Falling for Mister Wrong (17 page)

“Hurry, Caitlyn!” Mimi squealed.

Caitlyn obediently flipped on the television.
“What channel?”

“Four. You’re missing it!”

She turned to channel four and her breath
whooshed out when she saw the image there. “Oh my God.”

“It’s us!” Mimi squealed delightedly.

It was indeed them. In the still photo that
dominated the screen, she and Mimi were walking down the main
street of Tuller Springs, carrying shopping bags and to go cups
from the Java Hut. Mimi’s hair was still red and green. Christmas
shopping, she realized distantly as the rest of her brain jabbered
hysterically. The photo had been taken weeks ago. And she’d had no
idea. Someone had stood on the far side of the street, or sat in a
car, and shot pictures of her while she was completely
oblivious.

The picture vanished and another story popped
up to take its place.

“What were they saying?” She hadn’t been able
to process any of the words, too busy taking in the horror of her
first paparazzi experience. She’d never been that kind of famous
when she was a musician.

“They found out about the fire. They were
joking about turning pyro because you were forced to date Daniel
and stuff. Usual TMZ snark.”

“But that photo had nothing to do with the
fire.”

“I know, but it was
us
,” Mimi
squeaked. “I was on TMZ! Admittedly, it was as ‘and friend’, but
who’s complaining? Oh! Do you think it’s on the website too?”

“Oh God.”

“Caitlyn? You okay?”

“I didn’t even know he was there. He was
taking pictures of us and I had no clue.” He could have walked up
to her and asked and she would have smiled and given him his shot.
She’d had media training. She knew what to do. Mimi would have
loved it. But no. He had to take it from across the street like a
freaking peeping Tom. “Did you know we were being
photographed?”

“Well, no. But that’s the price for fame,
eh?”

“I never wanted to be famous. I didn’t think
reality TV people were really that big a deal—I mean yes, people
know who the Kardashians are, but who cares who the third runner up
on last year’s
Survivor
was?”

“Honey,” Mimi said, her shrill enthusiasm
somewhat tamed, “in a year no one will remember who was on this
year’s
Marrying Mister Perfect
, but this is your fifteen
minutes. Try to enjoy it. Or at least accept it.”

“You sound like…”
Daniel.
She almost
said it aloud.

Everyone was telling her to suck it up and
accept the attention—even if she couldn’t quite embrace it. Maybe
she should start listening. A shot on TMZ wasn’t going to hurt
her—not that kind of shot anyway. Was she overreacting? To all of
it?

She’d had this idea, ever since the finale of
the show, that Daniel was more concerned with his fame as Mister
Perfect than he was with actually settling down with her, but had
she been blowing things out of proportion? Had she heard him
accepting and embracing the fifteen minutes of fame that came with
the territory and just assumed he’d gone over to the dark side? She
had fought so hard to get out of the limelight, was she
hyper-sensitive to any signs that she might be pulled back in?

“Mimi, I have to go. Thanks for letting me
know.”

She hung up and immediately fished out the
MMP phone, punching Daniel’s number. He answered on the second
ring.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hey. How’s Los Angeles?”

“Loud. And lonely. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” As she said the words, she
realized she did miss him, in a way. She missed the way she used to
feel connected to him. If she could only get that back. “I just got
my first taste of what you’ve been going through.”

“Oh?”

“I’m on TMZ.”

He chuckled. “I know. I got a Google Alert
about it.”

“You have a Google Alert for me?”

“For myself. They mentioned both of our names
in the article.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked. “People
following you around, taking your picture when you don’t know
they’re there?”

“Goes with the territory. They’re following
you to try to get spoilers for the show and all they got was a shot
of you shopping. As TMZ photos go, it’s incredibly tame. They must
not have had anything from the actual fire.”

Caitlyn winced as she thought of what they
might have seen. Her thrown over Will’s shoulder or running through
the snow wearing a freaking twenty foot wedding veil. Thank God no
paparazzo had been on duty that night.

