The second I trotted into Miss de France’s drawing room the following Wednesday afternoon and spied Nick sitting on the chaise lounge looking very Coral Cove Country Club in white shorts, white T-shirt, and Docksiders sans socks, I felt better. Better because all I could think of was how much I wanted to kiss him. He looked away from Miss de France when he saw me.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi yourself.”
“All right, children, it’s show time.” Miss de France tapped her way across the tile with her cane, then plopped down in her red throne.
“As you know, we’re at a crucial scene where Gwyneth suspects her erstwhile boyfriend Arnold has harmed Tony, and she’s rushing off to find him.”
I moved to the center of the room where Nick was standing.
“You’re not going to need those,” he said, “because, as an experiment, we’re going to do a little improv.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“We’re making up our own scene. Instead of running off to Tony, you and Arnold have a fight on the front porch. Now remember, you’re terrified something has happened to the guy you love.”
Nick turned away to prepare for his scene. When he turned back, instead of nice-guy Tony, he’d morphed into jerk-of-the-century Arnold.
“Gwyneth, where are you going?” His voice was mean as I tried to brush by him.
“To find Tony.”
“Forget about him. He’s nothing but a greasy Greek.”
“I won’t forget and you can’t make me. I know you’ve done something to him.”
“Nothing that he didn’t deserve.” Nick grabbed my arm, trying to stop me. “I’m warning you, Gwyneth, don’t take another step.”
Furiously, I broke away. “Leave me alone! You don’t own me. No one does.”
My words were no longer pretend. And I wasn’t Gwyneth screaming at her boyfriend. I was Brooke screaming at Anthony and Tyler and Miss de France.
Exhausted and crying, I finished the scene, the room strangely quiet except for the ringing of a single chime from the grandfather clock in the entry. The pitti-pat sound of Miss de France’s applause broke the silence.
“Superb improvisation,” she cooed, struggling to her feet. “Absolutely superb.”
Embarrassed by my tears, I looked down at the red and blue swirls in the Oriental rug.
“Great job, Brooke,” Nick said. He lifted my chin to look at him. “I think you’re going to be a real actress yet.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Snaillike, Miss de France oozed toward us. “All right, my darlings, until we meet again next week, au revoir.”
“Au revoir,” I murmured, and snatching my purse, stumbled out of the room.
Safely inside the carriage house, I bolted the door and collapsed on the bed.
Leave me alone. You don’t own me. My words in Nick’s and my scene bounced back and forth in my head. Gwyneth and I were the same. We were tired of people trying to control us. But Gwyneth was make-believe, and it was easier to fix things in a make-believe world.
I buried my head in my feather pillow and started round two of tears. What was I going to do? My life was so mish-mashed with Miss de France’s, I couldn’t even think.
At first I didn’t hear the knock. I lifted my head from my pillow. Oh, God, I hope it’s not Anthony. Or maybe it’s Tyler ready to collect on his blackmailing scheme!
I tiptoed to the window, pushing back the white lace curtain to peek out. Too big and dark haired to be Tyler, I had to look twice to realize the man standing at my door wasn’t Anthony, either. Unbelievable as it seemed, it was Nick.