I don’t mince words. “I should have told you sooner.”

  “Yeah, like all the times I asked,” she says pointedly.

  She’s right. “I’m sorry,” I say, guilt twisting in me. I almost say I wanted to but didn’t, or I tried to, but it never felt right.

  But it doesn’t matter. She asked, and I denied it.

  Her blue eyes hold mine, and I don’t see forgiveness yet. “Why didn’t you?” she asks gently.

  I blow out a big breath. It’s such a loaded question. It has too many answers. But there’s no need to hold back now. “Because I didn’t want to worry you. Because I told him I’d keep it between us. Because I wanted your first big role to go off without a hitch. Because I didn’t want to pull focus away from the film and on to me. Because it’s such a huge chance to bring attention to the farm that Mom and Dad built, to the town they loved. And I didn’t want anything to take away from that. And because I didn’t want the relationship to go south and then have you worry about me,” I say, my voice choking on the bitter irony. “I never want you to worry about me.”

  “Oh, Ripley,” she says. The staunch professionalism vanishes as she reaches out and wraps her arms around me. “But I do worry about you.”

  “You do?” I ask, voice breaking.

  “You’re my twin. You’re my friend. You’re my person. Of course I do. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Because I have enough worry for both of us,” I say through tears long overdue.

  She strokes my hair. “I know. And I’ve let you do that for too long. I’ve let you be my big sister instead of my twin sister.”

  My throat tightens with more emotion. God, it feels never-ending today. “I love being your big sister.”

  “But sometimes I can carry the burden. Sometimes I can worry about you.” She lets go and meets my gaze. “Just because I was once broken and you fixed me doesn’t mean I’m still broken.”

  “I know that,” I say, feeling stupid for even thinking that. After all, she did pull that “send Grandma to cooking school” rabbit out of her hat.

  “I mean it,” Haven says. “I know you took care of me when Mom and Dad died. I know you looked out for me. You made sure I got to auditions. You fixed my car, kept me from falling to pieces, handed me tissues, and dried my tears when I cried through the night. And you got me to therapy.” She pauses to let all that soak in. “But I healed. I will always love Mom and Dad, and always miss them. Because of you, I learned how to make it through the grief. Sometimes, you can let me take care of you. Like right now.”

  She reaches for me again, and I can’t do a thing but break down in her arms. It’s not only for Banks. Mostly, it’s for us—two girls who lost their parents and had to find their own way, who had to forge a new family together. I rain tears I barely shed long ago. I cry for days, till my face is red and splotchy and my nose is snotty.

  Then, I breathe out and look up. “I’m so sorry.”

  Haven smiles, exonerating me once more. “There isn’t any real harm done. I wish you told me sooner, but I also understand you in ways you think I don’t. I get you. I wanted you to tell me, but I know why you didn’t.” She reaches for my hands, squeezing them. Then she arches a curious brow. “But remember that day you wore the mock turtleneck to The Slippery Dipper when it was fifty million degrees out?”

  Uh oh. I should have known she’d figure that out eventually. Still, I protest feebly with, “It wasn’t fifty million degrees, and it had short sleeves.”

  “Fine. Fine. But now that I think about it, was there some new allegedly amazing skin care routine you’d just tried?”

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “The kind that leaves a splotchy mark somewhere,” she goads.

  “Possibly.”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Twin powers.”

  I smile and rest my head on her shoulder. “Nothing gets past you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. But I want you to know you can tell me things. I want you to know that you can share with me.”

  “I do. Especially since you told me about Notting Hill.”

  A questioning laugh bursts from her. “Notting Hill?”

  “That’s what I’ve been calling William in my head. He’s Notting Hill. Because he runs a bookstore, and you’re the movie star.”

  She smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve seen the movie. It’s a good one.”

  “It is. Will you have a happy ending too?”

  “I hope so.” She pauses, tilting her head. “And you?”

  I tell her what happened this morning, and she frowns. “Ripley,” she says, full of sadness. “You took the fall.”

  “I had to. I wanted to make it easier for him.”

  “The shoot’s over in a few days, though,” she says, hopeful. “Maybe then?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He needs to build his business. It won’t look right that he had a fling with a client. Reputation matters to him.”

  She seems to give that some thought, then nods. “I get it,” she says.

  That night, when she’s leaving, we do another switcheroo. Only it’s not me pretending to be her or vice versa. We switch bodyguards.

  It’s just easier that way.

  46

  THE COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  BANKS

  Before I leave that night, there’s one more thing I have to do—apologize to Tabitha.

  As I wait for Haven to finish up in the house, I hang out near the gate for Lavender Bliss. Tabitha often goes for a run early in the morning and again when the shooting is done for the day. She’s a creature of habit, so I find her returning to the property, trotting past the gate. I’ve been trying to grab a minute with her all day. This is the first chance I’ve had.

  She slows to a walk, and I give a quick wave, the signal for got a second. She takes out her earbuds and joins me where I’m waiting by some Hidcote bushes.

  “Good run?” I ask.

  “It was great,” she says, catching her breath. “I’ll miss the lavender when we’re gone next week.”

