Her Name Is Trouble: A small-town contemporary romance (The Daimsbury Chronicles Book 2) (8 page)

Megha would help her? Since when?

Missy jolted to a stop at the door after Megha had grabbed her hand and tugged her out like she were a rag doll. “Wait.”

“What for?” Impatience rang in the tone.

“Why are you being nice to me now?”

Those shrewd eyes focused on her again, but this time, Missy saw warmth in them rather than icy contempt.

“Because today, you’ve been honest with me, and I finally know who you really are. Now come on.”

Honesty. That’s what it came down to, in the end.

Missy gulped back the lump of dread in her throat. Would Luke forgive her for the lies, and see that she’d finally been honest with him?

She had only one way to find out.

Chapter Eight

Luke eyed the cane topped by a shiny brass pommel with wariness. “Cade, you’ll have me looking like a Blaxploitation pimp with this prop.”

“Nah, of course not! This is steampunk revival, man.” He waved around with a flourish. “And I cannot believe how we found the perfect setting for this shoot. Yo, you done good to bring us here.”

They stood in the foyer of the Whelan homestead in Daimsbury. Honor, his sister-in-law, had graciously allowed them use of the premises, stating it’d be good to utilize the Gothic-Victorian small manor that they kept closed given how she lived with her husband now and her sisters were both abroad.

He had to admit the curving staircase with its smooth wood banister and the Italian marble floors added a touch of Old World glamour to the shoot. His mother and Liam had kept the place in shape during the years of the Whelan sisters’ absence, but today, someone from the crew had gone up on ginormous ladders to dust off the crystal chandelier and the mouldings along the high ceiling.

He ducked into one of the rooms set up for Wardrobe and changed into a suit. Great, breeches. Add the top hat to it and he’d be a good contender for the role of Mr. Darcy. What had the designers been thinking?
Saints
never did editorial shoots; they’d always been commercial, for clothes that would be sold on the racks of Neiman Marcus and Harrods. So why the dolled-up costumes that would be used only as props for this photo campaign? It must be a crazy idea from Milan Spencer-Thorne, the fashion magazine editor maven touted as the next Anna Wintour of Europe. Thank God that dragon had not come over today. Sinfully gorgeous Milan might look like a wet dream come true but she was the stuff of nightmares for anyone in the industry having to deal with her.

Enough with the pondering, though. He was just the mannequin here; he didn’t ask any question. Best he got on with it…all while thanking his lucky star that Milan Spencer-Thorne had not graced the premises with her fire breath.

He folded himself into character and took the first pose on the staircase. The camera started snapping, and he lived and breathed only for the guidelines and cues Cade and the photographer gave him. Minutes or hours could’ve passed; he always lost track of time on a set. He had to admit the cane helped his footing all while adding panache to the outfit. For once, Cade had not had a totally lurid idea that would’ve needed to be tamped down.

When they finished, he breathed out and gripped the rail hard as his legs threatened to buckle under him. He’d taxed himself with the shoot, not even pausing for a drink of water or some food.

After going to his bag from where he grabbed a handful of raw almonds, he returned to the photographer’s side. He and Cade would go through the line-up one last time on the screen of the digital camera, then they’d call it a wrap for the day. After running the photos that evening, they’d know for sure whether new shots would be necessary the next day. If not, then their work here would be done.

“Absolutely brill!” Cade exclaimed. “Milan will have to praise my touch with this shoot.”

Just as Luke had thought. The fashion dragon had commissioned the photos.

“How come she’s not here today?” he asked.

Cade rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Just thank karma, God, the universe, whatever you want, that she thought we’d be in New York and she thus made plans to be in the US right now. And it’s a wrap! Go enjoy your time off now, man.”

Luke’s thoughts veered to Missy and he smiled. He’d run into Ben this morning and the man Missy considered a father figure—he’d heard the love in her tone whenever she spoke of the Lebanese bloke—had told him she would be off duty that night at the restaurant. He planned to surprise her with dinner, having seen the makings of a few meals in her pantry the other morning. Then, after eating, they could discuss that ‘no strings attached’ condition again. Preferably in bed.

Yes, he had a plan. He might travel a lot, but she could accompany him on his trips—Lord knew he had enough frequent flyer miles unused and he also sat on a fortune with his endorsement deals. He might make only a third of what the likes of Gisele made for the same campaign, but that still amounted to something. He could keep her by his side in style. But more than all this, he wanted to continue to make her feel positive emotion, to enjoy the small and the big things in life.

With her, it felt like he had a purpose, and that sensation made him feel whole. Like he was doing something good.

He’d started towards the Wardrobe room when a figure cut itself in the doorway. His heart started to race, and every fibre inside him screamed that he’d find Missy there. He frowned as she came in, though. A cloak covering her hair, in this heat? What did the girl have for such concealing clothing?

A secretive mantle...
The thought brushed his mind and a shiver skittered down his spine. Why would he picture that in his head?

She glided up to him, and that fact alone raised warning bells. Missy always tripped, so how— He spotted six-inch heels on her feet; Louboutins, judging by the red soles.

Where would she have found these shoes? She had no money, she’d said.

She appeared taller, of course, and slim, almost like a model. Luke blinked when she drew close. No makeup on her face. Or to be more precise, none of the cakey dark stuff she plied on every day, but the subtle concealing of barely there foundation and concealer. That look took hours to pull together, usually; the hardest one to conjure, if he were to listen to Joely, his sister who was a makeup artist.

His heart told him he looked at Missy, but every other cell in his system screamed that this woman coming his way was an imposter.

