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Chapter 11
“ ‘Schiller Park was established in 1867,’ ” Allie reads from a plaque.
The sun is bright, and thanks to zero clouds in the sky, hot. The park looks like any park with its wide grassy sprawls and tall leafy trees lining the perimeter. Beds of brightly colored flowers dot the landscape, interspersed with works of art: statues, fountains, and more plaques.
Allie and I are here on a Saturday afternoon for the express purpose of her being recognized and photographed. I’m the bait.
“Where to?” I ask as we wander down a cobblestone walkway and past flower beds. We can hear kids in the distance—there’s a playground over the hill.
“Not over there,” she decides. “Somewhere romantic.”
Romantic. There’s a word I haven’t attributed to this woman in a long, long time.
I’m carrying the tote she handed me when I picked her up. It’s canvas and outfitted inside to hold a wine bottle, glasses, cutlery, and plates. She told me on the way over that she’d stuffed it with picnic wares like cheese and crackers, smoked salmon, “and other stuff.”
“Somewhere romantic with the Nina Lockhart. I’m honored.”
She rolls her eyes, taking my hand to drag me off to the perfect setting for public outing number one. Once, her fingers could link with mine in the easiest, most effortless way. Today that’s not the case. We’re trying hard. Too hard.
We’re putting on a show for ourselves and whoever’s watching…if anyone is watching.
“You’d better step it up,” she murmurs as she angles toward a large tree. She has a blanket tucked under her arm. She’s wearing a short floral-patterned dress and those tall wedge sandals that are going to be the death of me. Her toenails are no longer siren hot pink but sultry turquoise blue instead.
God help me.
I threw on cargo shorts and a tee without a logo—her request. When I showed up and told her this was the best I could do, she grinned and told me I looked perfect. I’m not sure if she meant that as a compliment, or meant that I was camera-ready.
She spreads the blanket over a patch of grass as a gentle breeze teases along the hem of her skirt. I catch a peek of her thighs when the wind ruffles her dress again and my chest tightens. I feel weird about being here, doing this with her. If we were alone—and I was sure we were alone—I wouldn’t hesitate to flirt. Doing it on demand is harder for some reason.
“Better watch you don’t flash your panties to the waiting paps,” I tease.
Sunglasses hide her eyes, but her smile is comfortable.
“I’ve been seen in my underwear on television countless times, Burke.”
Again with the “Burke.” What’s with that?
Carefully, she lowers herself onto the blanket and demurely crosses her legs to one side. I join her, handing over the bag and letting her set the stage. Since it’s a gorgeous Saturday, several people are in the park walking and admiring the statues and fountains. Nearest us, three guys throw a Frisbee, and a couple pushes a stroller.
“Baby or dog?”
“What?” I look around for a baby who could look like a dog or a dog that could be mistaken for a baby and see neither.
“In the stroller,” she says as she unwraps a sleeve of crackers.
“Why would there be a dog in a stroller?”
“It happens a lot in L.A.”
“That’s horrifying.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, her smile soft, and then stabs a short-handled cheese knife into a round of brie.
I rub my palms together, inspecting the stroller couple, the guys on the hill, wondering if they’ll recognize Allie/Nina or if we’ll have to sit out here half the afternoon waiting for someone to notice us. Knowing someone is watching, or could be, is nerve-racking.
“How do you stand this? The possibility of being watched all the time.”
“I’m an actress. I love attention.” Her tone is condescending and her smile practiced. I know that’s not true. She followed her heart to California because she loved the screen, loved to act, and loved to pretend. She believed it was destiny and fate and karma all balled into one when her aunt called her about that internship. I remember her nervous excitement when she told me she was flying out for a visit. And the ache in my gut when I knew for sure she was leaving. Leaving to become bigger and better than Ohio.
