self made her wince. Thank heavens she had outgrown that phase.
Maturity and a sense of perspective enabled her to be glad that her parents were far more invested in Cammie’s life than they had ever been in their own daughter’s. Perhaps grandparenthood had changed them.
Olivia’s determination to live a solidly middle class life baffled Lolita and Javier, and they did their best to thwart her at every turn, genuinely convinced that money was meant to be spent.
The weekend party was an example of the lifestyle Olivia had tried so hard to escape. It wasn’t good for a child to understand that she could have anything she wanted. Even if Olivia died penniless—and that wasn’t likely—Cammie stood to inherit millions of dollars from her grandparents.
Money spoiled people. Olivia knew that firsthand. Growing up in Hollywood was a lesson in overindulgence and narcissism.
Cammie finally smiled, satisfied with her second attempt. “I wish Lolo had a refrigerator. My friend Aya, at preschool, says her nana hangs stuff on the front of the refrigerator.”
Olivia smiled at her daughter’s bent head. Lolo owned several refrigerators, all in different kitchens spread from L.A. to New York to Paris. But it was doubtful she ever opened one, much less decorated any of them with Cammie’s artwork. Lolita Delgado had “people” to deal with that. In fact, she had an entourage to handle every detail of her tempestuous life.
“Lolo will love your drawing, Cammie, and so will Jojo.” Olivia’s father, Javier, wasn’t crazy about his nickname, but he doted on his granddaughter, probably—in addition to the ties of blood—because she gave him what he craved the most. Unrestrained adoration.
Cammie bounced to her feet. “I’m gonna get my backpack. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Slow down, baby….” But it was too late. Cammie ran at her usual pace up the stairs, determined to be ready and waiting by the door when the limo arrived. Olivia’s parents were taking Cammie to Euro Disney for a few days in conjunction with a film award they were both receiving in Florence.
Olivia had argued that the trip was too much on the heels of the over-the-top birthday party, but in the end she had been unable to hold out against Cammie’s beseeching eyes and tight hugs. The two adults and one child, when teamed against Olivia, made a formidable opponent.
Cammie reappeared, backpack in hand. Olivia had her suitcase ready. “Promise me you’ll be good for your grandparents.”
Cammie rolled her eyes in a manner far too advanced for her years. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it.”
The doorbell rang. Cammie’s screech nearly peeled the paint from the walls. “Bye, Mommy.”
Olivia followed her out to the car. In the flurry of activity over getting one excited five-year-old settled in the vehicle, Lolita and Javier managed to appear both pleased and sophisticated as they absorbed their granddaughter’s enthusiasm.
Olivia gave her mother a hug, careful not to rumple her vintage Chanel suit. “Please don’t spoil her.” For one fleeting second, Olivia wanted to share the truth about Kieran with her parents. To beg for guidance. She had never divulged a single detail about her daughter’s parentage to anyone.
But the moment passed when Javier bussed his daughter’s cheek with a wide grin. “It’s what we do best, Olivia.”
The house was silent in the aftermath of the exodus. Without the distraction of Cammie, the evening with Kieran loomed menacingly. Olivia wandered from room to room, too restless to work. Cammie would be going to kindergarten very soon. Olivia had mixed emotions about the prospect. She knew that her highly intelligent daughter would thrive in an academic environment and that the socialization skills she acquired with children her own age would be very important.
But it had been just the two of them for so long.
And now Kieran seemed poised to upset the apple cart.
When Olivia felt her eyes sting, she made a concerted effort to shake off the maudlin mood. Life was good. Her days were filled with family, a job she adored and a cadre of close, trusted friends. Kieran wasn’t part of the package. And she was glad. She had made the right choice in protecting Cammie from his selfishness.
And she would continue to do so.
The remainder of the day was a total loss. She had a series of watercolors due for her book publisher in less than two weeks, but putting the finishing touches on the last picture in the set was more than she could handle today. She loved her work as a children’s illustrator, and it gave her flexibility to spend lots of time with Cammie.
But the concentration required for her best efforts was beyond her right now. Instead, she prowled her small house, unable to stem the tide of memories.
They had met as expatriate grad students at a traditional English country house party hosted by mutual friends. With only six weeks of the term left, each knew the relationship had a preordained end. But in Olivia’s case, with stars in her eyes and a heart that was head-over-heels in lust with the handsome, charismatic Kevin Wade, she’d spun fairy tales of continuing their affair back in the U.S.
It hadn’t quite turned out that way. During the final days of exam week, “Kevin” had simply disappeared with nothing more than a brief note to say goodbye. Thinking about that terrible time made Olivia’s stomach churn with nausea. Her fledgling love had morphed into hate, and she’d done her best to turn her back on any memory of the boy who broke her heart. And fathered her child.
After a quick shower, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Even if Olivia wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she would never have stood a chance in Hollywood. She was twenty pounds too heavy, and though today’s pool of actresses was more diverse, many directors still preferred willowy blondes. Olivia was neither.
By the time the limo pulled up in front of her house, Olivia was a wreck. But since birth, she’d been taught “the show must go on” mantra, and to the world, Olivia Delgado was unflappable. For six years, she had spun lies to protect her daughter, to make a life so unexceptionable that the tabloids had long since left her alone.
An unwed mother in Hollywood was boring news. As long as no one discovered the father was a Wolff.
Tonight Olivia would be no less discreet.
She had dressed to play a part. Confident and chic were the qualities she planned to convey with her taupe linen tank dress and coral sandals. Though she had not inherited an iota of her parents’ love for acting, she had inevitably learned from them along the way what it meant to present a serene face to the world, no matter if your life was in ruins.
Kieran Wolff’s hotel was tucked away in a quiet back street of Santa Monica. Exclusive, discreet and no doubt wildly expensive, it catered to those whose utmost wish was privacy. The manager, himself, actually escorted Olivia to the fifth floor suite.
After that, she was left to stand alone at the door. Instead of knocking, she took a few seconds to contemplate fleeing the country. Cammie was everything to her, and the prospect of losing her child was impossible to imagine.
But such thoughts were defeatist. Though she might not be able to go toe-to-toe with the Wolff empire when it came to bank accounts, Olivia did have considerable financial means at her disposal. In a legal battle, she could hold her own. And judges often sided with a mother, particularly in this situation.
She had no notion of what awaited her on the other side of the door, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Kieran Wolff didn’t deserve to be a father. And if it came to that, she would tell him so.
Deliberately taking a moment to shore up her nerve, she rapped sharply at the door and took a deep breath.
Kieran had worn a trail in the carpet by the time his reluctant guest arrived. When he yanked open the door and saw her standing in the vestibule, his gut pitched and tightened. God, she was gorgeous. Every male hormone he possessed