Second (3 page)

What if it’s always like this?

The concerning part is that I don’t know if I’ll ever snap out of this funk. I don’t know who I am without Ben.

Chapter Three

“Is that hat meant to be your diabolical disguise?” I ask, smirking as we get out of the car.

He pulls it down low on his head. “No one will recognise me.”

“Yes, they will,” I say, brow furrowing. “You grew up here so everyone worships you. You’re the local treasure. They’ll definitely recognise you, Dean.”

“We’ll be quick,” he says, nodding to the grocery store. “Let’s go.”

I follow him inside, feeling amusement as I watch him grab a trolley and push it towards the first aisle.

“When’s the last time you went food shopping?” I ask him, scanning the fruit selection.

He clears his throat, then says, “I don’t know. Months, maybe.”

I make a tsk tsk sound. “How does it feel to be amongst the common folk? Us plebs?”

He throws me a look that clearly tells me to shut up, but all I do is flash him a grin, then start loading the trolley with various fruits and vegetables. A decent meal does sound good. Tara has dropped food off every day, trying to get me to eat, but all I did was consume the bare minimum. The looseness of my jeans tells me just how much I’ve been neglecting myself, and it’s time for me to get out of my slump and get my shit together. Dean is right, I can’t go on like this anymore. Other people lose someone they love every day, but they get through it.

And I will too.

We’re down the second aisle when I hear a woman say to her friend, “Oh my God, is that Dean Amore?”

My head snaps to Dean, and I catch his wince. He keeps pushing through the aisle, at a faster speed this time.

“Disguise fail,” I mutter under my breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers, turning around and looking behind him as the women start to follow him.

“Do you want to go to the car?” I ask him, quickly ducking behind a display of nappies. “I can finish up here alone.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I have to get the shit I need to cook dinner tonight.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You’re cooking dinner tonight? Will wonders never cease?”

“Well at least the fire in you is back,” he says in a dry tone, glancing up at the nappies stacked in a huge pile. “Great, next they’ll be saying I knocked someone up.”

I glance around. “There’s no paparazzi here, Dean. This isn’t the big city.”

However if those women take a photo, it could be plastered all over social media, which is kind of the same thing. “Or maybe you’re right. What do you want me to do?”

“You gonna save me?” he asks, his smile hitting his green eyes. “There’s nothing we can do, let’s just get what we need and bounce.”

We rush around the store, grabbing everything we think we’ll need. We’re in the ice-cream aisle when the women catch up with us.

“Oh my God, Dean, it is you!” one gushes, closing the space between them and touching his arm. “Can I take a photo with you? I love you and your music so much! Your picture is my phone wallpaper!”

She slides up next to him, like they’ve known each other for years, completely invading his personal space.

Oh wow.

Is this what he has to go through every time he leaves the house? People acting like he’s community property? The other woman, a younger-looking brunette, steps to his other side. “Could I get your signature? My friends aren’t going to believe this….”

Dean looks uncomfortable, and fairly so. I try to step in and save him.

“Listen, ladies,” I say, stepping closer to Dean and slowly nudging them out of the way. “How about a quick photo, but you both need to stay quiet about him being here? His cousin just died and he’s trying to mourn in peace, without everyone knowing his whereabouts.”

Yes, a shitty card to play, but it’s also the truth.

“Who are you?” the older one asks, eyes narrowing.

Great, she probably thinks I’m his new girlfriend and is going to try and fight me or start a hate page on social media or something.

“I’m his lawyer,” I say, smiling evilly. “Any other questions?”

She shakes her head.

I take two photos, and then grab Dean by his bicep and pull him on out of there.

“My lawyer?” he asks, sounding amused. “You dropped out of law school.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t drop out, I changed my mind and chose a different degree.”

I ended up in business and finance, and now work in a bank. Law just wasn’t for me. Then again, neither is working at a bank, but it pays the bills and then some. We check out in peace and then rush to the car. Dean won’t let me help lift the bags into the back, because apparently he’s a Neanderthal, so I sit in the car waiting for him. He didn’t let me pay, either. I tried, but he won. I don’t like it when he wins. I watch as he puts the trolley away then slides into the driver seat.

“Let’s just order the groceries online next time,” I announce.

Dean throws his head back and laughs.

*****

“Is it always like that?” I ask him as we unpack the food together.

“Worse usually,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t know, I’ve kind of gotten used to it now. It comes with the job, you know?”

“What are you cooking tonight?” I ask, changing the subject. I line up the four bottles of alcohol I bought on the way home, wondering which one we should drink first. Maybe we should just have the red wine with dinner. I find myself looking forward to it, since it’s been so long since I had a good meal.

“Chicken fried rice,” he says casually, his back to me as I pin my gaze on him.

Chicken fried rice is my favourite thing to eat. How did he know that? I guess Tara must have told him. In this moment, I acknowledge just how thoughtful a man Dean really is. The fame hasn’t seemed to change him one bit. He’s obviously as humble as ever, otherwise he wouldn’t be standing in my kitchen, helping me, never mind getting ready to cook me a meal.

