Love Unrehearsed
Page 140
“Your mother was a brilliant woman,” Marie stated emphatically, both of us casting our gazes back to Ryan’s and Mike’s stellar asses.
I pulled a vision of my mom’s smiling face into my thoughts, hating that as the years passed since her death, I had to sometimes struggle to remember what she looked like.
Ryan smiled and waved a final goodbye to his screaming fans, then walked with purposeful strides to where I stood waiting. He took me by the hand, raised it to his mouth to softly kiss my fingers, twined his fingers around mine, and continued walking. His random public display of affection left me
breathless. I don’t even think he knew how his unconscious actions made the entire outside world disappear around us or how he set my heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings from his natural chivalry. I knew we were going to pose for the press photo op next, but I would have stood in any firing line just to be next to him.
Now that I was paying more attention to all the behind-the-scenes details, I realized just how much Mike truly did for us. The rest of the award show went off without a hitch and Ryan received a large surfboard for winning Best Actor in a Romance. I loved watching him onstage, thanking his fans. His acceptance speech was short and sweet and hanging out with the old Seaside cast backstage was a blast.
When the award show was over, Mike and Marie were waiting to take us to our next destination—a late dinner with them and Call and Kelly at the decadent restaurant Koi.
Thank God Marie was with us as we were bombarded by paparazzi when we came out of the restaurant. Mike had made sure our driver was waiting at the curb before allowing us to leave the safe confines of the building. Ryan had my hand, Marie was flanking me, repeating Mike’s orders for the throng of photographers to back up and let us through.
After two and a half glasses of wine and being blinded in the dark by all of the camera flashes, I was glad I didn’t have to drive.
“No wonder celebs get into accidents,” Marie muttered. “I can’t see for shit. Look at them! Why the hell are they blocking the front of the car?”
The paparazzi were elbowing each other out of the way, trying to get more shots of us inside the vehicle. Ryan had his hand cupped over his eyes. I noticed Marie was doing the same thing. “You know, I always thought famous people did this because they were hiding from being photographed. Now I know it’s also to protect your damn eyes!” Her voice flashed back through my mind as we endured the same gamut of photogs trying to catch our flight out of LAX. Fortunately, only a few passengers with cell phone cameras were on hand when we landed in Reno, Nevada.
I was nervous, excited, and petrified as we hurried out of the airport, climbing right into a waiting chauffeured SUV at the curb. I had always wondered how celebrities were able to get carted away so quickly; it was all a matter of precise coordination.
Mike held the door, guarding our entry.
Even getting into cars was choreographed. I always got in first, followed by Ryan. Once the “principals” were stowed, Marie was in next. Mike always sat in the front passenger seat—always. He also handled receiving our luggage. Ryan Christensen didn’t wait at luggage carousels—ever.
I was beginning to think that Mike needed a big, fat raise. Giving him my best friend in the world with a big, red bow wrapped around her didn’t seem enough.
Ryan took my hand in his, giving me a reassuring squeeze and a smile. He didn’t need to ask me if I was nervous to meet my birth father; he knew. I’d barely slept a wink last night.
While we waited for our luggage to be loaded, Ryan toggled through his missed messages. “We’ve got a problem.” My first thought was that the paparazzi had followed us, assuming we came to Reno to get married. Well, that’s what Trish’s first thought was when I mentioned our destination. I did not need any more problems and from his distinct tone I could tell it was personal.
He turned to meet my waiting stare. “Got an email from Trish. Apparently one of Tammy’s friends posted on Twitter that she’s going to get to meet me at their wedding in September.”
My nervous energy burst into a blur of outrageous fury. “You’re kidding?”
“I wish I was.” Ryan shoved his cell back into his pocket. “Well, there goes that. I told them to keep this to themselves. No one ever listens. Their wedding is going to be a media circus. Son of a . . .”
He glared over at me. “You know it’s going to be crazy now. I told Pete how this could turn out. News travels that I might be stepping into a church and you’ll have fucking helicopters flying overhead.” Marie snorted from the backseat. “I wonder which idiot friend of hers did it.”
