Stay the Night (9 page)

“No, you’re prettier.” Titania pursed her lips. “Except for Gigi, maybe. But she owns stock in all the makeup companies.”

“I own stock in makeup, too, it’s just all black.” Chloe grinned, a wicked little smile that made Titania want to hug her.

Which only proved that she was going soft in the head. Before she could do anything to embarrass herself, she picked up Psyche. “Will you let me take your picture?”

Chloe stiffened, suspicion in her eyes. “Why?”

The girl was so much like her. Titania smiled. “Because I want to show you how beautiful you are. Because I’d like a picture of you. Because I like you.”

“You do?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. You know better than that.”

The girl shrugged. “I guess.”

“The camera never lies. It shows you how other people see you.” Titania snapped it. “The greatest thing about being a photographer is being able to trap any moment to keep forever.”

Chloe’s gaze grew distant, as though she were thinking about it. “About a writer, too.”

“Do you write?” she asked as she took another picture. She still hadn’t captured the real Chloe yet.

“Sometimes. I like to.”

“I started taking pictures when I was five.”

“Aunt Rosalind was like that, too. She said she knew she wanted to make dresses when she was a kid.”

“Do you want to be a writer?”

Titania sensed Chloe’s shrug, so she looked up. “You can be whatever you want to be. Just decide to do it and then go for it.”

“Is that what you did?”

“I—” Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. Cole. Eyes narrowed, she picked it up and said, “Bugger off,” and then hung up.

Chloe’s eyes widened, but she looked impressed. “I suppose that was someone you don’t like.”

“A total wanker.”

“Like Aunt Gigi’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Maybe even worse.” Titania pointed at her. “Make good decisions about men. Don’t pick them because they’re convenient, because in the long run they won’t be.”

“Er—all right.” The teenager looked at her like she was mad. Then she said, “I don’t think I have the courage to tell someone to bugger off.”

“Sure you would. You’re a Summerhill.”

The girl shook her head. “I have my father’s last name.”

“That doesn’t make you any less a Summerhill.” Titania lifted her camera again. “If I’m stuck with this family, so are you.”

“Okay.” Chloe smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from clouds.

That one.
She took the shot and then looked at the screen. Yes, that was the one. She’d frame this one and give it to Chloe as a reminder of who she really was.

“This looks cozy.”

They both looked up.

Jacqueline stood framed in the doorway, a leather-bound notebook of some sort pressed to her chest.

This was why she kept the door locked most of the time. Titania set her camera down and bowed her head, trying to block the woman out.

Her mother seemed to have no inkling that there was anything wrong. She looked at the mess on the floor impartially and said, “Are we doing crafts?”

Crafts?
Scowling, Titania opened her mouth—

“Aunt Titania is wrapping a present for a friend of hers, and I’m helping,” Chloe said before she could tell her mother to bugger off, too.

Titania arched a brow at her niece.

Chloe shrugged.

“Is that wax paper?” Jacqueline asked with a frown.

“It’s the latest craze,” Chloe said, tearing off a piece tape and handing it to her.

Titania shook her head, amused by the kid but annoyed by her mother. Why was she still here? Couldn’t she tell she wasn’t wanted?

Apparently not, because she said, “It’s nice to see you together. It’s nice that you’re here, Titania.”

She didn’t answer, pretending to be engrossed with wrapping the frame. After a moment, she heard her mother’s soft steps recede down the hall.

Chloe handed her another piece of tape.

She grunted in thanks, sticking the end of the package closed.

They stared at the finished product.

“It’s lopsided,” Chloe declared.

Titania had to agree. “It adds to the charm.”

“Why don’t you like Grandmother?” Chloe asked.

Titania faced her niece, surprised that she’d noticed. “Do you like your mother?”

The girl pursed her lips. “It’s complicated.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s just that Grandmother Jacqueline tries so hard.”

Not hard enough. Titania fed the remaining wax paper back in its box. “Too little, too late.”

“It’s never too late, if she cares.”

