The Wedding Fling. Meg Maguire
“Nearly. I know, it sounds awful.”
“Sounds typical, though. The Hollywood crowd aren’t known for their stellar marital track record.”
Leigh nodded. “My fiancé—the guy he used to be, anyhow—I would’ve married him, no hesitation. But by the time the big day arrived, he was different. And it’s so easy in that world to tell yourself, ‘things will be normal again, after X happens.’ Your movie wraps or the ink dries on your next contract. But X happens and things don’t just go back to normal. Normal is something you opt out of when you sign up to be part of the entertainment business.”
“Lots of people dream of having what you do.”
“I know they do.”
“But not you.”
She sipped her beer, considering. “I never wanted to be famous. I was seventeen and all I wanted to do was dance, and maybe see if I could build a life out of it. The fame was a fluke, but it had its own momentum, especially when I saw how proud it made my parents. I’m sort of a people pleaser. Okay, I’m a massive people pleaser.”
Will laughed, the rich sound as relaxing as the alcohol. As warm and intimate as she imagined his breath might feel on her neck.
“It’s hard for me to admit I don’t want any of it anymore,” Leigh said, “knowing how ungrateful so many people would say I was if I quit.”
“Fans, you mean?”
“Fans, sure. But there’s way more guilt about your family, for whatever they may have sacrificed. And from all the people who believed in your talent, pushed you and promoted you. But I also know I’m expendable. I’m not the ‘it’ girl-next-door, twenty-year-old actress anymore.”
He finally met her eyes, his blue ones seeming as bright in the torchlight as they were in the sunshine. “Washed up at twenty-five? That’s harsh.”
“Twenty-seven, but yeah. I’m a certain kind of commodity, and my time’s peaked. There’s an army of perky replacements happy to take my old roles.”
“Ouch.”
She laughed. “Yeah, my expiration date’s fast approaching.”
They shared a smile, again lingering just longer than was innocent. Her gaze moved to his bare chest before she got hold of herself and turned to watch the party on the beach. People were eating and laughing, and more musicians had joined the drummer, as children danced in the sand.
“So what do you want to do?” Will asked. “If your dream of becoming a nobody comes true.”
She kept her eyes on the party. “I want to dance.”
“Like on stage or—”
“No, right now. I want to dance.” No thoughts of what to do once she got home. Just enjoy the present, the simple pleasures of this place.
She sloshed to shore and left her bottle in a milk crate full of empties. The two children who’d run past earlier were hopping and gyrating before the band, and as Leigh approached they looked up at her, curious.
“What’s the best dance you guys know?” Leigh asked them.
After a pause, the older child demonstrated her moves, a hip-thrusting motion accompanied by a rolling of her narrow shoulders, bawdy if not for the fact the kid was only about ten. Leigh mimicked the choreography, earning herself a hesitant grin.
“Look, look,” said the younger girl. She offered her own signature moves, something equally raunchy she must have stolen from a music video. Leigh gave it a go, until the little girl dissolved into giggles.
“What?”
The child pointed to Leigh’s butt.
“You got no ass,” said the older girl.
Leigh laughed, faking offense. “Sure I do.”
“You all flat back there. Like all them skinny, rich white ladies.”
“I can’t help that.”
“You oughta eat more,” the smaller girl announced loudly, earning a reprimand and waggle of grill tongs from her mother. “Sorry.”
“Anyhow,” Leigh said, “you can dance with whatever size butt you’ve got. Show me any moves you have, I bet I can do them as well as you.”
“Bet you can’t,” the older girl taunted.
“Bet I can. Go on, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Will wandered over. “Careful, girls. She was in a movie about a dancer and everything.”
For a stinging second, his comment made Leigh feel like even more of an outsider, but she was grateful for the credibility it seemed to earn her with this tough crowd. Two sets of eyes widened. “You was in a movie?”
“I was. And I was the star. It was about a girl who learned how to tango. You want to see?”
Vigorous nods answered her.
Leigh demonstrated a flourish of moves, and her skeptical audience warmed before her eyes.
“That’s cool,” the bossy girl said. “How you do that?”
Leigh offered lessons, accepted tips in return from her young acquaintances. Before long the grown-ups were finishing their dinners and fetching fresh drinks, dancing in pairs on the sand. Seeking a partner of her own, Leigh scanned the growing crowd, but found Will busy at the grill, giving their pregnant hostess a break. No matter.
Leigh danced by herself, enjoying the beat and the atmosphere, the flicker of firelight and the deep indigo of the sky overhead. She shut her eyes, absorbing the laughter and music, feeling free in a way she hadn’t in years. Feeling a high no vice Hollywood traded in could ever touch. Just some nobody girl, dancing on some nowhere beach. Just Leigh, for the first time in forever.
Across the sand, Will caught her eye again, laughing at a friend’s joke. That damnable smile… Her energy shifted, dropping low in her belly, warm and curious, and Leigh wondered if maybe it wasn’t high time to get busy making some bad decisions.
4
WILL DITCHED HIS PLATE in the kitchen. Leigh ought to get herself some dinner before they ran out… or maybe she was planning on a late-night call to room service, not this lowbrow fare. Still, at the moment she was doing a fine impression of lowbrow herself. She was dancing with Rex, one of the younger drivers, and watching gave Will a funny pang.
Jealousy was too strong a diagnosis, as was concern. Let the girl have her fun. He only hoped she didn’t go too nuts, as celebrities seemed so fond of doing.
He wandered closer, if only to keep an eye on her. Well, fine—to have a better view of her. This not-quite guest, his not-quite date, the answer to his financial prayers… though he had yet to do a thing with what she’d told him in the plane. Just now it was hard to remember who she was supposed to be to him. Skin pale as the sand, smile bright as the torches. The hesitant, haunted girl he’d met on the mainland was gone, along with her street clothes, a vibrant creature now inhabiting her body. Will couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on who this woman really was, and until he did, he couldn’t bring himself to sell any details to the press, not even harmless ones.
But whoever she was, it was exciting to watch her body moving this way, at once rhythmic and chaotic, like the waves. Will knew better than anybody how intoxicating this place was. He’d been high for seven years now.
What would those stupid tabloids make of her? Runaway Bride Dances the Night Away with Resort Staff. Some picture of her, long hair whipping wildly. Some shot that made her look drunk despite the fact she’d yet to open a second beer. No photo would convey what he saw—a woman lost in her own infectious joy. The way a bride ought to look,