“Do you cook often?” I find myself asking, wondering if he’s like this all the time, or if it’s just because he’s worried about me.

“Not really,” he says, turning to face me. “I’m hardly home. If I’m not on tour, I’m usually still doing some kind of travel for interviews or appearances, or I’m in the studio.” He pauses and shrugs. “And when I am home, I have a chef.”

A chef.

The man has his own personal chef.

“Wow,” I mutter under my breath.

“That’s it?” he asks, leaning against the countertop. “You’re not going to give me any shit?”

Do other people give him crap for living a life of luxury? I wonder if they do, and that’s why he made that comment. The thought annoys me.

“Why would I give you shit for doing so well for yourself that you have a chef?” I ask, arching my brow. “You work hard, Dean, and you’re amazing at what you do. Own it. Don’t worry about what other people have to say. They’re probably just jealous.” I shrug and add, “And to be honest I was just thinking about how humble you still are. That’s what matters. You have everything, but you’re still the same person.”

He ducks his head, as if shy. “We have to be at breakfast at nine.”

“Great,” I murmur, and then feel like a total bitch, because the woman did just lose her son. “No, you’re right. I should be there.”

He nods, obviously agreeing. Yes, she’s not the most kind-hearted woman out there, but she is still Ben’s mother. It’s the least I can do to go over there and see how she’s holding up. I have only spoken to her once since the funeral, when she rang to ask when she could come over and pick up any of Ben’s possessions that she wanted to keep. I told her to come whenever, but she never did, or she did and I was in my haze of sadness and didn’t hear her at the door.

“What should we do until dinner time?” I ask him, having nothing to do now that all the food is put away. “Or can I go back to bed? I think I did well, for day one.”

“Definitely not going back to bed. Forward not backwards, Sabina. Why don’t we go to the beach or something? I’m sure you could use the exercise after being in bed for so long,” he says, flashing me those dimples of his. They are so deep that I want to poke them with my finger.

“The beach actually sounds like a good idea,” I tell him.

I love the beach. I need to be reminded just how good life can be.

And I need to be surrounded by all the things I love.

Chapter Four

I smile at the warmth from the sun on my skin. Rolling over onto my stomach on the towel, I lift my head and look over at Dean, who is lying next to me reading a book while I get my tan on. After we walked along the beach for an hour, we went for a swim, and are now relaxing on the sand as I hope my pale skin might turn the colour of Dean’s naturally tan one. The beach is deserted, so we don’t have to worry about him being hounded by fans.

“Thanks for dragging me out of bed today,” I say to him.

“I know it’s not easy,” he says, closing his book. “I wanted to come earlier but I had to finish the tour. Then I ran into Tara and she told me you weren’t doing so well, and I know how soft she is, so I thought I’d try the whole tough love thing.”

I smile at his description of my best friend. Tara is very soft. She’s kind-hearted and gentle, and also hilarious, but there’s no way she’d give me any kind of tough love. She took care of me in her way, and I love her for that. Dean, however, gave me the jolt of reality I needed. It feels good to be out of the house. I miss Ben so much, but he’s not coming back, and I need to deal with that. I need to get used to it. There’s no alternative. This is my life now. I’m a widow.

“I appreciate it,” I tell him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Dean.”

“Happy to be here,” he replies, reopening his book. I lay the side of my head back on the towel. We stay like this until the sun sets, and then we head back home. I put a towel on the bed in the spare bedroom, where I assume Dean will be staying tonight. He hasn’t said if he’s staying with Kate or not, but I wouldn’t want to stay there. He’s welcome here anytime, and to be honest, I like him being here. His company is just the distraction I need right now. After a hot shower I find him standing in the kitchen, fresh out of the shower himself, starting dinner. He’s wearing a pair of black basketball shorts with a t-shirt, his feet bare.

“Do you want me to help with anything?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the countertop.

“Nope,” he says, not bothering to turn around and look at me.

“What am I meant to do then?” I ask. I don’t want to do nothing, because that’s when my mind starts to wander to places it doesn’t need to. I don’t want to think. I want to just pretend that everything in my life is okay, until it really is. Fake it till you make it. Maybe I can make myself think that I’m fine. Lock all my emotions away in a box, and bury it deep. So deep that not even I can find it.

“Take a seat and relax,” he suggests, chopping an onion with a precision that impresses me.

My eyes find the bottle of wine. I grin, grab two wine glasses out of the cupboard, pop the bottle, and pour. He finally gives me his attention, green eyes narrowing on the amounts I put in the glasses.

“Pretty sure you’re not meant to fill them up to the top,” he says, sounding slightly amused, faintly horrified. Is he not much of a drinker? I’m not usually either. I’ll have a wine with dinner, and a few drinks out with the girls every now and then, but no one has ever worried about my alcohol consumption before.

“Says who?” I ask, raising my brow. “Are you the wine police now, or something? Adding that to your resume, along with famous musician and heart throb?”