That was the thing—why would Jacqueline care? Her mother hadn’t cared when Titania was a child. She didn’t see any reason why that would change. Jacqueline certainly hadn’t shown any interest in her career. At least, not until Titania had screwed things up with Cole and had to come home.

She tossed the tape aside and reached for Psyche’s case. The sooner she got the MacNiven commission and got out of this house, the better.

Chloe handed her the lens cap from the floor. “Right? It’s never too late if she wants to make things right.”

“Maybe,” she replied noncommittally.

“And she loves you.”

That made her stop. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s in her eyes.” Chloe shrugged. “She looks so sad when she looks at you, like she wants to hug you but is afraid that you’d push her away, and that thought is more unbearable than death.”

That couldn’t be true. Titania stared balefully at her niece. “You need to become a writer with an imagination like that.”

“Just telling it how I see it.” The kid shrugged. “I think you should give Grandmother a chance.”

She shook her head. “Is your grandmother paying you to torture me?”

Chloe pursed her lips. “Do you think she would?”

Chloe hadn’t wanted to let her go, which Titania found both endearing and frustrating.

Though, to be fair, a lot of Titania’s frustrations were about her ridiculous situation. Before she rode the ancient bicycle to MacNiven’s to let him cut her down some more, she decided to call Hopper and reason with him.

“It’s Titania Summerhill, and I have a proposition to make you,” she said the second he picked up.

“The only thing I want to hear from you is that you got MacNiven’s pictures.”

“Not yet,” she admitted, teeth gritted.

“Goodbye, Summerhill.”

She propped her fist on her hip. “Are you that scared of Cole?”

“Yes. Now leave me alone.” He hung up.

By the time she made it to MacNiven’s fortress of solitude, it was evening. At this rate she’d be living with her mother forever.

With a grim gaze, she punched the number to call up to his flat before she just let herself in.

“Yo,” Rowdy said, crackly, through the intercom.

“I’m going to buzz myself up.”

“Do it, Goldie.”

She pressed the series of numbers, and the door unlocked with a buzz. Rowdy was leaning in the doorway when she arrived. He wore a shirt with its sleeves ripped out and short athletic shorts that showed off massively muscled thighs.

Stopping in the hallway, Titania took out Psyche and quickly drew him into focus to take his picture. “I have something for you,” she said as she entered.

“Words every man longs to hear.”

She shook her head as she pulled out the framed photo from her bag. “It’s fancy, as you can see.”

He chuckled, his eyes bright like a child’s on Christmas. He turned the package over in his hands, sniffed it, and shook it. Then he unceremoniously ripped the wrapping from it, littering the floor.

He gasped when he saw it.

She pictured it herself. His face filled the frame, laughing, eyes crinkled but looking directly at the observer. His scars made a person wonder about him. He looked like he was laughing at himself, and it was the most amusing thing.

“I love it,” he declared.

She did, too. “That’s because I’m good.”

“You really are.” He chuckled. “So am I, and I have something for you, too.”

She set her bags on the floor next to the couch and followed him into the kitchen.

“It’s a pick-me-up.” He slid a glass of green sludge across the counter toward her. “You look like you need it.”

Titania wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see how a beverage that looks like verdant mud could make me happy. Unless it’s going to put me out of my misery?”

“You aren’t the type to give up.”

“What type am I?”

“A fighter. Same as Mac.” He took a large gulp of his own and then toasted her. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Shrugging, she downed some too. It was surprisingly sweet and fruity in taste. She frowned at it, wondering what sort of strange voodoo he’d concocted in the glass. “This is actually good. I may feel perkier.”

“I know.” He leaned against the counter behind him, staring at her over the rim of his glass.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You poisoned me and are waiting for me to keel over, aren’t you?”

“First you accuse me of kidnapping and now murder. Who do you think I am, a thug?” He nudged her foot with his. “Besides, I like you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You’re a straight shooter. You aren’t here to hurt Mac.”

She’d hit MacNiven over the head if it meant getting him to cooperate with the photo essay.

As if reading her mind, Rowdy said, “If I thought you were, you and I would have a talk.”

“And by
talk
, you mean you’ll break my arms.”

“Maybe a leg, too.”

