“Mmm, that was delicious.” Zara’s mother dabbed at her lips with a snowy white linen napkin. “I’m glad you suggested this, love. Even if the restaurant wasn’t your first choice.” She winked playfully at Zara.
Zara forced a smile. Okay, so at least Gina seemed to believe the whole La Vache Folle had been a joke. Ha freaking ha. The joke had been on Zara when she’d arrived a few minutes early, only to find that what she’d assumed was some chic little French bistro was actually a retro-lame dive bar, complete with peanut shells on the floor. Okay, so according to Zagat’s the food was “delish.” Still, not exactly her mother’s scene.
Luckily there was a fancy Italian place right across the street, and the maître d’ had taken one look at Gina and led them to the best table in the house. Unfortunately for Zara, the celebrity service continued, with an attentive waiter appearing almost instantly to take their order and their food appearing at record speed. Sneaking a peek at her watch, Zara saw that it had barely been an hour and a half since she’d left the loft. Not long enough.
“Um, I’m still hungry,” she blurted out. Glancing around for their waiter, she waved at him. “I knew I should’ve ordered another side—the lobster ravioli was way too small. Can I get something else?” She glanced around at nearby tables for inspiration. “Uh, the calamari looks good.”
Gina looked surprised, but she shrugged and settled back in her chair. “Whatever you like, my darling girl. I’m just so happy to see your gorgeous face again! I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah, me too.” Zara smiled distractedly as her mother reached across the table and squeezed her hand, mentally calculating how much longer until it was safe to go home.
A little over an hour later, Zara held her breath as the cab turned the corner and the loft came into sight. Leaning forward, she scanned both sides of the street. No sign of the bright yellow truck with the cleaning company logo on it. Thank God. She’d stalled as long as she could, eating the calamari one bite at a time, then talking Gina into splitting a couple of desserts. By the time the check finally came, she was so full she never wanted to see tiramisu again.
But it had been worth it. Mission accomplished.
“I can’t wait to see the place again!” Gina peered out over Zara’s shoulder. “That’s the building, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Zara had almost forgotten that her mother had only seen the loft once. She’d been on location since before Zara and Zac had officially moved in. Good. That meant she wouldn’t miss the broken vase or the rug that had had to be sent out for deep cleaning or the antique table clock that had mysteriously disappeared during one of Stacie’s weekend-long parties.
Soon they were stepping into the loft. It smelled a whole lot better than when Zara had left. Good. Somehow, Eau de Puke didn’t seem like the best way to welcome her mother to New York.
Gina slung her leather weekend bag onto the floor under the foyer’s built-in counter, then stepped out into the main room, her Balenciaga heels clicking on the polished hardwood. “The light is wonderful in here!” she exclaimed. “And I love what you and your father have done with the place!”
“Yeah, Zac made sure to hire some hotshot decorator to do it up right.” Zara glanced around. The cleaners had done a good job. The place was spotless, but a copy of New York magazine was lying open on the coffee table and Zara’s scuffed flannel slippers were peeking out from under the sofa. She flopped onto the nearest chair, relieved. She’d done it. She’d had to eat half of New York City along the way, but she’d done it.
Gina stepped over and gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to give me the grand tour, love?”
“Oh.” Zara stood up. “Um, okay, sure. This is obviously the living room or whatever.” She waved a hand to encompass the huge main room with its floor-to-ceiling windows. “Lots of space for all Zac’s minions to hang out and watch TV and pick their toenails and stuff.”
Gina chuckled. “Yes, that sounds about right. Is that the kitchen over there?”
“Uh-huh.” Zara trailed along as her mother hurried into the galley kitchen.
“I remember this.” Gina touched the countertop. “I thought it looked a bit industrial, all this concrete and stainless steel. But your father adored it. Said it was easy to clean.”
Zara rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure the last time either of her parents had cleaned anything was sometime in the previous millennium. If then.
“Want to see upstairs?” she asked, already heading back out of the kitchen, which smelled strongly of bleach and lemonscented cleaning crap. She didn’t want Gina to notice and start asking questions about that, since Zara wasn’t exactly known as a fan of random cleaning herself.
She led the way up the airy wood-and-steel staircase. At the top was a long, narrow gangway of a hall, one side overlooking the main room and the other lined with doorways.
“Here’s my room.” Zara flung open one of the doors.
“Very nice.” Gina stepped in and looked around. “And very neat! Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter? Because my darling Zara has never made her bed a day in her life!” She let out her famous musical laugh, the one that had charmed every leading man in Hollywood. Or so her publicist said, anyway.
Zara rolled her eyes. “No biggie,” she muttered, feeling uncomfortable. “Uh, Stacie’s a real neat freak. It’s easier to, like, make the bed or whatever than to listen to her bitching.”
Gina smiled. “Nice to hear she’s such a good influence. Where is she, anyway? I was hoping she’d be here to welcome us—I’m dying to meet her.”
“Oh!” Zara was ready for this, but she still felt herself go all tense. “Guess I forgot to tell you earlier. She’s, uh, not here right now.”
