as quickly as he could, clearing his throat frantically as he started laughing. “Well, that ought to take the spotlight off us.”

“That is so glass-half-full of you.”

“Niall! Don't just stand there!” one of the paparazzi shouted.

“What do you want, then?”

“Take a guess!”

“What, some of this?” And he pulled Celia closer. Startled, she stiffened, but only a little. When he pressed her to him—subtly making sure he didn't wrinkle her dress—she gave in just enough. And he kissed her just a little. And then a little more.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Call it a course correction. Because I've been stupid. And unfair to you.”

“You can't keep—”

“I know. We really need to talk. As soon as possible.”

“It's kind of a bad night for it.”

He caressed her soft cheek with the back of his curled fingers. “I'll find time. I swear. I'll find you. Say yes. Please.”

Celia hesitated, and Niall found himself unable to breathe until she answered. Finally she sighed and nodded, and air rushed back into his lungs.

And he kissed her again. He pulled back to see Celia staring at him, breathless.

“All right?” he murmured.

“Can we go inside now?” she whispered back.

F
rom behind the stage curtain, Niall peeked out into the house to watch the audience settle into their seats. Celia snapped a quick photo, trying hard to ignore the melting feeling she got from the unguarded look on his face. This was a great shot—one hand in his pocket, the other tugging aside the curtain just a bit, every muscle tense, a touch of apprehension in his features. He had never looked so vulnerable. She desperately wanted to put the camera aside and reach for him, tell him everything was going to be fine. With the competition, at least.

What in the world
was
that, on the red carpet? In front of the cameras, no less. She had no idea what he was thinking—a kiss that had made her knees buckle, after he'd pretty much said he didn't want them to be together. It didn't make sense. Was it all for show, just for the paparazzi? Was that what Hollywood types did—go through the motions for appearances' sake? And then, when he was finished in Marsden, would he leave her without a backward glance? She wanted to take time to puzzle it out, but not right now. She had a job to do. And not even Niall's erratic behavior was going to distract her from it.

The arts center was full and humming with anticipation, the Marsden residents kitted out in various levels of formal wear, from haute couture to their best denim. Celia was wondering if Burt Womack would wash his hair for the occasion, but no such luck. He did seem to have tried to comb it, however. With his fingers, maybe.

None of the contestants or their duet partners was vomiting or fainting, which was a good sign. Although Ray showed every indication of blasting into orbit from nerves, he managed to hold it together long enough to welcome everyone to the show and introduce Niall.

And Niall . . . Celia wished she could stand in the wings and devour him with her eyes all night. He was magnificent. The star quality that had had her swooning back when they first met at the McManus photo shoot was turned up to eleven, washing over the crowd, keeping them spellbound. It was as though he had attached a string to every single audience member, and all he had to do was make the slightest movement—raise an eyebrow, flick a finger, curl his broad mouth into that Cheshire-cat grin—and the audience ate it up, reacting however he wished.

Celia knew the feeling.

She was grateful she had a job to do. Although she wished she could just watch Niall work his magic, it was better that she focus on something else, before her imagination got the better of her.

She crept to the foot of the stage, near the orchestra pit, as unobtrusively as she could in her tight dress and heels. She cursed herself for not bringing along a change of clothes, for wanting to look pretty instead. For Niall. She had to admit it. She'd dressed up for him. Pathetic.

Celia got a few shots of him staring up at the video screen, watching the background footage Ray had put together, from auditions (both good and bad) through the progression of the rehearsals. There was footage from days when Celia didn't even know a video camera was rolling. Ray was in some of the scenes, so who had been filming then? Burt, most likely. Evidently the man had some skills besides just preventing people from getting where they wanted to go, his contentious relationship with the karaoke machine notwithstanding.