“It’s not a very juicy story,” Daniel mused.
“Won’t even last a news cycle. They’re only running it because
you’re popular after this week’s episode. Now, if they had a better
image to go with it…”

Irritation flickered. “You almost sound like
you wish it were a juicier picture.”

“It’s good publicity for the show, which is
good for us.”

Caitlyn went very still. How many people had
known about the fire? How many who would tip off TMZ? “Daniel,” she
said very slowly, “did you tell them about the fire?”

“Sweetheart, relax. It’s just a little
article. You need to get used to this. The scrutiny is only going
to get more intense over the next few weeks.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Does it matter?”

Mozart’s Ghost. He’d really done it. Her
fiancé had ratted her out to TMZ. Arranged for her to be mocked on
national television.

She hung up the phone. No goodbye. No waiting
for more explanations. No straining to hear through the lies.

She didn’t think she’d ever hung up on
someone before. It was rude. Terribly rude. But she couldn’t bring
herself to care. A few minutes later the MMP phone rang again.
Miranda this time. But Caitlyn ignored it. She didn’t want to talk.
Didn’t want to think.

Stalking to the piano, she went straight for
Wagner.

Some days just called for pounding,
thunderous music. Shutting off her brain, she let the music
roar.

#

Will’s first hint that something was wrong
was the Wagner making his ceiling fan vibrate. His second hint came
five minutes later when Claire called to tell him Caitlyn was on
TMZ.

Thirty minutes later, he knocked on her door,
pounding hard to be heard over the frenzy of Rachmaninov. The music
didn’t even pause. He pounded again. This time the silence was
instant and jarring.

She swung open the door, fast and sharp,
cheeks flushed, poised for a fight.

Will lifted the box of brownie bites he’d
sprinted to the store to pick up like a shield. “I come bearing
chocolate.” He jiggled the other grocery bag. “And ice cream. And
whipped cream and everything else I could think of that would drive
any sane person into a sugar coma.” He jerked his chin toward the
DVD case tucked under his arm. “And Bond, James Bond.”

She frowned. “What’s all that for?”

“My sisters are firm believers in chocolate
therapy. And Sean Connery.” When she still stared at him blankly,
he shrugged. “Claire saw you on TMZ. I figured you might need some
moral support. We’re friends right?”

She tipped her head to the side, still
blocking him in the doorway. “You don’t think I should be happy
about the exposure?”

“Happy about a creepy dude following you
around with a telephoto lens? I’d be worried about you if you
were.”

She swung the door wider. “You can come in.
Bring the brownies.”

#

“I know you can’t tell me whether or not
you’re engaged to Mister Famous—”

“Mister Perfect, if you please.”

Will snorted. “Whatever. But I figure if I
deduce the truth on my own, no one can blame you.”

“A brilliant plan.” Caitlyn lay sprawled on
the couch, Will beside her on a mound of pillows on the floor.
They’d given up on passing the brownie bites back and forth between
them, Will simply chucking them up at her regularly as they
sporadically watched Sean Connery battle Dr. No, since they’d
already established that they’d both seen the movie enough times to
quote it from memory. “And how do you plan to deduce this
truth?”

“Elementary, my dear Caitlyn.
Who
is
Mister Famous—”

“Daniel,” she supplied pertly.

“Very well. Who is
Daniel’s
favorite
Bond? No woman would agree to marry a man without knowing whether
he prefers Connery or Craig.”

“There might be a slight flaw in your
logic.”

“Nonsense. My logic is unassailable.” A
brownie bite sailed toward her face.

She caught it, snickering, and muffled her
laughter with the chocolatey goodness. They had already discussed
the relative merits of the various Brits, agreeing that
Connery—Will’s favorite—was undeniably the most suave, but Craig’s
muscle-bound shoulders won Caitlyn’s vote.

The TMZ photo was almost forgotten. Almost.
One little picture, a tiny little story… it was amazing how much
her frustration over it had lessened as soon as Will agreed that
she had a right to feel violated rather than delighted by being
stalked by paparazzi.

Of course, the chocolate hadn’t hurt.

Another brownie bite arched toward her and
she lurched up to catch it in her mouth, laughing when it bounced
off her nose and rolled onto her stomach. “Your aim is
improving.”

