Page 90 of Fame And Secrets
She turned into the parking lot. “I can’t wait to help you plan the wedding, Phoebe. I thought I’d be shut out of it since I don’t have daughters. I have to admit, at first, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of you and Julian waiting until after Iris was born, but I think it worked out perfectly.”
And just like that, my heart fell to my feet.
“Oh, listen to me, I’m sorry for going on. What did you want to ask me?”
Shaking my head, I forced a painted smile and unhooked my seatbelt. “Nothing. I can’t remember now.”
She chuckled as she closed the car door. “Welcome to motherhood. The memory failure only gets worse from here.”
***
Two hours later, I stood in the middle of a department store dressing room staring at myself in the mirror. What would Julian say? He loved my hair. I thought of the countless times lying in bed, his hands lazily running through my long dark hair, flipping the ends between his fingertips.
“He’s going to hate it.”
Nine inches that once hung down my back were gone. The length now dusted below my shoulders. I angrily knocked tears away. I barely recognized myself anymore. The accelerated change made it suddenly hard to breathe.
Air. I need air.
Lagging behind Eliza, I held onto an outdoor bench and removed a sandal, rubbing the arch of my foot.
“Are you all right, Phoebe?”
I pointed to my ankle and wiggled it in a circle. “Stupid shoes are cutting off my circulation. The doctors said I could still have residual swelling for a while.”
She frowned as she took in my puffy appendages. “Your feet look like you’ve been hooked up to an air hose.”
Lifting my purse high on my shoulder, I slipped back into my shoe. “Gee, thanks, Eliza, my self-esteem is soaring.”
Her laugh was full of warmth. “I meant I’ve been worried about you lately.”
“I’m fine. It comes and goes.” I walked toward the exit of the Glendale Galleria, holding a bag of baby clothes tightly in my hand.
She pushed the glass door open, and for a fleeting moment, details of last night’s nightmare hovered on my lips. The one that made my blood run cold. But how would I explain the dream of lying alone in the corner of a darkened room, pain so excruciating I prayed for death?
There were just some things that should stay hidden.
She patted my arm, calling over her shoulder as she walked briskly to the parking deck. “Sit down. I’ll pull the car around. You don’t need to be walking.” Before I could argue, she’d disappeared behind a row of ridiculously priced valeted sports cars.
I lowered my gaze inside my purse in search of my sunglasses. The drop from the curb stood a few inches away when I almost collided into him. He wore worn brogans, the toes on each foot scuffed completely.
“Sorry,” I muttered, my hands still stuck in my bag.
Then it hit me.
Aqua Velva.
The scent burned into my nostrils and memory, transporting me to another time. A time of hiding behind locked doors, hoping it didn’t get knocked off the hinges again. Praying for someone…anyone to save me. My stomach roiled. The moment dulled and time slowed to a crawl.
My head swam in confusion until brightness from a pop of flashes blinded me. With no time to react, they multiplied and swarmed like a pack of hungry wolves. Voices talked simultaneously, each one determined to be heard above the crowd. My palm shot out to shield my eyes.
“Phoebe! Over here…”
My head shot up as a camera clicked. “Please go away.” I stepped off the curb and invasive cameras immediately pushed me backward. I begged for privacy one last time. “Please leave me alone. Julian’s not here.”
With a clipped West Coast voice, a heavily bearded man darted out from behind his lens. “Don’t you think we know that? It’s our job to know Julian Bale’s location at all times. Papers pay a few extra thousand dollars for the elusive missus and baby Bale.”
Jesus Christ, they know.