One Fine Day. Teresa Morgan F.

       Prologue

       August

      Steve Mason grinned and waved, stepping out of the air-conditioned limousine, the evening summer heat engulfing him. Then he gallantly held out his hand to help Erica Kealey out of the car with grace. She emerged looking stunning, wearing a sparkly, silver sequined evening gown which accentuated her slim figure – too slim, Steve had sometimes worried – and the press went berserk; snapping cameras and shouting questions. Even in her four-inch heel Jimmy Choos she was still slightly shorter than him. They walked the red carpet laid out in front of the five star Hollywood hotel, and he kept one hand on the small of Erica’s back, protective and loving. They briefly posed for photographs, but Erica felt tense in his embrace. They faced a barrage of paparazzi questions.

       “Have you set a date?”

       “When will the engagement be announced?”

       “Have you thought about a location for the wedding?”

      They didn’t stop to answer tonight; they were questions Steve couldn’t even answer, yet. He kept on smiling and walking with Erica who was in a rush. She’d hardly said a word to him in the limo, and now in front of the press her smile appeared strained. Only he could see it though, she was a brilliant actress. But Steve knew.

      A slight niggle in his subconscious told him Erica was behaving oddly. She appeared ever gracious, knowing the paparazzi were eager to snap celebrity couples, but something was bothering her. Rumours could spread fast if the paparazzi detected any friction. He checked his tuxedo pocket; the ring box was safe. He wanted to quash any rumours. He wanted the world to know the love he felt for this woman.

      Entering the hotel, he relaxed, the cooler air refreshing him, and they followed the throng towards the ballroom. The glitzy, Hollywood birthday party – a black-tie affair – was for their director in Perfection, Jimmy Petersen. The big man had big movies behind him and practically every A-Lister in Hollywood was attending. Steve was almost used to walking among them, but still had to pinch himself occasionally – he’d earned the right to be with the stars. Erica fitted with this crowd naturally as her father, Robert Kealey was a well-known actor and director so she’d been born into stardom,

      As they entered the busy ballroom, Steve grabbed two champagne flutes from the nearest waiter. He turned to find Erica had wandered off, and he weaved through the guests, nodding and saying hello to familiar faces as he caught up with her.

      “Erica, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Steve said, frowning as he handed her a glass. Her bad mood was rubbing off on him and he hated the distant feeling between them. Erica smiled weakly, looking troubled, staring into her champagne flute. Steve stroked her arm tenderly with the back of his finger. “Are you all right?”

      “I have something on my mind.” She shrugged and sipped her drink. “That’s all.”

      “You look like you need cheering up,” he said more happily, feeling excited suddenly. “I didn’t want to mention it in the limo, I wanted to surprise you.” With his right hand, he fished out the ring box from his pocket, and flicked it open to show her the large solitaire diamond set in platinum. “I picked up the ring. Thought we’d make it official. We could do it tonight—”

      “No!” Erica hissed, shielding the box from view of others. “Put it away.”

      Steve frowned, quickly snapping the lid shut and pocketing the box, all of his enthusiasm draining. “I thought with the press outside, we could use it to our advantage.”

      She mumbled something but Steve didn’t quite hear. Or did he? His stomach churned and his mouth became dry. He swallowed some champagne, but a lump had already formed in his throat. “What did you say?” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “Erica, is everything okay?”

      She took a deep breath, and spoke fast, “I’m sorry, Steve. But I can’t marry you. It’s over.” She dumped the half-full champagne flute on a table and headed for the exit. Steve stood mouth open, all the air whooshed out of his lungs as his world imploding. What had just happened? He glanced around; guests stared at him, whispering, pointing. Then mentally shaking himself back to reality – how long had he stood there, dumbfounded? – he hurried after Erica.

      Her elegant shoes clicked along the polished walnut floor in the corridor, the party in full swing behind them.

      “Wait, Erica!” Steve said, discarding his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Can’t we even talk about this?” He grabbed her arm to stop her, turning him to face her. “We can fix this. I love you.” He reached to stroke her face.

      “I don’t love you!” she snapped, pushing his hand away. Steve froze, shocked at her words. Her eyes glistened and her lips trembled before she spoke more calmly, “I’m sorry, Steve, it’s not what I want. I’ll get my PA to come pick up my belongings from yours tomorrow.” She’d never properly moved in, they’d each kept their own homes. She owned a property in Beverly Hills, and tomorrow, her assistant would remove all traces of Erica’s existence from his life out of his rented luxury apartment. He remained silent, unable to think straight. What words could he say to make this better? This couldn’t be happening. An hour ago he’d been blissfully happy, now his life had been shattered like broken glass. Thousands of tiny shards inside his chest.

      She started walking again.

      “What do you want?” he said, pacing beside her. “I thought I was everything to you. That’s what you told me.”

      “That was then. Things have changed.”

      “Tell me what I have to do to convince you, and I’ll do it, Erica.” Steve combed a hand through his hair, hating that he sounded desperate, but he was. “I love you. Only you.” Everything about her was beautiful. Her auburn hair fell onto her shoulders, framing her perfectly made-up face. Erica stopped and frowned. They were in a quiet corridor, with a door leading out to the back of the hotel. A doorman waited outside as if on guard.

      Erica looked around, then at Steve, hesitant. “These past few months have been hard,” she said, lowering her voice. “You’ve been filming Nothing Happened. I’ve been half way across the world filming too. We’ve drifted apart, Steve.”

      “We can make this