Anywhere You Are (15 page)

He could grow used to this—a hard day's work, coming home to a good dinner and a woman who lit him up in all the right ways. For so long, he'd been caught up in his own world. Yes, he wanted a quiet life, but quiet didn't mean work all the time. He wanted to share—his hopes, his dreams, his triumphs and his failures—with someone. With her.

And now that he'd found her, he didn't want to leave, though he knew he had to.

“I've got to go back to India again,” he said, looking out onto the pond.

She didn't turn to him. “When?”

“At the end of the week.”

“That stinks.”

Quietly, Grace slid her palm into his and gripped his hand tightly with her own.

At that moment, standing side-by-side with this woman who understood him, who supported him, who
cared where he was,
Marc knew his days of constant travel were coming to an end.

He still needed to hire someone to come on board to handle all the shit he didn't want to deal with overseas, but until then, he just had to keep plugging away, hoping that this deal would sort itself out and fast.

Because he'd figured out where he wanted to be—and it damned sure wasn't India. It was here, sharing quiet moments like these with Grace and his dog, in sleepy Eastbridge, Connecticut.

And he would do whatever it took to make sure he could.

It was a Saturday night in Manhattan and the noise in her dad's club was deafening. No wonder—over three hundred people had shown up. Technically, they were her parents' friends, or more accurately, her parents' business acquaintances, but Grace barely knew anyone.

Unfortunately, everyone seemed to know her. She'd been waylaid more times than she could count by people who thought they already had a connection with her—or people who wanted to. It was exhausting, being on display, making ridiculous small talk about unimportant things.

And the night was still way too young.

Had it been only yesterday that she was with Carolyn and Jane, sharing a bottle of wine and having a meaningful conversation on Carolyn's back porch overlooking Long Island Sound? They'd talked about work and family and life and love, and yet it seemed so long ago, a distant memory clanging around her aching skull.

Grace looked down at her empty wineglass and sighed. This was as far from that as she could get, and no amount of buzz was going to help her get through this evening.

Crystal appeared at her elbow. “Wine is fine, but liquor's quicker,” she shouted above the din. “Let me get you a scotch.”

“I should stick with wine. I've already had three glasses,” Grace yelled back.

“Four,” Crystal said. “Not that I'm counting or anything. Sure you don't want that scotch?”

Why had she agreed to come to her dad's party, anyway? Oh, yeah. Because she actually wanted to see her family. But that wasn't happening. Not in this crowd. Her dad was behind the bar and her mom was holding court in the center of throngs of admirers, with a camera crew recording everything, of course. And her idiot brothers were nowhere to be found.

“If I switch to liquor, things will get ugly.”

“Things are already ugly. I should cut you off now.” But because Crystal was a good friend, she handed over the mostly empty wine bottle they'd filched from behind the bar.

Gratefully, Grace took it. “One thing's for sure,” Grace said. “I'm going to need more than this to get through the night.” She tipped the bottle upside down, watching with dismay as the last few drops dripped into her glass. “Damn. All out.”

Crys gave her a sympathetic look. “I'll take care of it.”

Thank God for Crystal. Grace put the empty bottle down on the tall table behind her and sighed again.

She probably shouldn't even have come. In fact, she wouldn't have if her mom had asked, but her dad was the one who'd called—
Come celebrate your old man's new record deal, love!
—and for some reason, she found she couldn't say no. Not to him.

But if she'd known how crazy tonight was going to be and how little she'd even get to see of him, she would have. She
should
have.

It seemed like every time she tried to hang out with her family these days, it turned into a huge production. Like her dad's sixtieth birthday party a few months ago. What she'd thought was going to be a relaxing evening with family and a few close friends had turned into a rager with over a hundred people. Same thing tonight.

Marc was back in India. Again. And she'd left Big Blue with her parents' doorman for the night.

Funny, having the dog seemed to have opened up the floodgates to wanting other things, too. She missed her friends. She missed her family. And she definitely missed Marc.

Only problem was, the man traveled way too much and she wasn't going to see him again for another week.

Maybe she should take Crystal up on that scotch.

There was a tap on her shoulder.

She turned and looked up. Her mom was standing there, resplendent in a shimmery silver sleeveless sheath dress that showed off her long limbs to perfection. She was beyond gorgeous and damned if she didn't know it.