“Not here?” One of Gina’s sculpted eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”
“She’s off at some two-day interview for some kind of internship thing.” Zara had practiced her story in her head during the cab ride uptown, but was still a little surprised by how easily it rolled off her tongue. Score one for genetics—obviously she’d inherited some of her mother’s acting skills. “They’re putting her up in some hotel out in New Jersey or somewhere and making her meet with a bunch of people. Anyway, she was totally psyched about it.”
Gina looked dubious. “I see,” she said. “So she left you all alone here in the city?”
“Yeah, but only because she knew you were coming home,” Zara said quickly. “See, they called her about this interview last week, only she didn’t get to talk to them because we were out at a movie, and …” She swallowed hard, realizing she was rambling. Duh. The first rule of a good lie? Keep it short and simple. Not too many details. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The point is, we found out you were coming home just in time. She still wasn’t sure—she’s, like, totally Miss Responsibility, it’s super lame. But I told her I could survive the, like, three hours I’d be on my own in the big bad city until you got here. Practically had to shove her out the door this morning.”
“I see,” Gina said again. This time she sounded a little confused. Zara decided that was an improvement.
“Come on—your room’s next,” she said, hurrying down the hall.
They checked out the master bedroom suite, then moved on to the guest room beyond. “So is this where Cousin Stacie is staying?” Gina asked as she peered into the latter. “You’re right, she is very tidy, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, like I said.” Zara gulped as she glanced around the room, which showed no signs it had ever been occupied. What if Gina wandered into the bathroom and noticed that there wasn’t so much as a toothbrush or a bottle of shampoo in there?
She shot her mother a nervous glance, but Gina was already turning away. “Did I see an answering machine downstairs?” she asked. “I gave my agent’s assistant this number in case they couldn’t reach me on the plane.”
“Yeah. It’s in that little nook thingy by the front door. Zac calls it the message center.” Zara followed her mother back downstairs, still feeling anxious.
Was this whole stupid cover-up really worth it? Maybe she should just come clean, tell Gina what had really happened with Stacie.
She perched on the edge of the couch while Gina hurried out to the message center. Ignoring the sound of the machine clicking on, Zara flipped through the issue of New York magazine and tried to figure out what to do.
She snapped out of it when she heard a familiar voice coming out of the machine’s tinny little speakers. “Hello, this is Joy from Pelham Lane Stables calling for Zara,” the assistant trainer’s chirpy-happy voice said. “We’re just checking in to remind you that you were scheduled to ride in the group lesson today, and we were surprised not to see you. Please call to let us know you’re all right.”
Oops. Zara reached for her cell phone, belatedly remembering that she’d switched it off after receiving two more texts from Grant in the cab on her way to meet her mother. She turned it back on. Four voice mails, nine texts. Three of the texts and one of the voice messages were from Grant. But there were also two messages from Joy and one text from Tommi.
Gina stepped back into the main room and frowned at her. “What was that all about?”
“Guess I forgot.” Zara stuck her phone in her pocket. “No biggie. The new barn’s just really uptight about that stuff.”
“It’s not uptight for them to expect you to turn up for a scheduled lesson.” Gina crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly looking more like a sour-faced mom than a movie star. “We pay a lot of money to that barn every month, Zara. The least you could do is try to be a little more responsible about meeting your obligations.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I just forgot, okay? So sue me for being distracted ’cause you’re coming home for the first time in a million years. Anyway, it’s the first lesson I’ve missed all summer, so I don’t know why everyone’s freaking out about it.”
Gina sighed. “I hope that’s true. And if it is, I expect we can thank your cousin Stacie for keeping you on track this long. It just goes to show how important it is that you have a good role model around while your father and I are away.”
“Whatever,” Zara muttered.
That answered that question. There was no way she could tell her mother the truth about Stacie. No. Way.
Because if Gina knew that Stacie wasn’t exactly the role model she thought she was, she’d never let Zara stay in New York on her own. She’d probably whisk her off to Vancouver with her when she returned.
Or, actually, not. With school due to start up in a few short weeks, she was more likely to hire a real nanny to come stay until her movie wrapped or Zac’s tour finished, whichever came first. And while Gina had originally become famous by playing the pretty, sassy-ditzy sidekick in a series of successful romantic comedies, Zara knew that her mother wasn’t nearly as airheaded as she came across. She wouldn’t slack off on checking references the way Zac had.
“I’m sorry, okay?” she blurted out. “You’re totally right. I’ve been relying on Stacie to keep me on track, and I guess I just spaced after she left today. My bad.”
Gina sighed. “All right, thank you for apologizing, love. I just hope some of your cousin’s responsibility rubs off on you this summer. You’re almost seventeen now, and you’ll be heading out on your own to college in just a couple of short years …”
Zara could see tears welling up in her mother’s big, goldflecked brown eyes. That was another thing that had helped Gina Girard become a star. Being able to cry on cue. And look pretty doing it.
“Right,” Zara said quickly, hoping to head off the waterworks. “I mean, Stacie and I have been spending tons of time together, so I’m sure she’s been a great influence.”
Okay, so the first part was true. She and Stacie had spent plenty of time together. The good influence part? Did Stacie teaching Zara how to make a bunch of drinks she’d never tried before count?
