Hold on to the Nights. Karen Foley
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“You should see how many people are here, Val. I swear, there must be thousands. I’m not sure if I can do this.”
“Lara, you have to.” Val’s voice was firm. “He deserves to know the truth.”
“I know. It’s just …” Lara’s voice grew small. “All these years, I’ve imagined him a certain way. What if he’s changed?”
“We all change. Trust me, you’ve changed, too, Lara. In fact, he might not even recognize you, that’s how much you’ve changed in the past five years.”
Lara laughed. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Oh, I am,” Val said, and Lara could hear the smile in her voice. “When I first met you, you were withdrawn to the point of being backward.”
“I was reserved,” Lara said primly. “And heartbroken.”
“Uh-huh. My point exactly. And look at you now—teaching drama to a bunch of underprivileged kids, writing erotic fan fiction on the Internet, and dating your former professor who just happens to be the hottest faculty member on campus. I’d say you’ve come a long way, baby.”
Lara gave a helpless laugh. Christopher was hot? Sure, he was good-looking in an artsy, academic way, with his shaggy hair and easy smile, but in the months that they’d been dating, Lara had never once thought of him as hot.
“He is cute,” she acknowledged. “But as far as the erotic fiction goes …I’ve actually decided to give it up.”
There was a stunned silence. “What?”
Lara sat on the edge of the desk and her hand drifted to the stack of conference brochures that she’d brought with her from Chicago. Sifting through the pile, Lara withdrew a recent issue of People magazine. Staring back at her from the glossy front cover was a full-page photo of Graeme Hamilton. His blue-green eyes gazed warmly at her, and his lips curved in the vaguest suggestion of a smile, providing just a hint of the deep dimples that had endeared him to millions of female fans.
“I can’t keep doing it, Val. To my readers, the stories are just steamy tales about the Galaxy’s End characters, but I know they’re more than that.” She stared at the cover of the magazine. “I know they’re really my own fantasies about Graeme, and they’re not healthy. If I really want to put him in my past and move on with my future, then I need to stop writing about him. About Kip.”
The photograph of him was so clear that Lara could see the individual stubble of whiskers on his jaw. Tiny laugh lines splayed out from the corners of his eyes and for a moment, Lara’s heart contracted painfully. She ran her fingers over the image. Beneath her hand, she could almost feel the rough velvet of his cropped hair.
“I understand how you feel, Lara, I do,” Val said, her voice sympathetic. “But your stories have such a huge following. I checked your stats this morning and the story that you posted last night has already received more than ten thousand hits. Ten thousand hits in just one day, Lara! That’s completely crazy, you know that, right? I don’t think you have any idea how popular your stories on these Web sites are.”
“Well, maybe I’ll find another character to focus on, then. But I can’t keep writing about Kip Corrigan. He’s too real to me, and it brings back too many memories. I need to find something else to write about.” Lara glanced at her watch. “Listen, Val, I have to go. The masquerade ball is starting soon. If I’m really going to do this, then I should probably go scope out the situation first.”
“Okay. Call me. Anytime, for any reason. Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the room.”
She hung up and placed the phone on the table. She and Valerie had been roommates since their first year of college and they were closer than most sisters. After they’d graduated, they’d continued to share an apartment. Valerie knew all Lara’s secrets, including her reasons for attending the fan festival.
Lara looked again at the magazine she held in her hand. The caption beneath the photo read, “Graeme Hamilton—Sexy and Single!” Lara groaned. Sexy? Most definitely. Single? Most definitely not.
Should she venture down to the convention and join the hordes of other women all clamoring to get a glimpse of the hot Hollywood stud, or bide her time until she could get him alone? Lara glanced at her watch. If she wanted to join the festivities, she’d need first to slip into the Galaxy’s End costume that she’d brought with her. She’d specifically ordered a costume that would conceal her identity and allow her to blend in with the crowd. There was no way she wanted Graeme to recognize her before she was ready. She had a plan for how their encounter would unfold, and it didn’t include crowds of partygoers.
Even now, after two weeks, she still couldn’t quite accept the chain of events that had brought her to the second annual Galaxy’s End fan festival. Her gaze slid reluctantly to the sheath of legal documents that she had carried with her from Chicago to Las Vegas. They lay on the polished surface of the desk looking harmless enough, but Lara knew better. Those seemingly innocent papers had turned her safe, orderly world upside down.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered under her breath, and, giving into temptation, snatched up the letter that lay folded on top of the documents.
Most people came to Las Vegas for a quick wedding. She’d come for a quick divorce, or at least a quick signature on the divorce papers that she’d brought with her. The kicker was, the guy in question didn’t even realize he was still married. Each time Lara tried to envision how he might react to that little tidbit, she had a full-blown panic attack.
She could have let her lawyer handle the nasty job of breaking the news to him, but she felt strongly that this was something she should do. She was a true glutton for punishment.
Sinking into the upholstered chair near the bed, Lara unfolded the letter and reread it, although she knew the contents by heart.
My darling Lara,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I know that you despise me and I don’t blame you, but please don’t destroy this letter without first reading it through. I realize how difficult it was for you to visit me here at the hospice center today, but I am grateful to have seen you one last time before I go. For the first time in five years I have hope that you might eventually forgive me. Please know that what I did, I did because I loved you.
I wasn’t the best of fathers, but I always wanted what was best for you. When you came to spend that summer with me in London, you were so grown-up. My hope was that we would finally develop the kind of closeness that divorce and distance had prevented, but I was too caught up with my job.
I don’t blame you for falling in love with that boy. You always had a romantic heart, and you thought he was your Prince Charming. But when I discovered you had eloped with him, I did what any father would do. Lara, you were just seventeen, and so naive. So sheltered. So trusting. He had nothing to offer you. I knew, eventually, he would break your heart and maybe even ruin your life. So I put you on the next flight back to the States and directed my lawyers to file the annulment papers, hoping that you would forget him. I never guessed that I would lose you completely in the process.
Yesterday, my deepest wish came true; you finally came to see me and brought with you a man whom I believe will love you and care for you as you deserve. And now comes the most difficult part of this letter, for I have a confession to make that will not endear me to you.
Your marriage to that boy was never annulled, and my legal counsel informs me that despite my best efforts, you are still legally wed. I didn’t tell you this earlier, because I thought that if you knew, you might return to him. But now that you are over him, and in the event that you plan to marry again, you need to know the truth.
Please know that I only want your happiness.
Forgive me.
Your father,
Brent Whitfield
Lara