“You are so welcome. You know I always have your back. Now have fun in hillbilly town.”
“It’s not like that. It’s really nice here.”
“Oh no. Not you too. Please tell me you’re not going to marry a park ranger and move to Appalachia for good.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I did, you’d be the first to know.”
“What is in the water there? That all these gorgeous women can’t seem to leave once they’ve been mounted by a Mountie.”
“Wrong country. Mounties are in Canada.” I glanced at the clock above the stove, just after 7:00 AM. I still had time before I needed to be at Sienna’s. “Wait, Domino.”
“Yes?”
“What time are you going to sleep?”
“Maybe six.”
“Could you call Sasha before you do? Ask her to fly out here with—uh—Dave and Miguel?” Dave and Miguel were my favorite bodyguards. They made me laugh and never voiced opinions about what I wore or what I did unless they were teasing (the good kind of teasing).
Also, Dave used to be Sienna’s guard years and years ago. He knew the area better than anyone else on my team because he’d been here before. Yes, Dave and Miguel made the most sense as my traveling security team for now. “Tell her to bring clothes and things for me to stay another month.”
Being out here for another month without security would be just plain dumb. Two weeks, mostly anonymous, staying on Sienna’s property was one thing. But word of my location would be all over social media by now. All the crazies would know I was in Green Valley, and only two of my restraining order nuts were currently in jail.
“Yes. Sure. No problem. I’ll call Sasha.”
“But only after six your time. Don’t wake her up. And have Dave and Miguel pack for a stay of at least a month. Please.”
“You got it, boss. By the way,” I heard the smile in his voice, “you sound great. Clearheaded, focused. Like a badass. Whatever is in that Mountie water must be agreeing with you.”
I ended the call rolling my eyes at his silliness, but also grinning, and I marveled at the change in me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ended an industry call with a smile on my face. Perhaps the water in Green Valley was magical.
Or maybe I was smiling because I had a second chance at that role I’d wanted so badly, assuming Gavin hadn’t substantively changed my character. My heart buoyed, and I felt like if I didn’t tell someone the good news, I might burst.
You should call Jackson!
The odd thought flashed through my mind, completely unbidden, and I dismissed it immediately. He wasn’t my . . . well, he wasn’t my anything. An acquaintance I really liked, a man I happened to admire and was breathlessly attracted to, but not the first person I should be thinking about when I had good news to share.
And, you know, he probably wasn’t in any mood to speak to me about anything at present.
Picking up my phone again, I called my mom. We didn’t talk often or with any regularity, just once every other a month or so. She often traveled for speaking engagements. Syncing our schedules had become difficult once my acting career had taken off.
The phone rang and rang, and I bit the inside of my lip. I hoped she wasn’t in Hawaii or Alaska or someplace like that, where the time difference meant it would be the middle of the night. Second-guessing myself, I was just about to hang up when she finally answered.
“Raquel! What a lovely surprise. Hello!”
“Hi, Mom.” I smiled. A surge of homesickness sent a stinging rush of moisture to my eyes, and I laughed at myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just so good to hear your voice.”
“You too. What’s up? Why are you calling your mother? Not that I’m complaining.” The sound of people speaking in a different language came through the line. It was muffled and distant, and I couldn’t quite place it.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Italy.”
“What?” This was a surprise.
“For work. We’re in Rome.”
“Oh. Will you see—”
“It’s a work trip. They don’t know I’m here.”
“They” referred to her parents, my grandparents. I’d met them only a handful of times as they lived in a north Italian village that made Green Valley look like a metropolis. We’d visited for the last time when I was twelve and things had been tense. Since I didn’t speak Italian, I had to rely on my knowledge of Latin—which I’d never spoken, only read—to follow the heated conversations.
“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t want to talk about her parents with her. The only subject that made her angrier was my father. “Are you having a good time?”
“Yes. Very. But I want to hear about you. You sound great!”
“Thank you. I feel great.” I floated over to the couch and sat. “I took a vacation.”
“How wonderful! Good for you! You work too hard. No wonder you sound so relaxed. Did that Sasha come with you?”
“No. Actually, no one did.”
“Raquel, what about security?” A frightened edge entered her voice. “After that man last year—”
“It’s fine. For the last two weeks, I was on my own. I’m staying with a friend, Sienna Diaz. I don’t know if you’ve seen any of her movies.” My mother had no interest in film or television, preferring to debate the writings of people who’d been dead for three thousand years.
When I talked about modern remakes of the classics, she always assumed I meant the writings of Empedocles and Plotinus. This also meant she remained one of the three people on the planet who didn’t recognize Sienna Diaz by name.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is. But you’re staying with your actress friend and it’s safe? She has guards too?”
“She basically lives in this huge compound,” I hedged, quickly adding, “And my security team is flying out tomorrow. Dave and Miguel will be staying with me for the next month while I’m here.”
“Where are you?”
“In Tennessee, but that’s not why I’m calling. I have good news.” I shifted forward on the couch until I sat on the edge of my seat, resting my elbow on my knee.
“Oh! I love your good news. Tell me.”
“You know that film part I told you about? The period piece about the prostitute?”
“Yes. You were very excited about the part. How is it going? Did filming start?” My mother sounded eager for information.
When I’d originally told her about the role, I’d been worried she would hate me playing a prostitute. She hadn’t. She’d loved the idea. She loved that I’d be playing a role about a woman who lived life on her own terms and exploited men’s desires to get what she wanted.
“Well, at the end of May, they called me and told me I’d been replaced by Lina.”
“What? Lina?” She sounded confused.
“You know, my friend from—”
“WHAT?!” she roared, and then started speaking in Italian. Rapid, angry Italian. I caught a few curse words and insults—cretino, coglione, che testa di cazzo—and I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. My mother might’ve felt constricted by her upbringing, but when she was angry, she fully embraced her roots.