Just as Silbie predicted, social media reported more sightings of her new lover than Sasquatch. She was finally enjoying the craziness. Every talk show, magazine, and influencer begged for an interview.
Jolene and Aoife practically had brain bleeds over the news. Silbie didn't care. She was taking her life back. No more little country bumpkin trying to please everyone. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in gumption.
From now on, she'd handle each situation with the same initiative she'd used with Owen. She knew what she wanted, and she'd get it—one way or another.
She'd waited two weeks for Dante's call, and when it hadn't happened, she chose another route. Her sister-in-law, Zari. Since she was sort of Owen's sister and married to Silbie's brother, they had a strong connection. Zari understood how stubborn Owen could be. She was more than willing to join in the fight to help Silbie win him back with one condition. Silbie had to make nice with Mom. Things wouldn't go back to the way they were before the deceit, but she was willing to let her mother back into her life to gain Zari's alliance.
Silbie didn't confide in her about the mystery woman scheme. Figured the less who knew about that, the better. She only asked for Zari to keep her informed about Owen's recovery. Turned out, he was currently in Parkers Prairie staying with Dante and Bea. That made Silbie happy. Zari could keep tabs on him, and she'd answer Silbie's calls. No more dealing with Dante's silent treatment.
Tomorrow, the cast and crew for The French Mistress would move to New Orleans to wrap up the production. If they stayed on schedule, in fourteen more days, Silbie would return to Parkers Prairie, and she planned to make the most of it. Sleep until noon. Binge on Pistachio Almond. Forget about makeup. Throw her hair into a ponytail—unless Owen found her by then, or was still in Parkers Prairie. If so, she had an alternate plan of how she'd spend her time—with him.
She carried her plate and cup to the sink, rinsed them, and placed them it in the dish drainer. Same breakfast each morning. Toast, jelly, and hot cocoa. Mom would not approve.
The door to Silbie's room swung open, and Maia breezed in. She shook a paper in the air. "You won't believe the latest prediction."
Maybe Silbie wouldn't buy it, but she wouldn't be surprised. So far, she'd been linked to everyone from directors to Jolene's pool man. The wild speculation had caused her to start her own hashtag—#keepguessing. She'd promised to reveal the identity if someone solved the mystery. No chance of that since the object of her affection wouldn't have anything to do with her.
"You want some toast? Hot chocolate?"
"Already had cereal." Maia nodded to the paper again. "Care to guess?"
She tapped her chin and fauxed contemplation. "Does it out do the one from last week? Because I'm not sure, anything can top me carrying on with an alien."
Maia snorted. "This one does for sure. Seems you have powerful sex appeal because you're raising lovers from the dead. It's Elvis."
Silbie strolled into the living room with Maia right behind her. Silbie plopped onto the sofa and brought her knees to her chin. "Hmm. Graceland was the last family vacation we took before Dad passed. I remember being impressed by the place. Especially the jungle room. But wasn't Elvis like fifty when he died? So, unless I go for old, dead guys my mom has a thing for, that's not a good match. Exactly where were we spotted?"
"Vegas. Elvis Tribute Show." Maia dropped into the chair across from Silbie and pointed to the image. "They've photoshopped you into what looks like one of his old cropped movie posters. Gotta give'em credit for playing up the Hollywood connection."
Silbie zeroed in on the picture. "We look good. But if I resurrected him, I don't think he'd come back looking like that." She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and typed.
#keepguessing. My love interest is alive and human.
"I hear you've upped the game and offered a thousand bucks to any crew member who predicts the next person twitter comes up with," Maia said.
"They get one entry a week. So far, only one winner. Fred, the boom operator. He's been around long enough to know how outrageous these things get. Figured an alien would come up sooner or later."
Maia's phone sounded. She looked down at the screen and smiled.
"Zach, I presume?" Silbie said.
"Yeah, he's leaving Dallas for some big secret mission later today. Not sure I like his job. I hate not knowing where he's going or when he'll be back."
Silbie waggled her eyebrows. "But that's the only thing you dislike about him, right?"
Maia sighed. "I keep waiting for something awful to reveal itself, but so far, nada."
"Like what?"
She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he has a fetish about dressing in women's dirty clothes. Or, he'll present a bondage contract involving fisting—or he picks his nose and eats it. You know what they say about something being too good to be true? That's him, and it scares me. He sends me the sweetest texts, and when I show concern about how dangerous his job is, he says things like," she lifted her hands and made air quotes, "'there's no power in this world strong enough to keep me from coming home to you.' What a cheeseball."
Silbie fanned herself. "That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard. I may be in love with him."
Maia laughed. "That's what I'm talking about. Practically perfect—and the kisses, holy shit. Hands down, best kisser on the planet."
"I'm jealous. I can't get Owen to speak to me, much less kiss me, unless I pretend to be someone else."
Owen propped his feet on the porch railing with a sweet tea in his hand, and gazed at the sun sinking beneath the trees. Life in Parkers Prairie had its advantages. Peaceful. Fresh country air. Beautiful sunsets. After living in a hotel, quiet, wide-open spaces appealed to him more than ever. He hadn't even had a drink since coming here. He scratched the back of his neck. That wasn't right. He'd not had a drink since—her.
