Ian shook his head, and Darren stayed where he was.
“Excuse us a moment,” Ian said smoothly with an artificial smile.
I hated that I knew him well enough by now to know that it was fake.
The puffy-jacket-wearing strangers watched us with interest, but it was Della who spoke. “Of course, Dorian. We make time for what’s important in life.”
She sounded like a television psychic mixed with a Magic 8 Ball, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
Ian led me away from the tent, past the hungry gazes of curious onlookers, to the back side of a small trailer. Secluded as we were and facing away from the set, the landscape looked familiar in this direction. Trees I recognized and a field I’d plowed back in the spring. Something settled into place, and I was finally able to take a deep breath.
But then Ian stepped in front of me, stealing my focus. “What did you need to discuss?”
“What was that all about? An NDA, Ian? What the hell?”
Ian swallowed visibly. “It’s for—it’s to keep him safe.”
“Who?” I practically demanded.
There was no one nearby, no one to overhear, but Ian still lowered his voice. “Georgie.”
Confusion must have shown on my face, because he sighed and admitted, “No one knows about my nephew, Joan. And I want to keep it that way. Just because he’s saddled with me doesn’t mean he should be subjected to the media and rumors. I want him to have a normal life.” Then he winced, as if remembering he was, in fact, a fucking movie star who wouldn’t know normal even if it hit him in the face. “Well, as normal a life as possible.”
I felt the tension in my jaw loosen. “He’s your nephew?”
Ian hesitated. “My sister died last year.”
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, reflexive but sincere.
“And my parents aren’t able to care for a little kid. So he’s living with me. And we’re making it work, even with . . .” He gestured with his hands, as if he could encompass the film and the set and the giant spectacle that was his life. “Everything. I didn’t know he was with you until yesterday. He’s been running off, leaving the house to go explore. Scared the shit out of Sophia—his nanny—when he ignored her and didn’t come back yesterday.”
Well, I’d wondered where George was coming from. Now I knew. Sadness and empathy welled within me for the quiet little boy.
“At first, I thought his family was visiting the orchard,” I confessed. “But with the timing of the crew’s arrival, I assumed he’d wandered away from the set.”
Ian nodded like that made sense. “But I can’t have anyone finding out about him. We’ll never have any peace. Paparazzi will hound us, and they’ll do their research. They’ll track down my parents, looking for a story. Georgie is too—I don’t want to make things worse. He’s been uprooted enough as it is. This lifestyle ... it’s not for children. I’m trying to figure things out, but I can’t—I don’t want?—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said quickly, placing a staying hand on his forearm and regretting it immediately. I’d never seen Ian like this, so unsure, so unsteady. I’d only ever witnessed the carefree flirt, the confident movie star, the charming figurehead. This, I realized, was the uncle who was very afraid of fucking it all up. “I won’t say anything. I signed the form. I won’t tell anyone about George.”
I would need to tell my sister and my friends to keep their traps shut about what I’d already divulged, but they would.
Ian nodded, relief plain on his face.
“What about the film people here?” I asked. “Or your friends back home? Do they know about your nephew?”
But Ian was already shaking his head. “Della knows. That’s it. And my team, of course—my assistant, my manager. I don’t have anyone back—” He cut himself off abruptly and looked away.
I felt surprise slice through me, enough that I shifted on my feet. Was Dorian Masters about to admit he didn’t have friends to confide in about George? Surely, that couldn’t be right.
“There’s no one else,” he finally acknowledged.
Again, the urge was there to offer a comforting touch, a squeeze of my hand, but I resisted, and I said, instead, “Okay. Alright.”
I understood the reason for the secrecy. I thought of the solemn little boy who was thoughtful and inquisitive but rarely smiled, and my heart squeezed. The honor-questioning, righteous indignation I’d marched over here with had fizzled out, a firework flaring bright before burning down to nothing.
My fury may have faded, but I still had more questions. Where was George’s father? Why were Ian’s parents unable to care for their grandson? Why was he running away from his nanny?
At least her name wasn’t Gloria.
