Absolutely Famous (26 page)

Chapter
28

“Syd, we’re here,” Drew whispers in my ear. “You have to sit up to land.”

I open my eyes and jerk awake, clutching my ribs
where the new scar cuts across my side. “Shit,” I murmur under my breath.

“Are you okay?”
He wipes my forehead. “You’re sweating. What’s going on babe?”

I move the bed back into the chair position and run my fingers over the scar again. “Nothing, I’m fine
.”

Drew mashes his lips together
at my dismissal and sees my hand on my side. “You were dreaming of, you know …”

He always knows what I’m
thinking. It’s infuriating yet awe-inspiring at the same time. “The bed,” I whisper. “It’s the shape of this bed. When I woke up I thought I was back in that awful hospital bed.” I buckle my seatbelt around my waist.

A dark look crosses Drew’
s face. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again Sydney. Not as long as I live.”

I glance around the cabin and see our constant companions in three of the other first class seats
. “I know you won’t.”

Still reeling from the unpleasant memories of the most recent attack I
involuntarily rub my hand up and down the long pink scar on my right arm where it was broken by a car crash with a paparazzo a dozen years ago. The permanent marks on my body from run-ins with being famous are starting to add up and I don’t want any more if I can help it.

The plane lands at Logan Airport and we pull into our gate. Drew yanks his nasty old hat from his bag and fits it down low over his brow.

“Nice,” I say under my breath. I see his shoulders shake in front of me as he laughs.

He grabs my hand as we leave the gate and ducks his head low. There are so many Red Sox hats around here that I’d be surprised if anyone even notices him. Of course,
neither of us stopped to consider that people would notice
me
, but they most certainly do. I hear our names being murmured over and over as we hustle through the terminal toward customs.

Crap, I didn’t bring a hat.

Steve called ahead and asked the stewardess to have an airport agent meet us at customs and take us through a private line. Even with our Navy SEALS, there’s no way we could have fended off hundreds of fans and amateur photographers armed with camera phones while waiting in line for an hour.

We make it through customs in record time and exit into baggage claim. Unfortunately, paparazzi are allowed in this section of the airport and somehow they knew we were coming.
We step into the baggage area and are assaulted by their questions which continue non-stop as we try to cross the huge room.

“Are you suing Kiera Radcliff?”

“Why are you in Boston?”

“Andrew, did you dump Kiera when you found out what she did?”

“Sydney, is it true you’re expecting?”

I blanch at the last question, thinking about the miscarriage I suffered just a few short months ago. Pissed off by their rude questions, Drew scowls and looks back to see if I’m okay. One of the paparazzi takes advantage of Drew’s turned head and jumps in front of him to get a better shot of both of us. Unfortunately, Drew keeps walking forward even when he’s looking back at me and he crashes into the guy’s massive camera which swings to the side and misses smacking me in the face by a fraction of an inch.

“Back the fuck off!” Drew roars, his anger echoing across baggage claim. The flashes of the cameras go berserk when he starts freaking out, each one hoping to capture his rage and sell it for a buck. “She’s been through enough!” he yells. His face is red with fury.

His outburst causes the mob to pack more densely around us in their attempts to get a shot of his one of his infamous tantrums. It forces us to walk slower, enabling them to move closer to us than is comfortable. Steve throws elbows from the front, pushing through to the exit that
I think is only a few short yards away, but I can’t see because of the constant flashbulbs going off and blinding me.

I’m almost to the door when a photographer sticks his foot out and trips me,
either hoping to get a shot of me falling on my ass or hoping to piss Drew off into going nuclear. I yank on Drew’s hand as I start to fall, pulling him back toward me. Evan leaps in and kicks the paparazzo’s leg and catches me under my arms before I hit the ground.

“Don’t evah fuckin touch her!” Drew snaps at the man, his free hand clenched
in front of him as he wars with his desire to punch the guy. “Fuck this,” he growls. He wraps his arm around my waist and holds me tight against his hard body, pretty much carrying me. “Evan, on her other side,” he barks at the big man. Steve leads us out the door and Sal follows behind, the four men surrounding me completely. Me, the weak link in this giant undulating clusterfuck.

W
e burst through the doors and out onto the sidewalk where tired passengers are waiting for ground transportation. Confused bystanders and taxi drivers stare open-mouthed as the mass of paparazzi pours out of the building and resumes their inane questioning, flashbulbs going off non-stop.

Steve opens the door to Drew’s new SUV
and Drew lifts me up and tosses me in, eager to get out of here. He pulls himself in behind me and throws his body down on the very back seat next to me, hostility surrounding him in a swirling cloud so thick I can practically see it. Evan hauls his huge bulk in next and sits in the row in front of us. Steve joins Bruce in the front and we depart, leaving the hoard of photographers standing on the curb at Logan Airport.

“What about Sal?” I ask, attempting to slow my rapid breathing.

“He’s getting our stuff,” Drew snaps. “He’ll take a cab to the hotel. Can’t even get our own motherfucking bags.” He closes his eyes and sits back, letting his head tilt up at the ceiling. I see his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscles twitching under his light stubble.

Reaching out, I gently stroke his rough skin. “Hey,” I whisper. He turns his head toward me and opens his b
rilliant green eyes. “It’s okay.” I try to reassure him, not missing the pain behind his anger. “We have to get used to it. It’s going to be like this, probably for a while.” I continue running my hand up and down his cheek, the contact with his skin just as much for me as it is for him.

Drew places his hand over mine, stilling it on his face. He brings it to his mouth and kisses my palm, his hot breath sending a jolt of desire
through me. “When did you get so strong?” he murmurs into my hand as he drags his tongue across my wrist, forcing me to stifle a moan.

