“Things didn’t work out for her?”
“Well, she had some modest success in Brazil, so she went to Hollywood. But the Portuguese accent didn’t help when it came to acting roles. Who knows what would have happened if she’d stayed in South America.”
Curious, Rick asked, “Your mother didn’t want more kids?”
Chiara sobered. “No. Her marriage broke up, and I was enough for her to handle as a single parent living far from her family in Brazil. Plus, I was her spitting image in many ways, so she already had a Mini-Me. She died a few years ago, and I still miss her a lot. I have mixed feelings about my childhood, but I loved her with my whole heart. She did the best she could in raising me.”
Rick was starting to understand—a lot. Chiara’s upbringing couldn’t have been more different fro
m his own. While he’d been tossing around a football in the backyard with his siblings, she was probably being prepped and groomed for a chance to appear in a national commercial or catalog.
“Your mother should think of doing a food blog,” Chiara commented, changing the subject. “She needs to think of branching out and building the Camilla Serenghetti food empire.”
“Empire?” he repeated in a sardonic tone. Because while it was one thing for his mother to have a local cooking show, it was another for her to be an empress in the making. Still... “She’ll like the way you think, and appreciate the pointers on building a brand.”
“Of course. That’s what we’re about in Hollywood. Building a brand.” Chiara looked around. “You, on the other hand, are about wholesomeness, surprisingly enough. Or at least your family is. You come from a nice little town in Massachusetts that’s ages away from the Sunset Strip.”
“You grew up in Rhode Island, not far from here. You’re not so different.”
Chiara shook her head. “I’m all about performing these days. The show must go on.”
“Whatever the cost?” Rick probed.
Chiara nodded. “Even if the show is a sham.”
“And yet, I think of you as real and vital,” Rick replied, stepping closer. “And my physical reaction to you definitely is.”
She gave a nervous laugh and shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I’m Snow White, remember? A make-believe character.”
Rick’s lips twitched. He wasn’t sure when they had gotten so mixed up. Suddenly she was insisting she was a make-believe character, and he was arguing the opposite.
One thing was for sure: he was more determined than ever to finish exploring their very real attraction. He’d kept his distance since they’d left Los Angeles, but he wanted her with a need that was getting hard to ignore.
* * *
In the now nearly empty television studio, Chiara stood to one side, waiting for assorted Serenghettis to depart. Rick was speaking to his mother and one of her producers, no doubt making sure everything was in order with respect to today’s guest appearance.
Chiara was glad for the respite. Minutes ago, her conversation with Rick had devolved into a far more intimate and personal exchange than she’d been prepared for. What had she been thinking?
She’d revealed more about her background and her mother than she’d intended. And then she hadn’t been able to keep out the wistfulness when contrasting her circumstances with Rick’s own family. Wholesome. Warm. Loving. She felt relaxed here, in the embrace of the Serenghettis and away from her problems—the limelight, her father, her would-be stalker...
Still, she’d dodged the very real emotional and sexual currents between her and Rick by making light of the matter. The show must go on. She doubted Rick would be satisfied with that response, however. Awareness skated over her skin as she remembered the gleam in his eyes followed by his words: I think of you as real and vital. And my physical reaction to you definitely is.
Her resolve to keep him at a distance was weakening, aided by her very real yearning for what he’d had—still had—in comparison: a tight-knit family who cared about each other.
As if on cue, Rick’s sister appeared, her face wreathed in a wide smile. “Thank you for the on-air plug, Chiara. You are the perfect model to bring out the best in my designs.”
Chiara smiled back and then touched the other woman’s arm. “Don’t mention it.”
“I’ve never dressed someone so high profile before. You have a great sense of style.”
“I owe a lot to my former stylist Emery. But she went off to start her own accessories line, so I’m open to new ideas.” Chiara’s eyes widened, as an idea struck. “I should connect the both of you. Emery would be a natural complement to your clothing line.”
Mia gave a look of wry amusement. “I can see it now—‘ME by Mia Emery... Not Your Mom’s Everyday.’”
“Perfect.” So this was what it might be like to have a sister. Chiara let the wistful feeling wash over her again.
Mia tilted her head. “Rick isn’t the only maverick in the family, though he likes to think so. I’ve abandoned the family construction business and run off to New York to follow the bright lights of fashion.”