One Secret Night, One Secret Baby. Charlene Sands
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course weâd be here,â Brooke said. âRoy was a friend of ours, too. Right, Emma?â
She gave Dylan a quick smile. It was such a tragedy that a man so vital and strong as Roy had died at such a young age. He was a Dylan look-alike, his stunt double and a close friend to the McKays. Emma only knew Roy through them and heâd always been nice to her.
Dylanâs lips curled up a little, the subdued smile of a man in mourning. âI miss him already.â
He tightened his hold, bringing their bodies close. He was the consummate movie star, sunglasses shading his face, blond hair blowing in the breeze and a body carved from hard gym workouts and daily runs. He was Hollywood royalty, a man whoâd managed to steer clear of lasting relationships his entire adult life. Darkly tanned, as talented and smart as he was good-looking, he had it all.
Emma should be concentrating on Royâs death instead of her dilemma. Yet as sheâd dressed this morning readying for Royâs memorial, sheâd rehearsed what she would say if Dylan remembered anything that happened between them during the blackout.
I wasnât myself that night. The blackout freaked me out. Iâve been afraid of the dark since I was a kid and I begged you to stay with me. Can we just go on being friends?
Now it looked as if she could dodge that confession. Soul-melting blue eyes, dimmed now from grief, settled upon her as they always had. He saw her as his sister Brookeâs friend, nothing more. He had no memory of their night together. The doctors termed it dissociative amnesia. He was blocked and might never remember the hours or days leading up to the blast that took his friendâs life and sent a hunk of shrapnel tunneling into his head. Heâd been knocked unconscious and had woken up hours later, in the hospital.
He let her go to sip his soda and she began breathing normally again. Cautiously she took a step away from him. Having his hand on her played too much havoc with her brain. She had escaped telling him the truth today, and the devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear, Why rock the boat? Clever little fiend. This can be your little secret.
Could she really get away with not having to tell him?
She battled with the notion as the yacht made its way out of Marina del Rey, traveling past the docks at a snailâs pace. Pungent sea scents filled her nostrils, seagulls squawked overhead and one white-winged bird landed on a buoy and quietly watched the yacht head into open seas.
âI guess itâs time,â Dylan said, minutes later, once they were far enough out to sea. Dylan wanted to do this alone, with just his family. Later today, a memorial would be held at his Moonlight Beach home open to Royâs friends and fellow crew and cast members, the only family heâd ever known. Thatâs when Emma and Brooke would go to work, hosting an informal buffet dinner in Royâs honor. It definitely wasnât a Parties-To-Go kind of event, but Dylan had turned to them for help. âRoy always joked, if he missed the net from a ten-story fall, to make sure I tossed his ashes from the Classy Lady. He loved this boat, but I never thought Iâd ever have to do this.â
Brookeâs doe eyes softened on her brother and Emma hurt inside for both of them. Brooke and Dylan were miles apart in most things, but when push came to shove, they were always there for each other. Emma envied that. She had no siblings. She had no real family, except for foster parents, two people whoâd taken her in and then neglected her as a child. She hadnât hit the jackpot in the parent department, that was for sure. Not like Brooke. Brooke was Dylanâs younger foster sister whom his parents had eventually adopted. They were totally amazing. Theyâd been better parents to Emma than the two whoâd collected monthly checks on her behalf.
Dylan made swift work of saying heartfelt words about his friend, his voice tightening up to get it all out, right before he opened the urn, lifted it up and let the wind carry Royâs ashes out to sea. When he turned around, tears filled his eyes and his mouth quivered in heartbreak. Sheâd never seen this vulnerable side of Dylan and she gripped the railing tight to keep from going to him. It wasnât her place.
Brooke went to him and cradled him in her arms the way a mother would a child, whispering soft words of sympathy in his ear. Dylan nodded his head as he listened to his baby sister. After a few minutes he wiped the tears from his eyes and the solemn expression from his face. He gave Brooke a sweet smile.
Dylan McKay was back.
It was the first time Emma had ever seen him let his guard down.
It touched her soul.
Secret dibs.
* * *
Dylanâs kitchen could swallow up her little apartment in one large gulp. Every kind of new age appliance ever conceived was set on the shiny onyx granite counter and in the textured white cabinets. It was a culinary dream kitchen and his housekeeper, Maisey, made great use of it. Sheâd cooked up a storm for the fifty-plus people whoâd come to pay their respects to Roy Benjamin. Aside from Maiseyâs home cooking, the caterers Emma had commissioned delivered trays of finger foods, specialty breads and appetizers. Everyone from grips to the president of Stage One Studios was here. Emma and Brooke, dressed in appropriate black dresses with little ornamentation, set out the food and offered drinks to the guests. They werenât acting as Parties-To-Go planners today as much as they were Dylanâs hostesses for this sad event.
âDid you see what Callista is wearing?â Brooke muttered under her breath.
Emma set out a plate of sweet-cream-and-berry tarts on the dessert table, shooting a quick glance to the living room, where many of the guests were gathered. Callista Lee Allen, daughter to the Stage One Studio mogul, was on Dylanâs arm, hanging on his every word. She wore Versace, and the only reason Emma knew that was because sheâd overheard the blonde gloating about it. It was a silver glimmer dress with detailed layering and jewels dripping off her throat and arms. âI see.â
âItâs not as if the Fashion Police are trolling. Roy deserves better. This day isnât about her.â
Emma grinned. âTell me how you really feel, Brooke. At least she talks to you. Iâm invisible to her.â Being a friend of Dylanâs sister didnât rank high enough on Callistaâs status scale to award Emma an iota of her attention.
âBe grateful. Be very grateful.â
Emma stood back from the arrangement, giving the presentation scrutiny. Theyâd draped the dessert table with tablecloths in varying colors and edged each platter with flowering vines. This is what they did. And they did it well.
âItâs none of my business, but Dylanâs on-again, off-again relationship with her isnât good for him,â Brooke said.
Emma shot them another glance. Callistaâs eyes flashed on Dylanâs bandage, one hand possessively on his arm as she reached up with the other to touch the injury. Emma watched the scene play out. Dylan was deep in conversation with Callistaâs father and didnât seem to notice her unabashed attention.
Sucking oxygen in, Emma glanced away and tamped down pangs of jealousy swimming through her body. Sheâd be ten times a fool to think sheâd ever have a chance with Dylan. He was her friend. Period. âHeâs a big boy, Brooke.â
âI never thought Iâd say this, but thank God my brother doesnât commit. Sheâs all wrong in so many ways.â Brooke lifted her hands in a stopping motion that was her signature move. âBut like I said, none of my beeswax.â
Emma smiled at her friend and put the finishing touches on the dessert table. Maisey had made coffee and there was hot water and a sampler box of teas available.
Dylan approached, gorgeous in a tailored dark suit and tie. Heâd changed his clothes from the jeans and black silk shirt heâd worn this morning on the yacht. âDo you two have a minute?â he asked quietly. His brows were