I
swallow. “Maybe I’ve always been strong and didn’t know it, but I think that it’s because you make me feel safe and loved, and that gives me the strength to handle anything.”

He releases my hand and shifts so he can bring both of his hands to either side of my face. Pressing our foreheads together he closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. Those few seconds seem to slow down to hours as I feel the connection
deepen between us. I study his beautiful face, his long dark lashes fanning out from his eyelids, his brows, relaxed from their pinched and angry position over his eyes, his cheekbones, angular and masculine all the way down to his chin.

He breaks my reverence when he opens his eyes, pressing a gentle kiss on my lips. “I love you Syd. Always.”

“I love you too, always.”

Bruce pulls the Suburban onto the brick driveway in front of the Four Seasons across from the Boston Common. He hops out and speaks with the doorman that greets him out front.

“I’m glad you had Bruce meet us here,” I tell Drew.

“He goes everywhere with me
.” I arch an eyebrow at him and he smirks. “Everywhere that they drive on the right side of the road.”

Bruce motions to Steve and Evan who get out of the SUV. Evan holds the door open for us and waits for us to step out.

“Good morning Mr. Forrester, Miss Tannen,” the doorman says. “You’ve already been checked in and your man Bruce here has your keys, so just head on in to the elevator bank and up to the 6
th
floor. We’ll see to your bags when they get here and have them sent right up.”

Wow. Everything’s already done. I’m guessing Bruce checked us in before coming to the airport to get us. Steve leads the way into the gleaming black and gold lobby. It’s a Sunday, so the hotel is pretty busy with tourists checking in and out of their rooms.

I feel kind of stupid walking with an actual entourage, but I suck it up and keep my head down. Drew clutches my hand like it’s his lifeline, refusing to let go for even a second. If people notice us, I don’t care. I’m too excited to see Drew’s hometown and his family to worry about what people see or hear.

Bruce hands us our room key and leaves us. “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he says. I give him a quick hug, and judging by the blush on his neck I surprised him.

“Good to see you Bruce.” I wipe the ridiculous tears out of my eyes.

“You too,
Sydney.” Smiling, he exits on the 6
th
floor with us and walks the opposite way down the hall.

Steve opens our door and checks everything out while we stand in the foyer feeling ridiculous.

“It’s clear,” Steve says after checking for listening devices and who knows what else. “We’ll be down the hall.” He hands Drew the keycard.

“Thanks Steve,
” Drew says as the big men leave the room.

I look around, walking into the living area of the Presidential Suite. It’s unbelievable. There’s an actual baby grand piano on one end of the room, tucked in front of wide bookshelves. The other end of the room has plush gold and cream furnishings in front of a fireplace. But what catches my attention are the glass doors that lead outside.

Drew notices my interest and takes my hand, “Want to see the view?”

I nod and he leads me over the thick cream area rug tossed
onto the gleaming hardwood and unlatches the doors, swinging them wide to let in the warm summer air. I step out onto the brick balcony and take in the trees that dot the Common and the tall buildings in the distance.

“This is beautiful
. I was worried that we’d have a view of the baseball field.”

Drew smirks, and then bursts out laughing, his earlier stress melting away. “I actually thought about it, getting a room near Fenway.” He steps closer to me, stopping just an inch
from me. I can feel the heat coming off of his body. My heart speeds up as he locks his gaze onto mine, his smile becoming more serious. “But I knew you’d rather have a view of the park, and I live to make you happy,” he says in a low voice.

“Whatever
makes you happy makes me happy.” I lift my hands and lay them on his broad chest.

“I’m happy that you’re here with me.”

“Me too.”

Yeah, we’re sickening
.

We watch the people in the park for a while,
as we relax on the terrace, holding hands and talking. It’s so normal that I almost feel as though I’m having an out-of-body experience.

“So we’re having dinner with your parents and the Grady’s tonight?” I ask Drew from my cozy spot tucked up under his arm.

“Yes.”

“Let’s have
lunch on the Common.”

He looks surprised that I would suggest it. “You want to go out there, in public?”

“Of course I do. We’ll just put our human-repelling costumes on. No one wants to be within fifty feet of us when we wear them.”

“Let’s go then.” His smile is so big with excitement, I can’t wait to see his hometown.

We have a great day in Boston, feeding the geese and ducks while we eat and relax. We take the T to Faneuil Hall and browse the shops at Quincy Market. Steve wasn’t too happy that we ride public transit instead of taking the car, but Drew was adamant about showing me the full Boston experience. Plus, I think he just wanted to feel like a kid again. The giant grin didn’t leave his face for the entire ride. The best part was that not one person noticed us in our hideous wigs and clothes and we couldn’t have been happier about it.

By mid-afternoon, we’re both exhausted from the travel and jet lag
, so we head back to the Four Seasons to take a nap before dinner.

The alarm on my phone wakes me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time. I turn it off and roll over to snuggle against Drew and notice that his side of the bed is empty. I throw on a hotel robe and wander down the hall to find him and hear pieces of a conversation. I try not to eavesdrop but Drew is agitated and so loud that it’s difficult not to listen.

“I just can’t even believe she has the fuckin’ nerve to think she’s still going.”

“Sorry, I know.”

“Yeah, well that ass Reynolds bettah not come.”

“Well fuck her!”

“Shit, sorry.”

“She bettah not start shit with me or Syd!”

“Sorry! I know!”

“Did you bring it?”

“Yeah.”

“Nervous.”

“Everything’s set?”