“I’ve stopped aiming. I’m just randomly
chucking them at you now.”

“I thought athletes were supposed to have
good hand eye coordination?”

“Are you questioning whether I’m good with my
hands?” The words were dark, sinful, sending warmth shooting
straight down to her erogenous zones.

Oh my.
“Will. Behave.”

He muttered something that sounded like,
“This
is
me behaving,” but she couldn’t quite hear him over
the villain speech coming from the television.

The thought that he might want to misbehave
with her made warmth spread liquid-smooth through her limbs. She’d
never just hung out and watched movies with someone she had a crush
on before. Was this a normal pre-dating step? Her only
relationships before Daniel had been with other musicians—some of
whom were just looking to score with the big name, some of whom
seemed to genuinely like her but never seemed to know how to look
beyond her music and see that there was more, and then there had
been Tai—a brilliant cellist she’d had a crush on for years and
then when they’d met he’d just sort of taken her adoration as his
due for as long as she wanted to give it to him, barely seeming to
notice when she left.

No, she was hardly a dating expert.
Especially out in the real world.

She rolled onto her side, peering down over
the lip of the couch at him. “Have you had a lot of
girlfriends?”

His gaze slid off the screen and up to her.
This was probably how he looked in bed—dark hair rumpled from the
pillow beneath it, dark eyes gleaming with a sensual, slumberous
light. “What’s a lot?”

“I don’t know. What’s a normal number?”

“What’s
normal
?” he countered.
“Everyone’s love life is a special snowflake in its own right.”

She frowned at his evasions. Exactly how high
was his number that he wouldn’t tell her? “Do
you
think
you’ve had a lot of girlfriends?”

“I’ve had exactly one less than the perfect
number.” His dark eyes met hers.

“Oh.” Okay. Good answer. Her heart thudded so
hard she fancied she could feel it in her fingertips.

She scrambled for a safe topic of
conversation. Like mushrooms. Or the Amish. Anything. But Will
spoke before she could change the subject, his eyes heavy-lidded
and intent. “You told me about your last first kiss… when was your
first one?”

It wasn’t exactly safe, but it was safer than
talking about who she wanted her
next
kiss to be.

“I was seventeen,” she admitted, blushing.
“My mother thought dating was a distraction, but when I was playing
in Paris there was this Czech violinist only a couple years older
than me. Very dashing. We barely spoke ten words of the same
language, but it was Paris and I was desperate for romance so I let
him kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted so badly for
it to be magical, but it was just sort of… wetter than I
expected.”

Will groaned sympathetically.

“And you?” she asked. “When did you get your
first kiss?”

“I was twelve. Middle school dance. Doing the
classic slow dance sway.” He pantomimed rocking back and forth. “My
sisters had coached me since I was about eight on what girls wanted
and when I hit middle school I started listening. I’m pretty sure
Lady in Red
was playing and I’m almost positive it was
wetter than she expected. I had no freaking idea what to do with
any of my body parts. But I felt like the man and she was my
girlfriend for two whole weeks after that—complete with
hand-holding in the hallways. Until my friends convinced me I was
whipped and needed to dump her. And then one of those same friends
swooped in and consoled her and
they
started dating. Massive
betrayal. My seventh grade heart was shattered. Though, come to
think of it, I think those two are married right now so on a karmic
level I call that a win.”

Caitlyn pressed a hand over her mouth to
stifle her laughter. She felt so light when she was with him. Like
she might float away. Had Daniel ever made her feel like that?
Would she ever be able to stop comparing them?

“Hey. What happened?” Will asked, propping
himself up on an elbow. “You got serious all of a sudden.”

She couldn’t tell him she was wishing she’d
met him before the man she’d agreed to marry. God,
marriage.
What had she been thinking?

“It’s nothing. Just the TMZ stuff again.”

“Want me to distract you?”

“Yes, plea—” The word broke into a yelp as he
moved, startlingly fast, catching her ankle where it dangled over
the edge of the couch and giving it a measured tug. Firm enough to
send her sliding off the lip of the couch.