“Says everyone,” he replies flippantly, returning to his vegetable chopping.

“Good thing you didn’t become a lawyer either,” I mutter under my breath, then take my first sip. It’s delicious. I let Dean know. He did buy the bottle after all; he wouldn’t let me pay for the alcohol, either. I decide that I’m going to pay for everything else we need for the next few days until he leaves. Yeah, I’m not rich like him, but I make a good living. I’d probably have more savings if I didn’t have a designer bag addiction, but that’s a whole other story.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” he says after a moment of silence.

I touch my damp dark locks and nod. “Yeah, I think it looks better longer. It’s harder to maintain though. You should have seen how hard it was to brush the knots out this morning.”

“I like it,” he says, eying me. “And that’s probably because you hadn’t brushed it in longer than I care to mention.”

I roll my eyes at him and take another gulp of wine. “You’re not going to cut me any slack, are you?”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, washing his hands in the sink. “Tara was really worried about you, Sabina. She was crying as she was telling me that she doesn’t know what to do, that it kills her to see you like this.”

That comment sobers me up. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Dean. I’m just dealing with the cards I’ve been dealt in the best way possible.”

“I get that,” he says, grabbing his very full glass of wine and taking a sip. I stare at the tattoos that run up his right arm—a full sleeve. “Look, if you ever need anyone, I’m here, all right? My line’s always open. You need me, I’ll be here.”

My expression softens. “Thanks, Dean,” I say, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “And right back at you. I never asked you how you’ve been doing with everything.”

How much of a shit person am I? I’ve made this the Sabina show, but Dean lost his blood relation.

“I’ve been keeping busy,” he says, smiling sadly. Even though I can see the sadness in his eyes, his dimples still pop up, contradicting his feelings. This time, I do what I’ve been wanting to and reach my index finger up, touching the one on his left cheek.

“Did you just poke my cheek?” he asks, blinking slowly. He reaches out and touches my forehead. “I think you got too much sun today, Sabina. Especially after being locked away all this time. We should have broken you in slowly instead of letting you lie in the sun all afternoon.”

I smirk and look down into my wine, which is half gone now. “You have the cutest dimples is all. I’ve heard women talking about them.”

“Is that what they talk about? My dimples?” he asks, his voice taking on a playful note. “Not my voice, or my abs, just my dimples?”

“Your abs?” I ask, eyes going wide. “Do you think you’re a fitness model or something now, Dean?”

He probably could be one, but that’s not the point.

He chuckles and starts to cut up some chicken. “You saw me at the beach today, what do you think?”

For the first time since I lost my husband, I laugh. I mean a true laugh, one that starts in your stomach and works its way outwards. I don’t know if it’s the wine, or if it’s me losing my mind, but I laugh.

And my soul feels lighter for it.

*****

“Did Tara tell you that this was my favourite meal of all time?” I ask him after I swallow my first mouthful.

“No,” he says, putting his phone down and giving me his full attention. “I remember. We went on family holidays together, Sabina. Everyone knows you’re a huge fan of any Asian food, fried rice in particular.”

“Oh,” I say, eyes widening. “You’re pretty observant, aren’t you?”

“No,” he says, smirking. “It’s something obvious. You don’t have to be observant, you just have to be paying a small amount of attention to you.”

I replay his last line in my head.

I put my fork down, thinking of the time we had a couples’ games night here at the house. Ben was asked what my favourite food was, and he answered with pasta, which I also love, but it wasn’t right.

He didn’t know what my favourite food was. He didn’t pay attention. So Dean can deny being observant all he wants, but he is.

“Yours is fish and chips,” I tell him, pushing away the thoughts of Ben. “You order it every time we go somewhere. The same thing, over and over.”

“It’s a safe option,” he defends, eyes gentling. “At least I always know I’ll get something that I like. You can’t really fuck up fish and chips that bad. If it doesn’t taste that great you just smother it in sauce and it becomes great.”

I shake my head at his reasoning. “Or you could, I don’t know, try something new. Live a little, maybe.”

“Oh, I live,” he says, his voice going slightly huskier than usual.

When he says nothing else, I prod. “That’s all you’re going to say? You can’t say that line like that and then not elaborate.”

He just laughs, but gives me nothing.

Is he referring to his sex life? It must be insane, and he could have the choice of any woman he wants. According to the tabloids, he’s been doing a lot of living. Meanwhile, I’ve only been with one man my entire life, and I don’t think I’ll be changing that anytime soon. Such different lives we’ve led.

“You’re staying here, right?” I ask him, making sure.

He nods. “If that’s okay.”

“More than okay.”

“Good,” he says, lip twitching.

We finish the meal, chatting and joking with each other, and then I clean up because he cooked, even though he offers to help.

We watch a movie, and I fall asleep halfway through it, so he carries me to my bed.

“Goodnight,” I mumble sleepily as he leaves my bedroom.

“Night, Sabina,” I hear him say, before I fall into a deep sleep.