She wasn’t Missy...

“Luke,” she finally said when she got to within a foot.

Up close, he could see her eyes didn’t look really grey, but had more of a jade tinge to them. Like when he’d looked into her face the other morning, when she’d just woken up. Same gaze, but still not
her
. How did he explain this?

She bit her lower lip then tilted her head to the side. So like Missy.

“I...there’s something I have to tell you.”

Ominous words, if he’d ever heard any.

“Well, show you, really,” she continued.

He didn’t know why he held his breath...and then she dropped the hood and undid the tie that closed the cloak at her throat.

Straight, blow-dried red hair, the colour fiery like a phoenix’s, brushed the shoulders of a long-sleeved, white silk shell that tucked into black skinny jeans riding low on her hips. All the clothes screamed designer...

He returned his gaze to her face, and something cold nipped at his heart. This couldn’t be—

“Holy shit!” Cade shouted. “Merida! It’s you!”

Merida, right; the nickname for Iris Ann Taylor because she had the thick, frizzy curls of the
Brave
heroine and had also proved to be a rebel just like the Scottish lass.

Not Missy. This wasn’t the girl he had fallen for.

She’d lied...

“Luke, let me explain,” she started.

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to explain,
Iris Ann
. This says it all.”

His legs felt like stone and the pain in his foot seemed to treble all of a sudden. Red-hot anger clouded his eyes, and he wanted to spit something—anything—out at her. But he couldn’t. Her lies had risen to the surface, and he’d seen the truth as the roof came down on everything he’d thought he knew about her. About
Missy
. Everyone had lied to him to get into his good graces after he became famous, when they hadn’t even had a glance at him when he’d been a nobody; that why he hated liars with such abhorrence.

The air grew stifling, and he flinched when she tried to touch his sleeve. He might be an easy-going bloke all the time but that didn’t mean he had no temper that could be roused. He was a man scorned here; he held fury, and he wanted nothing more than to direct that wrath at her.

Before he could do or say anything that he might regret, he stormed out of the house.

*

Missy yearned to scream “No!” after him, but the sound lodged in her throat and threatened to choke her.

It was over. He’d seen her for who she was; a liar and a cheat. He would never forgive her.

What had she expected, though? That he’d get over some mild surprise and then say that all this didn’t matter? She couldn’t have been that naïve, surely.

“Merida!” Thick, strong arms closed around her, and she allowed Cade Kingston to hug her. “Where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried your family has been? Heck, we’ve all been—”

“Cade, now’s not the time.”

She didn’t have it in her to deal with him. One revelation had been enough and had already thrown her onto her ass. She’d need to get up and dust herself off before she could face anything else.

Escape, yes. She did that really well, didn’t she?

With a quick grab at the Burberry cloak that lay on the floor—a loaner, like all the other clothing—she rushed out of the manor and ran towards the centre of town, to the safety of the restaurant. No other place called out right then, and she heeded that beacon. A part of her wished she’d run into Luke along the way, but who was she kidding? He’d never want to see her again. She better forget about him once and for all.

Her heart bled as she ran, feet carrying her without effort from so many years of forced practice wearing heels. Tears clouded her eyes and that bitter taste of crying pervaded her mouth. When had she started to bawl? She saw no one along the back paths to get to town, and made it into
Ben&Jari
without encountering either of the owners.

Instead, Megha waited in the kitchen near the stairs, and she darted out the minute Missy’s heels clopped on the linoleum floor.

One look at her must’ve told the girl all she needed to know. Megha pulled her cell out and dialled a number.

“We need reinforcements,” she said to the recipient. Then she came up to Missy, pulled her into a hug, and released her to steer her upstairs to the loft.

Missy fell into a heap on the rug, Megha cradling her like a child as the sobs started and she just couldn’t stop.

Sometime later—she couldn’t say how long; could’ve minutes or an hour—more arms wrapped around the two of them as Agneta, Tindra, and Elin Trammell joined them. Must be the reinforcements; after the hairdressing salon where Finn and Patrick had both nearly had a heart attack as her natural hair colour had revealed her true identity, Megha had taken her to the Trammell manor where the three siblings had fallen over her like welcoming the prodigal daughter back and completed her makeover. They hadn’t walked in the same circles before, she being from the US and they being European, but their common society upbringing had made them kindred spirits from the get go.

“Okay, enough with the weeping now,
liefie
,” take-charge Tindra clamoured. “Elin, bring out the ice cream.”

Missy found herself with a tub of Rocky Road in one hand and a spoon in the other while the other women gathered around her in a circle on the rug.

“So you’ve ascertained Luke Morelli is a supercilious arse who has no wiggling room for a little white lie,” Agneta said. “Men. All bastards.”

Missy tamped down a sob. “T’wasn’t a little white lie, as you say.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve been
you
all this time, especially with him. He just didn’t know your name,” the eldest Trammell sister continued.

“We can hash this all we want, but the real issue here is that Missy will have to move forward,” Tindra added.

Elin reached out and wrapped an arm around Missy’s shoulders to give her a hug. “Forget about them, dah-ling. Eat your ice cream. That’ll make you feel better.”

“And send you on the road to looking like a fat cow, but who cares right now, eh?” Megha said.

“Ha! When you get pregnant, that’s when you’ll know what bloating up like a cow looks and feels like,” Agneta quipped.

Against the overwhelming urge in her to bawl her eyes out again, Missy found herself smiling. Girlfriends—exactly what she needed right now. The rest of her life here would not be dull with them around.

Now, if only she could convince her heart that she’d be better off without Luke Morelli...