If Owen had known the redhead would disappear and leave no clues other than two strands of hair, he would have asked her name. Probably wouldn't have done any good since she'd refused to remove the mask. Mystery is better. At the time, he'd accepted that statement for what it was—an element of excitement to what he thought was a dream. Every night since the encounter, he'd gone to sleep thinking about her, hoping to recapture the moment.
So far, the experiment had failed. The most he'd been able to recreate were her eyes. The slinky gold dress falling to the floor. A jumble of French words pounding in his head. Even in his head, his mind autocorrected his mystery woman by casting her as Silbie. According to TMZ, she'd finished shooting her movie last month and returned to LA, where fans were still speculating about her mystery lover.
One thing was for sure. She had taken over his life. The obsession was all he thought about. Not that he was hung up on the woman. No, it was more about the why and the how of the meeting. Why him? How did she get in and vanish without a trace?
He didn't believe in coincidence as Dante suggested. There had to be more to it than that. Eighteen floors. Four hundred twenty-six rooms. A major party in the ballroom. What were the odds of her finding him? A single man. Starved for affection. Trying to move on from a woman he loved but couldn't have. One door north, she'd been in Dante's room. One south, an old couple celebrating a gazillion years of marriage. He didn't buy it.
Dash came to attention and quirked his head toward the back door. Dante pushed it open. "You've been a homebody for days. Let's ride into town and grab a beer. We'll call the old man to meet us."
He waved him off. "Y'all go."
Dante took a decorative pillow and slammed it into Owen's head. He hissed in retaliation, snatching the offending weapon and tossing it.
"I won't take no for an answer," Dante warned, "So get your ass up and let's go. I have a piece of property I want to show you."
"Why?"
"Save your questions for the trip."
Owen figured there was no need arguing with him. For the last few days, he'd been antsy. He'd stay with Bea a couple of hours, then look for an excuse to get out of the house. Whatever was going on with her, apparently was getting even worse. "Fine. But if you have some big plan to put me to work, you can think again. I've decided on a plan of my own."
Dante slapped him on the back. "Great. You can tell me all about on the way."
Considering the small size of Parkers Prairie, in fifteen minutes, Dante drove his truck down a small lane and stopped at a metal gate. Dash was the first to get out of the truck but waited patiently until Owen joined him. He scanned the area, then glanced at his brother. "Looks like you're building something here?"
"Come on, let's get a closer look." Dante ignored the No Trespassing signs and crawled over the gate. Owen followed. Dash slipped under the barbwire fence.
Dante waved his hand. "There's two hundred acres here. Wooded as far as you can see. And on down a ways, there's a man-made lake. A little piece of paradise. That's what this is."
"And you're showing it to me because—you own it?"
"Bea did, but she sold it a few months back—to Silbie."
"Am I supposed to be surprised? This is where she grew up. Naturally she'd want a place here."
"I've seen the house plans. They don't look like a second home."
"What are you getting at?"
Dante pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "I think she plans to live here. Permanently."
"Give up her new career?" He shook his head. "No way."
"Look, you've got this crazy idea that getting back with her would mess up her life. This proves it won't. She's not bought into the party crowd. Still the same small-town girl she's always been. You should call her."
God, the man was relentless. "Why is that so damn important to you?"
"Because you're getting better, and I want to help you. Don't think I haven't noticed you've stopped drinking. And, you don't lose your temper as much. What about the nightmares? Still having them?"
Owen shook his head. "Sometimes, but not like before. Now, mostly I dream about the redhead." Not entirely untrue. The majority of his dreams were of Silbie, but sharing that would only encourage Dante's argument.
Dante raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"
"Trying to understand it all. I wish I'd asked her name or at least made her take off that mask. I've about decided I'll never know who, why, or how, and that's driving me nuts. If you really want to help me, help me find her."
"I thought I had."
"I appreciate getting to look at the hotel security videos, but they didn't get me any closer to her identity. I need to come up with another way."
Dante turned back toward the truck. "You wanna grab a beer before we head home?"
He flopped his shoulders in a half-shrug. "Sure. One won't hurt."
"Great. Now back to your French lady problem. You said her back was covered in tattoos. People usually choose those because they mean something. Yours is a prime example. More than likely hers will furnish you with plenty of clues."
"I don't know. I wish I'd paid more attention. When I think about them, all I see is splashes of colors."
Two squirrels played chase nearby and drew Owen's attention. "That tree."
Dante shaded his eyes. "Yeah, I think it's ash. What about it?"
"The woman. One of her tattoos was a tree—with bare limbs creeping across one side of her back like spindly fingers."
"That's good. What else?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes trying to picture it in his mind. "And—the Eiffel Tower."
"Anything else?"
He shook his head and opened his eyes. "No. That's all I remember."
"For now, it is, but you have two pieces to the puzzle, and I bet more will come. Maybe there's a tattoo artist who specialized in trees or famous landmarks. If so, then find him, and maybe you'll find her."
What do you think he's going to find looking for the redhead? A dead end, or Silbie?
TEASER: "What do you mean she's gone?"
#keepguessing
;P