I pulled a vision of my mom’s smiling face into my thoughts, hating that as the years passed since her death, I had to sometimes struggle to remember what she looked like.
Ryan smiled and waved a final goodbye to his screaming fans, then walked with purposeful strides to where I stood waiting. He took me by the hand, raised it to his mouth to softly kiss my fingers, twined his fingers around mine, and continued walking. His random public display of affection left me
breathless. I don’t even think he knew how his unconscious actions made the entire outside world disappear around us or how he set my heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings from his natural chivalry. I knew we were going to pose for the press photo op next, but I would have stood in any firing line just to be next to him.
Now that I was paying more attention to all the behind-the-scenes details, I realized just how much Mike truly did for us. The rest of the award show went off without a hitch and Ryan received a large surfboard for winning Best Actor in a Romance. I loved watching him onstage, thanking his fans. His acceptance speech was short and sweet and hanging out with the old Seaside cast backstage was a blast.
When the award show was over, Mike and Marie were waiting to take us to our next destination—a late dinner with them and Call and Kelly at the decadent restaurant Koi.
Thank God Marie was with us as we were bombarded by paparazzi when we came out of the restaurant. Mike had made sure our driver was waiting at the curb before allowing us to leave the safe confines of the building. Ryan had my hand, Marie was flanking me, repeating Mike’s orders for the throng of photographers to back up and let us through.
After two and a half glasses of wine and being blinded in the dark by all of the camera flashes, I was glad I didn’t have to drive.
“No wonder celebs get into accidents,” Marie muttered. “I can’t see for shit. Look at them! Why the hell are they blocking the front of the car?”
The paparazzi were elbowing each other out of the way, trying to get more shots of us inside the vehicle. Ryan had his hand cupped over his eyes. I noticed Marie was doing the same thing. “You know, I always thought famous people did this because they were hiding from being photographed. Now I know it’s also to protect your damn eyes!” Her voice flashed back through my mind as we endured the same gamut of photogs trying to catch our flight out of LAX. Fortunately, only a few passengers with cell phone cameras were on hand when we landed in Reno, Nevada.
I was nervous, excited, and petrified as we hurried out of the airport, climbing right into a waiting chauffeured SUV at the curb. I had always wondered how celebrities were able to get carted away so quickly; it was all a matter of precise coordination.
Mike held the door, guarding our entry.
Even getting into cars was choreographed. I always got in first, followed by Ryan. Once the “principals” were stowed, Marie was in next. Mike always sat in the front passenger seat—always. He also handled receiving our luggage. Ryan Christensen didn’t wait at luggage carousels—ever.
I was beginning to think that Mike needed a big, fat raise. Giving him my best friend in the world with a big, red bow wrapped around her didn’t seem enough.
Ryan took my hand in his, giving me a reassuring squeeze and a smile. He didn’t need to ask me if I was nervous to meet my birth father; he knew. I’d barely slept a wink last night.
While we waited for our luggage to be loaded, Ryan toggled through his missed messages. “We’ve got a problem.” My first thought was that the paparazzi had followed us, assuming we came to Reno to get married. Well, that’s what Trish’s first thought was when I mentioned our destination. I did not need any more problems and from his distinct tone I could tell it was personal.
He turned to meet my waiting stare. “Got an email from Trish. Apparently one of Tammy’s friends posted on Twitter that she’s going to get to meet me at their wedding in September.”
My nervous energy burst into a blur of outrageous fury. “You’re kidding?”
“I wish I was.” Ryan shoved his cell back into his pocket. “Well, there goes that. I told them to keep this to themselves. No one ever listens. Their wedding is going to be a media circus. Son of a . . .”
He glared over at me. “You know it’s going to be crazy now. I told Pete how this could turn out. News travels that I might be stepping into a church and you’ll have fucking helicopters flying overhead.” Marie snorted from the backseat. “I wonder which idiot friend of hers did it.”
