“Just meet us for a cocktail.”
“Phillip—”
On the other end of the phone, Phillip erupted. “Don’t you know how important this is to me?”
“Like my work isn’t?”
“Come on, babe. How much longer are you going to stay at the studio? You said yourself you wished you could do something else.”
Something else. Yes, she had. Ariana closed her eyes.
A horn blared in back of her, jolting her. A man in an expensive, growling sportscar waved his hand. “Hey lady, are you coming out of that space or what? I don’t have all day.”
“What’s going on?” Phillip demanded.
Ariana turned the ignition and shifted her phone to hands-free. “I’m in a parking garage. Some guy is getting anxious.”
“You always let people get to you. Tell him to—”
“Stop telling me what to do, Phillip.” Her heartbeat sped up again. Reversing, she pulled out of the space. Another horn blared.
“Phillip, I have to go.” She tapped the phone off while he was still in mid-reply.
An angry voice rang out. “Look first, why don’t you?”
As Ariana slammed on the brakes, another wave of heat coursed through her. This is too much, she thought.
I. Can’t. Do. This.
Ariana escaped the garage and pulled to the side of the road. Panting through another attack, she sent a message to Kingsley that she wasn’t feeling well and another one to her assistant. Undoubtedly, Solani Marie would pout because Ariana wasn’t there for the star’s umpteenth fitting, but a fingerbreadth off the sleeves was certainly something Ariana’s assistant could handle.
I have to get away.
Kingsley and Solani Marie could manage their tantrums without her. Ariana turned her car toward the highway.
And so could Phillip.
As if on autopilot, she set her course toward the distant mountains to the east of Los Angeles.
Two hours later, Ariana cleared the mountain pass into the Coachella Valley, where the temperature rose several degrees. Passing the windmill farms that blanketed the desert, she veered from the highway toward Palm Springs.
Her aunt lived in a quiet, historic section known as the Movie Colony, where film stars had sought refuge from the glare of stardom. The area had been home to Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Jack Benny, and Dinah Shore. Most of the houses were built between the 1930s and the 1960s, including her aunt’s sprawling mid-century compound, which she’d bought after one of her early big movie deals.
Ariana tapped her entry code on the keypad, and the gates swung open to reveal a shady desert-scape under softly rustling stands of palm trees. Ruby’s vintage Cadillac convertible was parked in front under the porte-cochère. Ariana pulled in behind it.
Moments later, Ruby’s houseman Stefano opened the door. A smile lit his face. “What a surprise. Is Ruby expecting you?”
Ariana flung her arms around the solid man who’d looked after Ruby and her home for years. Now in his fifties, Stefano had once been a serious bodybuilder and still had the muscles to prove it. With Stefano around, Ariana never worried about her aunt’s safety. He was Ruby’s houseman, chef, and confidante.
“Is that who I think it is?” Ruby’s voice rang out, and she appeared behind Stefano. “Didn’t expect you, darling, but always delighted.”
“I took the rest of the day off.” Ariana hugged her aunt, noticing how vital she seemed, even at her age.
“Come on in and kick your shoes off,” Ruby said, a slight Texan drawl still evident. She cast an appraising eye over Ariana but did not comment on her obvious distress. “Up for a cool Bellini? I had the most magnificent one in Bellagio. Stefano has everything we need to make them.”
“Sounds perfect.” Ariana stepped inside the high-ceilinged house. “Would you make mine without alcohol? A little early for me to start drinking.”
Ariana hadn’t told Ruby she was pregnant. A part of her was still in disbelief. She couldn’t be more than six weeks right now, and she wanted to make sure she didn’t have an early miscarriage. The sort of queasiness her friends experienced hadn’t hit her yet. But she was definitely pregnant. The doctor had confirmed the home test.
A thought taunted the frayed edges of her consciousness. Would I be getting married if I weren’t pregnant?
That was a question Ariana didn’t want to think about.
Opposite the entry was a wall of glass that framed the nearby San Jacinto mountains. The pool glimmered in the sun, looking inviting. Ariana’s chic black dress and heels—perfect for the city—now felt restrictive and overdone.
“I’m going to change,” Ariana said. “And Aunt Ruby—thanks for coming back from Italy so quickly.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t keep me away from this wedding if you tried,” Ruby said.
After kissing her aunt on the cheeks, Ariana slipped off her heels and padded across the cool tile floor toward her old bedroom. When she reached the room, she slid open a glass door, drinking in the clear desert air. Inside, the décor was classic Palm Springs. Pale pink walls with white furnishings and a turquoise duvet with shell-shaped pillows. Her aunt’s home was stylish, yet frozen in time. Still, Ariana loved it. It was home.
Ariana shimmied out of her dress and into an orange one-piece swimsuit she preferred for lap swimming. Glancing in the mirror, she placed a hand on her abdomen.
Not much sign yet.
After scooping up a fluffy white towel, she made her way toward the pool and draped the towel over a chaise lounge. She stepped to the edge of the pool, raised her arms overhead, and dove into the cool water.
Instantly, the world around her fell away. Focusing on her rhythm, she swam the length of the pool with a vengeance, flipped with a kick against the tile, and raced toward the other end. After several fast laps, her muscles had awakened, and she’d regained control of her breathing, though she was winded. She felt good, cleansed of the turmoil she’d left behind in L.A.
Ariana swept back her wet hair and pulled herself from the pool before toweling off.
Ruby sat at a table in the shade watching her. “You sure attacked that water.”
Stefano served a pair of chilled cocktails in champagne glasses. “And your virgin cocktail,” he said to Ariana.
“Thanks, Stefano.” Ariana slid into a comfortable stuffed lounge chair and took a long sip, feeling grateful that she had a place to run away to—not that she was proud of what she’d done. As Ariana sipped her drink, she noticed Ruby’s unusual pendant. It was a curved, filigree design accented with a small ruby. “I’ve never seen you wear that necklace. Did you get it in Italy?”
Ruby touched it with reverence. “Years ago.”
“It’s not your usual style,” Ariana said, detecting a deeper meaning in her aunt’s voice, though Ruby did not elaborate.
After Stefano left, Ruby leaned forward and changed the subject. “What’s bothering you, honey?”
“I just got overwhelmed. Between my work, the city…” Ariana hesitated. She didn’t want to tell her she was pregnant. Not yet. She wanted it to be special. After the wedding, she decided. Yet, after she and Phillip were married, she couldn’t just flee on a whim and hide out here.