“Darling,” she said, bending her beautiful face down to Grace's. “I haven't seen you all evening.”

“Mom.” She submitted to the air kiss and to the close scrutiny that followed. Sophie gave her a once-up-once-down, taking in everything—her skintight jeans with kick-ass boots; a snug sleeveless top that showed off her small frame; a pair of dangly earrings, courtesy of Amber. Thickly curled hair. Smokey makeup that amped up her natural features. Stevie Nicks meets America's Top Model dressed for a night out at a rocker club in New York City.

She and Crystal had spent a couple of hours getting ready at Crystal's place before coming over. It had been the highlight of her evening—getting all dressed up with her best friend. She'd forgotten how much fun it could be to choose outfits, do hair and makeup, and figure out a game plan. She'd done it for herself, though by the gleam in her mom's eye, she clearly thought it had been strategic.

“You look incredible. Why aren't you mingling?”

“It's too crowded.”

“Well, that's part of the fun, now, isn't it? Have you spoken with your father? I think he wants to ask you something.”

Grace shook her head. “He's been busy.” He was still behind the bar and she guessed the novelty of slinging drinks in his own establishment hadn't worn off over the two years he'd owned the place, because he'd been there for over an hour already.

Sophie frowned. “I'll go tell him to get out from back there. In the meantime, go talk to Richard and Sally. They want to do a story on you for their September issue. Your coloring is perfect for autumn.”

“I didn't come here to talk to magazine people or to get photographed, Mom. I came to hang out with you and Dad.”
But you've been busy all night.

Sophie continued as if she hadn't just spoken. “They're over there by the stage and they're waiting for you. So is Ivan. He's just dying to do that photo shoot we discussed a while ago.”

“The photo shoot that I already told you I wasn't interested in doing.”

“Just go talk to him.” She reached out to stroke Grace's cheek. “My God, you look beautiful. And with those boots on, you have a few extra inches. Too bad you couldn't have grown just a little more.” She shrugged.
“C'est la vie!”

The music was too loud, the space constricting. Grace rubbed her temple. “Can you give it a rest for one night?”

“A good saleswoman is always on the job, Grace,” she said, turning her head. “Always. Oh, there's Ralston. I
must
speak with him. Go talk to your father.” And like that, her mom was gone in a swirl of hair and perfume.

Where the hell was Crystal? Grace had never needed a drink more. She scanned the crowd. Mistake. A beautiful, blond model—the hot British one with the eyebrows—took that as an invitation to come over. Her name was Gwen something. They'd met once at some kind of fashion event a few years ago and Gwen had thought they were BFFs from day one.

“Grace, hi,” Gwen said. More air kissing. “I've been meaning to come by and say hi the whole night. How
are
you?” Ever conscious of being photographed, the woman adopted a casually interested expression.

“Fine. How are you?” It was easier to get her talking about herself, and Gwen obliged, name-dropping like there was no tomorrow. This was their common language. Their currency. And that was when Grace realized how little she knew this woman. How little she'd ever known her.

The model was still talking at her, or rather, talking down to her, given that she was half a foot taller than Grace, saying something about a recent show and Sophie and how cool it was to be here with all these amazing people. There probably were amazing people here, somewhere, beneath all the pretense.

“Sophie told me you'd been gone for a while. Where were you?” Gwen asked, her expression eager. “London? Paris? Rome?”

“Eastbridge.”

“Eastbridge?” Her eyes widened. “Where's that?”

“Connecticut.”

Gwen's expression changed from one of curiosity to one of confusion. “But why?”

“It's the best place to paint wildlife. I paint. Did my mom tell you that?” Gwen shook her head. “Ah. I think she doesn't quite understand it, which is why she doesn't talk about it, but it's what I do. I'm an artist. Wildlife. Nature.”

When Gwen realized Grace wasn't going to talk fashion, her eyes glazed over. “I can't imagine doing something like that.”

“Why not?” Grace countered. “You do it every day.”

“I'm a model.”

“Exactly. You're the canvas and someone else paints their vision on you—with makeup, with clothes. It's kind of the same thing.”

“I can't see how. And I definitely wouldn't want to live in
Connecticut
to do it.” She dropped the name of the state like it was a dirty word.