She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt as her mother wandered back out to the message center. Yeah, she was still mad at Stacie for ditching her, but she was also starting to worry about the girl a little. Should she have called the cops or something when she disappeared? Or at least Googled the guy she ran off with to make sure he wasn’t a serial killer or something? Not that she could do that, since she didn’t even know his last name …
She shrugged that off, trying not to worry about it. She could try texting or e-mailing her cousin later to make sure she was alive. In the meantime she had to convince Gina that Stacie was still around.
So just exactly how was she supposed to pull that off for an entire week?
“Any pepperoni left?” Fitz leaned over the pizza boxes on the big bandage trunk in the middle of the tack room.
Tommi glanced up from her position on a stool nearby. The traditional post-lesson pizza fest was pretty subdued today. No wonder. After the ambulance had arrived to take Dani away, Jamie had tried to continue. But everyone was so distracted that it didn’t seem safe to jump. They’d just done some more flatwork for a while before finally giving up and calling it a day.
“There was only one more slice,” Tommi told Fitz. “But Goldie put her feet up on the box and drooled on it, so I gave it to her.”
She gestured at the yellow-and-white collie mix sitting alertly at her feet. As usual, several of the barn’s resident dogs were circling the pizza hopefully. Summer’s obnoxious Jack Russell, Whiskey, was among them, though he seemed more interested in snapping at the other dogs than in scrounging for pizza.
“Should someone go see if Jamie’s okay?” Marissa spoke up, picking a piece of mushroom off her slice. “He seemed pretty shaken up after they took Dani away.”
“No wonder,” Kate put in quietly. “It’s been a long time since there’s been a serious injury at Pelham Lane.”
Marissa shuddered. “I can still hear Dani’s poor leg cracking when she hit that fence.”
“You can not.” Fitz rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“I’m not! I really did hear it!” Marissa insisted. “I just didn’t want to say anything until we knew if it was really broken.”
“Well, we know now,” Summer pointed out.
Tommi nodded. Jamie had called the hospital for an update while they were waiting for the pizza to arrive. Dani’s leg was indeed fractured, and the doctors were still trying to decide whether she needed surgery.
“I wonder if they had to cut her boots off,” Marissa said. “I hope not. They’re practically new—she got them for her birthday in May.”
Just then Tommi’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of the pocket of her Tailored Sportsmans and saw that it was a text from Brooke.
Update: Abby’s driving. We leave at 9 on Friday. You in?
Tommi stuck the phone back in her pocket without answering. She still hadn’t decided what to do about that weekend.
She reached over to grab a napkin off the bandage trunk. As she did, she saw that Kate was only picking at the slice of pizza in her lap. She’d pulled off all the cheese, leaving it in a sticky, greasy blob at the edge of the paper plate. Now she was pulling off chunks of the crust.
Tommi picked up a slice of plain cheese and stepped around the trunk. Fitz and Marissa were arguing about how much pain they’d be willing to endure to save their own boots, and Summer was fiddling with Whiskey’s collar, so none of them paid any attention to what she was doing.
“Hey,” Tommi said softly, sliding the new slice onto Kate’s plate. “Thought you might want this.”
Kate frowned and glanced up sharply. Then she relaxed and nodded.
“Thanks,” she said. Lifting the new slice, she took a small bite, then another.
Tommi smiled and moved back to her seat, figuring that was good enough. None of them felt much like eating right now.
“I have an idea,” Fitz said, clapping his hands. “In honor of Dani’s fall, let’s all describe our most humiliating and painful riding accidents. I’ll start—though it might be hard to narrow down the options. Shall I begin with the time I fell off because I forgot to tighten my girth? See, I was kind of sleepy that day, and—”
“I have a better idea,” Summer interrupted. “I know something that will definitely cheer you all up.”
“What’s that?” Marissa asked.
“My big announcement.” Summer preened as all eyes turned to her. “Obviously I didn’t get to make it during our lesson like I planned, so I might as well do it now.”
Tommi rolled her eyes. Summer had been hinting all day that she had some big secret to share. She could only imagine what it was—probably something about getting a new saddle or the custom chaps she’d been grousing that her parents wouldn’t buy her.
Summer didn’t leave them in suspense for long. “So here it is: I’m having a huge Sweet Sixteen party, and you’re all invited!”
“A party? I’m in.” Fitz grinned, though even he seemed to be having trouble mustering up much enthusiasm for Summer’s news.
Summer didn’t appear to notice the underwhelming response. “My birthday just happens to be a week from Friday—in other words, right during the Washington Crossing show,” she went on. “So my parents are renting out the mansion on the showgrounds—well, like half of it, anyway.” She giggled. “And also part of the gardens and stuff, too. There’s going to be an awesome live band, and some famous surprise guests, and tons of amazing food …”
There was more, but Tommi tuned it out. She had too much stuff to think about already, like making sure Kate kept eating, hoping Dani was okay, figuring out which classes she and Legs should do at the big show, and deciding what to do about Brooke’s invitation.
Some goofy over-the-top Summer party? Not even on her radar.