Celia was looking down at her camera when the first wolf-whistle sounded. She glanced up as the noises from the audience multiplied . . . and she saw herself on the screen, much larger than she'd wanted to see herself—
ever
—in what looked like an intimate conversation with Niall. What had they been talking about? Who could remember? Didn't matter. The almost palpable energy arcing between them turned an ordinary moment into something intensely intimate, downright compelling . . . and completely embarrassing, on display for the entire town to see. It was only a few seconds of footage, but her neighbors hooted all the same. She couldn't help but glance at Niall, and she found him staring down at her, his eyes burning into her. She stared back, caught up in his gaze, and her knees started tingling. The rest of the world went away then, as that familiar two-person bubble built up around them once more.

Celia looked away first, her heart aching. There really was something between them—something undeniable. And he was willing to throw it all away, because of . . . what? She wasn't even sure.

The video shifted to the final contestants, and the first shots of each competitor and duet partner received a decent amount of applause . . . and then Laurie's face came up. The audience grumbled and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Celia immediately put her camera down and, crouching low, started clapping to fill the gap. A few other people joined her, and the moment was saved, but not by much.

And now she really wasn't happy that the townspeople were on her side, because it was at the poor girl's expense, even though Laurie hadn't done anything worse than follow her heart. Sure, she'd made some poor choices, but she'd been young. Young people did flat-out stupid things sometimes. Quite often, in fact. Celia could relate.

 

“What the
hell
. . . Where's Audra? I need another shirt—I'm sweating through this one. Did she bring another shirt? Where—is—Audra?”

Ray was getting on Celia's nerves—and everyone else's—enough to make her snap at him. “Ray, Audra is helping the
contestants.
Take your jacket off and air yourself out.”

“That's enough out of you, young lady. I'll have you know I was sweating bullets because of Missy and Nestor. I can't believe she forgot the words to ‘Islands in the Stream.' Actually, I can't believe they picked ‘Islands in the Stream.' It was a disaster.”

“They did a fabulous job. Mrs. P is allowed to forget some lyrics.” What, defending a senior citizen for being forgetful? Celia couldn't imagine why she was doing something like that.

“She remembers the details of every date she's ever been on in her life—and believe me, that's a considerable number—and yet she can't remember how to channel Dolly Parton? I thought she'd been training for that for decades. No, we're off to a lousy start.”

“And I don't suppose that had anything to do with the surprise song you picked for them? ‘Guantanamera'? Really?”

“What was wrong with ‘Guantanamera'? I thought Nestor would feel comfortable with it.”

“He's lived in this country since he was six months old! But if you
had
to surprise him with a Spanish-language song, you could have picked something from this century. Have you ever heard of Marc Anthony? Ricky Martin?”

Ray fidgeted and pretended not to hear her. “Definitely a lousy start.”

“You know, your freaking out isn't going to help matters.”

“I have every right to be freaking out about everything until this night is over. That's my job.”

“Seems like his job is to get in the way,” Niall murmured in Celia's ear.

She jumped. Flustered, she managed to say, “You're doing a great job.”

“I'm just cracking a few jokes. Nothing different from any other day, except I'm doing it in a tux.”

Celia tried not to stare at the tux in question. Niall certainly was looking downright dapper, she had to admit.
Dapper?
Such a weak word to describe the handsome man before her.
How about knee-knocking, panty-dropping sexy?
And speaking of panties, the last time she'd seen that tux had been at the McManus shoot. A flood of memories washed over her—how he'd looked and acted that day. How he'd been so kind to her. How she'd fallen for him—yes, that very first time they'd met.

“The cue for their second song was late,” Ray groused, oblivious to her agitated state.

“It was fine. Nobody noticed,” Celia reassured him.

“
I
noticed.”

“This guy is worse than half the Hollywood directors I've worked with,” Niall said, low enough for only Celia to hear. “If he ever wants to give up the print shop, he could have a future annoying people in LA.”

“And you!” Ray rounded on Niall. “Get back out there and make with the funny. Rachel and Lorenzo are on deck.”

Celia's anger flared at Ray's rudeness, but Niall just chuckled as he walked off. He wasn't taking Ray seriously because he'd seen worse, and she shouldn't worry about it either. Sure enough, within moments Niall was back in the spotlight, cheerful and funny and relaxed as ever.