“Threat duly noted, but I’m not interested in hurting him.” She just wanted to resuscitate her career. “I won’t humiliate him or make him look bad. I have a sister who’s famous, and she just went through bad press. I don’t work that way.”

“Who’s your sister? Would I know her?”

“Imogen Summerhill.”

“Imogen Summerhill is your sister?” Rowdy’s jaw dropped open. “The actress?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s
hot
.”

Titania rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re not bad, Goldie, but Imogen’s
smokin’
. Can you introduce me to her?”

“She’s taken.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want to meet her. Maybe you can take a picture of me with her so I can show off to my buddies.”

She shook her head, amused by his sudden fanboy enthusiasm. “I’ll see what I can do. I owe you for letting me in, because if it were up to MacNiven I’d be out on my ass.”

“Mac doesn’t know what’s good for him. That’s why I’m here.”

Titania picked up her camera and focused it on him. “You don’t mind if I take a couple pictures of you while you talk, do you?”

“Nah.” He leaned a shoulder in and flexed that bicep. “The camera loves me.”

She took that picture and then another one, capturing him laughing at himself, his eyes crinkled with unrepressed humor. That one was going to be a keeper. “You were saying you’re here for MacNiven.”

“Off the record?”

She lowered her camera to meet his eyes. “Off the record.”

“Mac’s been in a bad way since the accident. He needed a kick in the ass to get going again.” Rowdy jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I’m the ass kicker.”

“From what I read about him before, he seemed pretty disciplined.”

“He was. He still is, but the accident threw him for a loop.”

Pursing her lips, she said, “I read that he was the only one hurt.”

“The kid in the other car was lucky. Mac, not so much. Really, I feel sorrier for the kid.”

“It was definitely the kid’s fault, wasn’t it?” She’d read the speculation and the accounts, but now that she’d met MacNiven she knew he wasn’t reckless. Foul-humored, definitely. Reckless—especially about his career? Never.

“The kid drove too fast and lost control of his car.” Rowdy winced. “As bad off as Mac is, I think the kid got off worse. He’s the one who ended the career of one of the greatest athletes of the century.”

She stilled. “MacNiven’s career is ended?”

Rowdy scrubbed a hand over his head. “The doctors think so, but Mac doesn’t, so I don’t either. Mac wants his career back, so we’re getting his career back.”

The man’s face was set, brutal determination in every scarred line. Titania lifted the camera and took his picture, liking the warrior-like ferocity she found through the lens.

He pushed her camera down gently and leaned into her face. “I have Mac’s back. We’re brothers.”

Nodding, she put Psyche down and turned it off. “Got it.”

“So why are you here?”

Confused, she shook her head. “You know why. For the pictures.”

“But why? You keep coming back. There’s got to be other people you can take pictures of. You took pictures of Bono.”

Her frown deepened. “You looked me up?”

“Duh.” He looked at her like she was insane. “I told you, I got my boy’s back.”

“And I told you already. I dated the wrong guy and now I can’t sell anything to anyone.” She narrowed her eyes. “Off the record?”

“Dude.” He lifted his hands as if to ask who she took him for.

“I lost my apartment, and if I never make money again I’ll be living with my family forever, which is a death sentence.”

“Don’t get along with them?” he asked sympathetically.

She pursed her lips, trying to think of how to define her relationship with her family. She liked Chloe a lot, and Viola. Beatrice was still as bossy as ever, but she wasn’t awful. Summer she reserved judgment on.

And her Mother … Titania shook her head. She didn’t know what to think. The woman was trying to confuse her with her about-face, and it was working. “It’s complicated.”

“Family often is.” Rowdy studied her. “You may want to make money, but that’s not what drives you to take pictures. It’s your gift to the world. What would happen if you could never use your arms again?”

She shook her head, trying to imagine it. “I’d have nothing to live for.”

“Mac feels the same way about soccer.”

“And you and rugby?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have to stop one day. You can’t use your body as a battering ram forever. But I’ll figure out something I’m equally excited about. Mac’s different though. Soccer is his passion the way photography is yours.”