Crystal finally found them. She came up, clutching a large bottle of wine, and sized up the situation in a heartbeat. Like only Crystal could do, she threw her shoulders back and gave the girl a completely insincere smile. “It's Gwen, right?
So
good to see you again. You looked amazing at the Prada show. Like, crazy good, girl.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said, lapping up the praise. “It was a blast.”

“Oh,” Crys said, her eyes widening, as she looked over the girl's shoulders. “I think I see Patrick McMullan over there.”

“Where?” The model swiveled around to see if she could catch a glimpse of the famous society photographer.

Crystal pointed. “Over there, near the exit sign. Oh no. He's leaving! If you hurry I bet you can just catch him.”

The young model murmured something and scurried off in the direction Crystal had pointed.

“You're evil,” Grace told Crystal.

Crystal shrugged and topped off Grace's glass. “She was being a bitch to you.”

“She was just being herself. Besides, you're a bitch to me all the time.”

“I'm your best friend,” Crystal informed her. “So it's allowed.”

“I'll drink to that.”

They clinked glasses and drank, the wine sliding down her throat.

“Hang in there, babe,” Crystal said. “I think you could leave anytime. And we can cab it back to my place and sleep in tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Grace sighed and took a sip of her wine. She couldn't even taste it anymore, which made her sad.

“I'm just wondering what the hell I'm doing here.”

Crystal said, “Honestly, I'm wondering the same thing. But you told me you were coming and of course I'm coming to support you. This isn't really your scene anymore, is it?”

No. It really wasn't. But she'd promised she'd come, and she always kept her promises, no matter how painful they might be.

“I need to talk to my dad.”

“Okay,” Crystal said. “I'll be hanging out in back, all right? It's got to be quieter back there than it is out here.” There were a bunch of rooms that her dad reserved for private parties, though tonight they were all available for use.

Grace nodded. “I'll come find you when I'm done.”

Crystal disappeared again, and gritting her teeth, Grace made her way through the crowd to the bar. It was jammed, but luckily a guy recognized her and made room. Her dad was there, looking larger than life.

Jerry Davingham was sixty years old, but he still had that wiry build that lent itself to being dressed in skinny jeans, low-slung grommet belts, and death metal T-shirts, which he wore without the least bit of irony. He was a guitar god, a rocker to the core with a craggy face, wild hair, and of course, those magic hands. He'd founded Evergood more than three decades ago, but he still sold out stadiums all over the world whenever he and the band went on tour.

He was a rock star, a legend, a sex symbol.

To her, he was just Dad.

“Dad!” she yelled across the oaken slab.

He turned and smiled when he saw her. “Gracie.” He leaned across the bar and gave her a kiss. “Glad you could make it. How're you holding up? Got enough to drink?” That was her dad, all right. Going right for what mattered.

Grace held up the entire bottle of wine. “Plenty.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good, good.”

“Mom says you want to talk to me.”

His eyes went guarded then. “Ah, later, love. I've got guests. You talk to Sledge?” He indicated a grizzled man sitting down the bar. Evergood's drummer. “He's been dying to say hello.” Sledge regarded her and lifted his glass in salute.

She smiled at him but turned back to her dad. “I won't be around later. Besides, I want to talk to you, too,” Grace pressed.

Her dad paused and glanced over at the other bartenders—the real bartenders—and gave one of them a nod. Then he wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it aside, signaling for Grace to follow him to the corner of the bar where they could have some relative privacy.

“I've missed you,” she told him. “Just us, hanging out.”

“Haven't got as much time for that, given that your mum's been on a tear lately.”

“Speaking of Mom, do you think you could get her off my back? I think she thinks that me being here tonight means I'm interested in coming back on the show, and I'm not.”

He sighed and leaned his forearms on the bar. “Your mum wants a lot of things for you, Gracie.”

“I know. But they don't seem to be the things
I
want.”

“You've got to understand, you come back to the city, looking like you do…she gets excited. Thinking maybe her girl's coming back to her.”

“I'm part of the family,” Grace said. “Of course I'm coming back. I just don't want to be on the show or part of this exhibitionist life.”

“To her, that
is
the family. We're art, baby. The whole lot of us. And the public wants to see.”

“You sound just like her, now,” Grace said bitterly.

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. For a moment she didn't understand. This was her dad—the man who supported her no matter what, even when her mom didn't. The man who'd championed for her art, for her to move to Eastbridge, if that's what she really wanted. So why was he backpedaling?