With a couple of comments to people in the front row—including a flirty compliment tossed in Mrs. D'Annunzio's direction, likely to preemptively defuse any jealousy that might reignite at the sight of her husband and Rachel Dwyer singing together—Niall introduced the next act, then ducked backstage again as the duo began their operatic piece.

“Now I know what it means to have them eating out of your hand,” she whispered to him.

“You know, whenever I hear that, I imagine having a palm full of pudding. Messy.”

“I'm going to get some shots of Mr. D and Rachel.” But when she was a safe distance away, she snuck in a few photos of Niall silhouetted against the muted, glowing lighting of the backstage control panels.

She was down front when the pair finished their first duet to generous applause. Then they stood in the middle of the stage, looking nervous, as Ray handed Niall the slip of paper with their surprise song.

“Okay,” Niall said, “great job, you two. Are you ready for your next song?”

The pair nodded apprehensively as the monitor that came with DJ Alfie's setup flickered to life to display the lyrics. Mr. D glanced into the audience, his large face glistening with perspiration, from exertion and nerves and the heat of the stage lights.

Niall shook out the paper with his free hand. “I'm sure you'll do great with . . . oh, seriously? Ray!”

From offstage came the shout, “Just read it!”

Niall held the microphone away from him and turned his head toward the wings, but Celia could hear him from where she stood at the foot of the stage. “Don't make them do this,” he hissed.

“Read it!”

He sighed and said into the microphone, “Lorenzo and Rachel will now sing a duet from the Broadway musical
A Little Night Music . . .
” He sighed again and muttered, “ ‘You Must Meet My Wife.' ”

The audience stirred uncomfortably, and there were two or three barks of laughter. Of course by now everyone had heard of Mrs. D's attack on Rachel during rehearsals. Celia glanced at the front row, where Mrs. D sat with a face like thunder. And with good reason. Ray thought he was being funny, assigning them a duet between a married man and his former lover. His sense of humor left a lot to be desired.

The pair did their best to struggle through the song despite the fast patter of the lyrics, Mr. D'Annunzio studiously avoiding his wife's glower the entire time. As did Rachel Dwyer, especially when, in response to the admonishment that the lover should meet the wife, she had to sing a line about bringing along a knife.

They couldn't get off the stage fast enough, despite the supportive applause. Niall came back out only long enough to say, “Now's a good time for an intermission, don't you think?” and Alan brought up the house lights.

Celia entered the wings just in time to nearly get knocked over by a mortified Rachel racing for the dressing room, while Mr. D was in Ray's face, pressing him up against the wall with his generous girth. Niall was attempting to get the large man to step back before Ray was crushed, but he wasn't making that much of an effort, and Celia got the feeling he would have no problem leaving Ray to suffer under the weight of Mr. D's wrath and, well, his actual weight.

“Are you trying to ruin me, Dubois? Is that what you're trying to do?”

“It was amusing!” Ray squeaked, shifting sideways. “You're not appreciating—what I went through—got the song special for the occasion—even paid for it—” Mr. D'Annunzio matched his steps, keeping him flat to the wall, until Ray ran into the row of pins anchoring the ropes of the fly system above the stage. “Okay, okay! But you and Rachel sang really well—that's what matters!”

“No more discounts on meatball subs for you. Ever again. You hear me?”

From the look on Ray's face, Celia was pretty sure he wouldn't dare set foot in Mr. D's deli for a good long time. When Mr. D finally stalked away, Ray stood up straight, took a couple of deep breaths, and tugged at his tie.

“Celia,” he rasped, looking pale, “can you get me a drink, please?”

“Bottle of water?”

“No. I think I'm going to need some wine. Red. If you don't mind.”

“But . . . it's Paulie's.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ray, did you hear me?
Paulie.
”

“I heard you. I'm willing to take that chance.”

Celia fought to hide her grin as she headed for the foyer to fetch him a glass.