  Me fucking too. But I don’t say that. I cut straight to the chase. “I wanted to apologize.”

  She arches a curious brow. “For what?”

  Is it not obvious? “For being distracted on the job.”

  “Oh. Okay. Apology accepted.” She waggles her phone. “Can we talk more tomorrow? I need to jump on a call with Juniper for our next film.”

  “Of course,” I say, and that’s that. She’s moving on because she didn’t mess up.

  She heads inside, and I have no idea what that exchange means for the rest of the job. Or, more importantly, for any referrals from them in the future.

  A few minutes later, Haven comes out and we get on the road. For the first time in three weeks, I leave the farm for the night. It’s like leaving a part of my heart behind.

  Or maybe all of it.

  I try not to look back as I take Haven to her hotel, then head to Wanda’s old room, taking it over. Thankfully, one of the crew members finished up early, freeing up a room for Wanda in the main house.

  At least I have a job with Ruby Horizons for another night.

  What does it matter when I can’t have another night—no, all my nights—with Ripley.

  I can’t escape the feeling of déjà vu when I leave the hotel with Haven on Friday morning. I swear all eyes are on me as we cross the lobby.

  That family at the complimentary coffee? They’re whispering about me. That haggard businessman checking out? He’s definitely seen the hashtag about my fling with the woman I was protecting.

  Okay, fine. Logically I know any double takes are solely for the rising star I’m flanking. But emotionally, I can’t shake this familiar feeling. It’s like the day my mom, sister, and I went into town after the news of my father’s second family had made it to the neighborhood forums.

  We walked into the ice cream shop for salted caramel cones, and the teenager with braces behind the counter blinked at us, like, Is that them?

  When my mom stopped at the grocery store, the cashier gave her curious looks. When she picked up her dry cleaning, the woman at the register asked if she was okay.

  But were those people checking in on us the same people who’d posted our names, numbers, and addresses on social media? We were the collateral damage of my father’s secret second life.

  We never knew who’d been talking about us. Eventually, we left town because it was easier to start over.

  What will be easier now though? Will all my potential clients know I’m the guy who fucked a client?

  I grit my teeth as I walk Haven out of the hotel, scanning left and right, then behind. When we reach my car, I open the door for her and make sure she gets inside safely.

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” Haven says once I hop into the driver’s side. I miss Ripley’s truck. I miss Ripley’s voice. I miss every single thing about Ripley.

  “I appreciate that, but it’s okay,” I say to Haven, trying to be tough. Impervious.

  “You don’t have to be stoic. I know you guys were the real deal.”

  My heart rips all over again. I swallow roughly, nod my best thank you, and then turn on the engine. It was the real deal, and I screwed it up. I should have done what Dean said—stepped back before I made my personal life everyone’s business.

  I knew better.

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to be over,” Haven adds, and it’s sweet that she says that. Truly, it is.

  But I’m not about to tell her I didn’t only ruin a romance. I might also have damaged the business I run with my friend. Webflix was our best new lead, and we’re still waiting for the other new contracts to come through.

  If they come through.

  Hell, I don’t even know how Tabitha and Ruby Horizons feel about us, but I’ll probably find out any minute.

  When we arrive at the farm, that sense that everyone knows my secrets slams into me again. Sam, the guy who’s hot for Ripley, gives me a funny look as I bring Haven to the set. Tabitha barely says a word to me. I swear the director is looking at me like you’re the guy who canoodled with the star’s sister, you dipshit.

  All day long, I imagine hearing whispers, and I hate them. I don’t know why they haven’t kicked me off the job for the few remaining days. Maybe it’s because Dean’s here, keeping the peace, smiling, chatting, making nice. No wonder he’s the front man. He’s better with people than I am.

  Well, nearly anyone is better with people than I am.

  The sun’s bright today, so I drop on my shades and cross my arms, focusing on the job.

  The way I should have done all along.

  If I had, this afternoon I’d be leaving the set in the capable hands of my team and traveling down to San Francisco for a meeting at Webflix with my partner. But because of my lack of professionalism, we lost the client.

  That evening at The BookHouse, I escort my client down the hall toward her room. If I’d stuck around to sort out the mistaken identity in San Francisco, I might not be in this mess right now. If only I hadn’t taken off that night. My list of regrets is long.

  “You need anything else?” I ask Haven when we reach her room.

  Shaking her head, she smiles, and it’s almost a familiar smile. It’s close to Ripley’s, but not as sassy, or as feisty, or as Ripley. Another reminder of my mistakes.

  “I’m all good,” Haven says, then lowers her voice. “But I’m going to have a visitor later.”

  I straighten my spine. “What time?”

  Her lips twitch. “Soon. Maybe a half hour.”

  “I’ll still be working.” But once I’m off, Dean and I will meet with Tabitha at last.

  Haven brings her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell a soul who it is then.”

  I don’t ask for the man’s name. I’m pretty sure I know—the bookstore guy that Ripley went all mama bear over the other week. A smile tugs at my lips as I picture Ripley giving him hell and telling him to be good to her sister. That’s so very her. My heart thumps a little harder at the memory, but I try to shut it down.

