The Trouble with Marrying a Movie Star (23 page)

"You should have come for dinner when I was last here."

He scrunched up his nose. "I wasn't ready to deal with
him
, yet."

I sighed and sat back on the sofa. Brandon sat in the chair across from me. "Why don't you like Andrew?"

"I'm amazed that you do!"

"You didn't even get to know him."

"What is there to know? He's a Hollywood player that preys on women by using his fame."

"Andrew didn't 'prey' on me." I didn't have the energy to argue with him.

"He was fooling around with someone else."

I shook my head. "You shouldn’t be listening to gossip."

"Jaimie told me."

I wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be listening to her, but that would be wrong. "She needs to stop reading that trash."

We had stared at each other for a while, before he said. "You look like crap."

"Thanks. So glad you stopped by to let me know that."

"Is he hurting you?"

I stared, dumbfounded, and asked, "Why are you asking me that? No! Andrew is
not
hurting me."

"Well, that's good," he said relieved.

"You should give him a chance." Then, I thought did it matter now that we weren't together?

I wanted Brandon to stop with the protectiveness, and let go of whatever it was he was dealing with regarding Andrew, or with whomever I ended up.

He frowned at me. "I care about you."

"I know that, and I appreciate your always being there for me, but you care a little too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a hurt voice.

I wasn’t up for all of this, but it had to be said. "I love Andrew." I did. "Because of that, you should respect me enough to trust my judgment and trust that he is good for me." I swallowed hard.

That was painful to say, but I wasn't going to get into the whole, everything was over between Andrew and me, conversation.

"I do trust you. It's him—"

"I understand that, but you come across as being jealous." I said it. I had to.

Brandon's head fell, and then his eyes focused back on me. "I may be more upset with myself, Andria."

I scooted closer to him, confused with his words, and concerned by his tone. "What's going on?"

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we ever…you know…"

"No, I don't know."

"Are you really going to make me spell it out?" Yes, I thought, but he continued. "What would it have been like if we had gotten together?"

Oh…

I sat staring at him for a moment, trying to figure out how to say what I was thinking in a nice way. "I'm not sure if there would have
ever
been an ‘us.’" His eyes fell back down. "Hey, you are one of my closest friends. I would have never gone there with you. Your friendship is more important to me."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Sometimes, I wonder…"

"Did you make the right choice? I can understand that. I think it wouldn't be natural if you never thought about the 'what if's.'"

"I'm thinking about that more and more lately." He admitted.

"I am always here for you if you want to talk, but if you have any doubts…talk to Jaimie. I've learned that the hard way."

His brow rose. "Trouble with Hollywood?" he asked a little too cheery.

"His name is Andrew, and
that
is none of your business."

"Is that why you came home without any notice?"

"I can come home any time that I want. This place will always be my home."

I hated LA. It had been one of my favorite places until I dated Andrew. Connor was at the airport ready to collect me as soon as I stepped off of the plane. Once again, the paps greeted us. I wanted to know how they knew that I was here, but Connor said they had their contacts.

Connor took me back to his place, which was starting by feel like home. He insisted that I stayed with him versus a hotel. I was a nomad, well felt like one, but he made me feel welcome. This warmth was strange for him. He seemed uncomfortable expressing any other emotion other than 'hard ass.' I've had the pleasure of seeing the other hidden sides of him, and when they do come out, it's a treat to see. The man has a soft heart underneath the steel surrounding it. I figured there was a story there, but that was a conversation for later. He was my bodyguard, but the thought of some woman hurting him brought out a very protective side in me. I would have to hunt the bitch down. The thought of that made me laugh, internally.

"What the hell is so funny?" Connor asked. He was giving me that 'she's crazy' look." At least you're laughing." Then, I stopped. I hadn't felt anything in a long while, and going through the motions was easier than facing reality. That was the first time in what seemed like ages that I had felt anything.

Andrew still hadn't made an official announcement. I knew the bastard was leaving it up to me, but there was no way in hell that I was going to be the one to tell the world. There were all types of speculation in the media, but since nothing had been confirmed, everyone still assumed that everything was fine; except the studio.

When I asked Erin to call the wedding coordinator to cancel the wedding, I had received a call from Grant—personally. He rarely did anything personally, and I knew why he was calling. He offered any assistance in making things right between the two of us. I politely mentioned that if the studio hadn't gotten involved in the first place things might have been different. But, we all knew the real story. I was sure news somehow passed to him; like it always did.

Keira didn't say much about Andrew, other than when he wasn't working; he stayed locked up in his office, drinking. He had been communicating with Owen via emails or drunken texts. She had been staying with Owen, and I told her not to worry about it. She felt bad, but I know that she has grown to care about Andrew. She too was concerned.

When I walked into the bathroom to take a much needed bath, you would have thought I lived at Connor’s permanently. The entire counter was covered with my things. As I walked towards the tub, I noticed the blue box of tampons and stopped in my tracks. It wasn't the box that made me stop, just the fact that I hadn't seen it in a while. Six weeks to be exact. I had the shot, and my period came like clockwork. I had never been late before.

I counted back again, and ran to my calendar to see when my last shot had been. After I verified the date—
and freaked out—
I called Keira to see if I was mistaken. She verified that I, in fact, was correct.

I sat on the bed, saying nothing.

I heard her say, "Andria…" before telling her that I would call her back. Staring out the window directly in front of me, I started to bawl. There was no controlling it, and it wasn't the most ladylike of cries. This cry was a full blown ugly cry; apparently, a loud one as well. Connor rushed in and asked, "What's going on?"

I said nothing.

"Is it Andrew?"

I shook my head. Then I cried harder.

He stared, a bit uncomfortable, then sat next to me. I immediately grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him to me. He was stiff at first, and then patted my head a few times as he shushed me. "It will be okay. You and Andrew will—"

"I'm late." Fell out.

"That's what this is about. Come on, I'm sure I can get you there quickly—"

"I'm late, late. About two weeks late."

Connor jumped up; mouth opened, and hands on his hip. No words came out, just a few mumbled grunts that sounded as if he was groaning out in pain.

Why do they advertise that the pee sticks are so accurate on the television commercials, yet they fail to mention false readings?

Connor sent his housekeeper to pick up a pregnancy test. He said this one was the best, and I wanted to ask him how he knew, but that was for a later time. We were now looking at the test that had a half negative with a fainted positive. I sat on the floor, trying to analyze it, when we came to the conclusion that I would have to go to the doctor. When Connor started cussing and ranting at the tiny stick in frustration—as if it could hear him—I said I need a more accurate test.

At first I thought a clinic, but there was no way that I could just walk into a clinic and ask for a pregnancy test without being recognized. I hadn't had time to find a new doctor, and I wasn't scheduled to see mine, in Dallas, until later in the year.

When I explained this to Connor, he said he knew people who could help. Again, I wasn't sure how he knew all about this, but he came through. He had a friend at the emergency room that could sneak us in. As we waited for the blood test, I kept thinking, what was I going to do? Andrew and I weren't even talking to each other.

I told him to screw himself—and that whore—and threw the ring in his face. What was I supposed to do now? Just crawl back, and say that I was just kidding, and oh, by the way, we're pregnant? Those thoughts alone made me cry harder than I already was.

Connor came closer and handed me some Kleenex. "Look, it's going to be okay."

"How? I could be knocked up! Knocked up, and alone," I sobbed out.

He did his patting thing on top of my head again. "You will not be alone. Andrew loves you."

"He loves his job…"

"And you too."

"I wish that I was as sure as you are."