the biggest actors here yet?” Phoebe didn’t think she’d be able to pull a real Skye move and personally introduce herself to the key players ahead of the gala, but she did want to be prepared.
“Not officially.” Mara watched as Phoebe transformed into Skye. Amber had started to blow-dry her hair using a ridiculously huge round brush, and both Mara and Phoebe were shouting over the dryer’s roar.
“But?”
Mara shrugged as she watched Amber brush out a long length of hair close to Phoebe’s temple and curl it backward, aiming the dryer nozzle to set the curl. “Several have checked in under their assumed names.”
“Do we have Mr. Sherlock Holmes or Ms. Elizabeth Bennett here?”
“No, nothing that obvious.”
“Mom? Who is it?” It wasn’t like Mara to be cagey or without information she could trust Phoebe with.
“The lead.”
“Prescott Reynolds?” Immediately the image of two aquamarine-blue eyes flashed in front of her mind’s eye. They drew her attention every time she saw a photo of the actor, or caught one of his movies. Tall, with dark hair and a cut body that he’d partially bared in more than one romantic scene, he fit the description of “tall, dark and handsome” but she sensed something else there, maybe true depth to his personality that so far, many of the men she’d dated had lacked. Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. Phoebe wasn’t one for celebrity culture and gossip—that was more Skye’s department. But he had starred in several historical dramas that she’d adored, not only for the beautiful settings and superb cinematography.
“Yummy.” Amber didn’t hide her opinion of the Oscar-nominated star.
“Yes.” Mara spoke so quietly it was only the movement of her lips that conveyed her response over the hair dryer’s noise. She looked at her with the same eyes Phoebe and Skye had. “Prescott is here already, but I haven’t seen him.”
“Well, we’ll meet him tonight.” Which was soon enough for her. Skye was going to show up, wasn’t she?
Not if Phoebe went by her twin’s last text.
Amber clicked off the dryer. “Okay, close your eyes while I spray.”
She closed her eyes and tried to relax as Amber doled out what felt like half a container of hairspray onto her “Skye” coif. After she was done, her mother and Amber fussed over her makeup application, matching her style exactly to Skye’s. While they were indeed identical twins, their personalities reflected in clothing styles as well as hair and makeup preferences. Skye loved more sparkling shades of eye shadow and lipstick, while Phoebe gravitated toward a more natural, polished look. And while Phoebe had intended to cut her hair after the festival, her cut would have been a fun chin-length bob, not the longish layers that required hot rollers and half a paycheck’s worth of hairspray.
It didn’t matter, though, as she’d peeked at the finished style and figured cutting off several more inches to attain the bob wouldn’t be a problem. She’d just have to wait until either Skye returned or the festival ended.
Annoyance flashed in her gut. Why was she so agreeable all the time?
“Here, let’s use Skye’s favorite perfume on you.” Her mother plucked a round glass bottle from the spa’s vanity.
Phoebe held up her hands, causing Amber to freeze midair with the mascara wand. “No. I am not going to smell like Skye. Look like her, act like her, fine. Please hand me the clear bottle, that one.” She pointed at her favorite scent, a very light floral with tones of linen. Skye’s signature scent was musky and overtly sensual. Phoebe liked it, too—on Skye.
For the next hour Phoebe could pretend that the worst thing facing The Chateau and the Coltons was her having to pose as her twin. It was impossible to forget the ever-present fear that smothered her positive ideas whenever she wondered why Skye hadn’t texted back again. Her thoughts kept jumping to the horrible conclusion that the Avalanche Killer had somehow found Skye and harmed her.
Stop it. She texted back, she’s fine.
Yeah, staying present by helping Mara and Amber pick out the makeup Skye would wear was a much better place to stay in.
* * *
Prescott liked his private time but could only stay in his hotel room for so long. He’d checked in to The Chateau last night under an assumed name, as he didn’t want the staff fussing over him before the big premiere. The staff knew their jobs well and never blinked when he’d presented his credit card. He’d noticed a few extra glances here and there, but no one had approached him for a selfie, and no camera phones had been aimed at him. None that he could see, anyway.
The hotel was remarkable. Unlike so many high-end places he’d stayed in around the world, The Chateau wasn’t just a catchy name. The entire building was styled like a French countryside manor, only larger. The huge fieldstone hearth in the entrance lobby looked like the perfect place to relax après ski, and it proved a good space to hunker down on an overstuffed leather chair, his baseball cap pulled low to hide his face. The coffee was excellent, and he’d enjoyed an espresso this morning but now was sipping a freshly made iced tea. He’d have to go upstairs to his room in a few minutes and get ready for the gala tonight, but right now he was enjoying people watching.
Prescott liked people, and he gained tremendous satisfaction from playing different characters on film and stage. His film career had soared over the past five years, but given his druthers he’d take a stage production any day.
The dream he’d nurtured for the past year or so was to open a summer theater back in his Iowa hometown. A place for young kids like he’d been to go and find themselves amid the rich stories playwrights provided, from Greek tragedy to contemporary, avant-garde works.
A flash of red, the distinct shade he’d first laid eyes on this morning in the copse of aspen trees, caught his attention. The same woman he’d seen on the trail walked past him and began to climb the stairs to the grand ballroom. He knew where the impressive stairs led, as he’d already memorized the layout of the hotel. His privacy had necessitated he know every nook and cranny to escape to if the paparazzi became rabid.
She wasn’t in running clothes any longer, and her hair was styled to show off the unique hue. From her profile he saw that she was wearing makeup, a little much for his taste, but he was used to being around women who enjoyed dolling themselves up. It was all part of being an actor.
This woman intrigued him when she shouldn’t. And yet as she’d walked by, oblivious to him, he’d caught a whiff of floral perfume that captured him like a trout in a net. The sight of her profile again, this time with makeup on and offset by the backdrop of the luxurious resort, struck a chord deep inside him. Prescott wasn’t a stranger to immediate attraction but this took it to a new place for him. Besides the obvious physical pull of her beauty, he sensed the potential for something deeper, more meaningful, between them.
What the heck was going on with him?
She wasn’t wearing anything exciting, and her business suit didn’t show off her curves as well as her workout clothing had. Still, in the view he had of her backside, there was no denying her very feminine shape under the jacket and dress pants. Insta-lust made him pause, not wanting to get an erection in public.
You’ve been alone too long.
After what he’d been through with his ex, he knew better than to even look twice at this stunning woman. But he couldn’t help himself. Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Nor how relieved he’d felt when he’d realized she wasn’t trailing him. It was always in the back of his mind that Ariella could show up again, and her penchant for ugliness wasn’t something he relished. He’d been drawn to Ariella’s intelligence and quick wit. And it had worked for a while, until her true nature of career-climbing at the expense of the men in her life reappeared. Or maybe he’d simply come out of his denial about