  I don’t get to enjoy those memories anymore.

  Haven goes into her room, and a half hour later, I spot the bookstore guy heading down the hall carrying a canvas bag with what looks like books in it, and a bottle of wine. A bouquet of tulips too.

  He flashes me a smile. “Hey there. How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I lie. When I’d thought he might have had a thing for Ripley, I’d burned with jealousy. Now I envy him for a different reason.

  He stops at Haven’s door. “I’m here to see Haven.”

  “She mentioned it,” I say. I’m jealous he gets to see his woman. I’m jealous because he hasn’t fucked up his romantic life.

  I let him in, and when Marcus, my backup, comes, I head to the lobby where Tabitha and Dean wait for me.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Tabitha says. “This place is teeming with people. Mister Fox? Round of pool?”

  I love pool, but I’m hardly in the mood, and it shows in my playing. Despite my track record, I miss the first shot. And the second. The next one too.

  “Man, you used to be a pool shark.” Dean shakes his head sadly as he chalks the end of his pool cue.

  “Easy come, easy go,” I say, shrugging, hardly caring.

  We play a few more rounds, and Tabitha sinks her final shot, winning the game. Then, since I’m the guy on probation, I let Dean take the lead on the debrief.

  “Listen,” he says to her, setting down the pool stick. “We wanted to chat about what went down yesterday with security—how it was handled and what we can do differently for you.”

  Tabitha tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Figuring it’s best to own it, I skip the preliminaries. “The social media stuff about Ripley and me.”

  “Oh. Right.” She sounds blasé.

  “You texted about it in the morning,” I prompt when she doesn’t go on.

  “And you apologized for it yesterday evening. But honestly…” Another pause, then she shrugs. “I don’t care.”

  I’m floored. I was not expecting that. “You don’t?”

  “I really don’t care what you do in your personal life. Half of Hollywood is sleeping with each other. The fact that you had a thing for a client on the set? It just kind of sounds like the stuff we make movies about. With the rumors about Chris and Haven, and now the behind-the-scenes romance on the side, even more people are talking about the film…so thanks?”

  Dean smiles, and it’s the brightest one I’ve seen from him in a while. “I’m pleased to hear it’s not an issue, but it won’t happen again.”

  “Me too,” I say. Holy shit, that’s a relief. We talk for another half hour about security for the shoot and give her some ideas for best-practice talks she can have with her staff on future projects, then we leave on good terms.

  Perhaps a lot of what I felt this morning was all in my head.

  But it doesn’t solve the problem of what’s next for Apex Solutions. I need to focus on business for the rest of the shoot, but thoughts of Ripley are lodged in my brain when I get in bed later.

  I reach for her in the middle of the night—but she’s not there.

  In the morning, I look for the dog to take for a walk, but I’m not with him either. I’m not at all where I want to be.

  My mom texts me to check in, offering to drive up and take me to dinner that night. I instantly agree. I need to see her and Emily more than ever.

  That day I try like hell to zone in on the job as I safely ferry Haven past the photographers waiting for a shot they’ll never get of her and Chris.

  The money shot.

  A picture like that? It’s a hell of a payday. Paparazzi would do whatever it took to get a pic of them touching, kissing, hugging. Something unposed. Something unexpected. Something real.

  All day I think of photos. The first one that Silas snapped of Ripley outside the market. The picture a tour group might have tried to take of her the next day. The photo of Ripley and Chris in the produce aisle the day the movie began shooting, captured by some random person we never saw. The actual publicity photos of Chris and Haven, and of course plenty of pics of them separately.

  During a break, I scroll through my phone and return to the photo that got me in this mess—the one outside Prohibition Spirit before Ripley and I went in. I study the angle, remembering the group of people outside the bar, trying to place Ripley’s ex there the other night. Was he walking past the group? Behind them? And when did the paps arrive who took the inside shot, the one that wound up on VIP Vibes? I do some more digging on Eric Patrick Waterstone. Not only do I find endless shot after shot of the dishes he’s made—the dude is understandably into food porn—I find pics of him posing with local celebs in New York.

  My jaw ticks, and I begrudgingly admit the guy knows how to work it.

  When I get a break, I lob in a call to my friend Tyler in Los Angeles, since he keeps close tabs on the comings and goings of paps as well.

  “Aww, you must need something,” he says when he answers.

  “Yeah, a cold beer. I’ll owe you one when I return to LA,” I say, though the thought of leaving twists my gut.

  “Deal. Now what can I do for you?”

  I ask him to check on who’s working for VIP Vibes these days.

  “I’m on it,” he says, then I hang up and get back to work.

  47

  LANGUAGE, YOUNG MAN

  BANKS

  When the final shot is in the can that afternoon, the whole cast and crew whoops. Haven hugs Sam, Chris hugs Vega, Wanda hugs Tabitha, and on and on and on. I can’t hug Ripley because she’s off in the fields, busy tending to her lavender and her dog.

  I watch Ripley as the cast and crew make plans for an impromptu party at Prohibition Spirit. Vega says she needs to stay at the farm and finish up some work, but she hands Sam her credit card, telling him that drinks are on her.