“How bad can that be?”
“In a room the size of this bed.”
“So don’t snore and let me have the covers. We’ll be fine. Remember the bed in France?” They’d had a “brief” honeymoon in France and ended up at a chateau in a small winery. Michael had asked and paid for deluxe accommodations. They ended up with a twin bed and a bathroom with only cold running water…and pictures of them spread through the tabloids the next day. They’d held hands and laughed like friends, and by the time they had to come home, Karen knew there was no possible way for her to hold any attraction to the man she called husband. There simply wasn’t any chemistry.
Michael took her hand in his and kissed the edges of her fingertips. “Thanks, Karen.”
As he walked into the bathroom, and the sound of running water met her ears, Karen’s smile fell.
Small-town America. How bad could it be?
Chapter Four
Zach usually made it out of bed before dawn. Sleeping in would have been a luxury, and his brother’s digs were beyond comfortable. The king-size bed was overkill for a guest room, but Zach wasn’t complaining. He was tall, like his brother, and he always hung off beds in hotels. There were tile floors throughout the home, and in the bedrooms large colorful carpets warmed up the space. He couldn’t help but wonder if Karen had anything to do with the decor of the home. She and Mike had only been married a year, and not everything he’d seen looked new. In fact, there were antiques throughout the house and various pieces of art scattered along the walls.
He liked it. The entire palette of colors and textures wasn’t something he would have chosen, but he couldn’t deny the warmth and comfort of the home.
Zach had to admit that their father would probably hate it. He’d think everything was too perfect, too staged. Even though the home appeared more casual than he expected for his hotshot Hollywood movie star brother, he understood what things cost. On the construction level, there was crown molding and carved paneling along the walls in the main hall. The massive fireplace in the great room was large enough for a child to walk into. With a little less Spanish influence, and a little more Western rustic, this house would be perfect for him.
The sun peeked through the windowed doors that opened into the courtyard. Across the yard, he noticed movement through the rooms on the other side. The u shape broke the home up into two sections. He assumed that either his brother or Karen was up and preparing for their day.
He pushed out of bed and walked naked into the adjoining bathroom. As he’d discovered the night before, the lights came on with movement. He wondered what that little trick cost Michael to put in place. No one in Hilton wanted those kinds of touches. No, Hilton wanted functional and cheap. The hardware store that provided them food and clothes growing up would have to special order nearly every fixture in the bathroom, every hinge on the doors.
“You did good, kid,” Zach whispered to himself as he ran his hand over the marble countertop.
Zach showered and dressed before leaving his room in search of coffee. He rounded the corner and spotted Karen struggling with the front door with her hands full of catering trays.
“Let me get that.” He relieved her arms of the load.
“Oh, thanks.” She opened the door and led him out to the drive, where several cars were still sitting from the night before. “I should have had Michael load the car before we went to bed last night.”
“No problem.”
Today Karen was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a simple pullover shirt she’d tucked in. Her face was free of makeup and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. There wasn’t one ounce of polish on her like he’d seen the night before, no silk, no shiny jewelry dangling from her ears or her neck. Without heels, the top of her head barely made it to his chin. She wasn’t at all what he’d assumed she’d be from the pictures he’d seen.
Karen opened the hatch of the SUV and moved around to the second set of doors to lower the back seats. “Just pile those up. I have a few more to bring out.”
“What’s all this for?” He set the trays down and shoved them up toward the seats to make room for more.
“The kids at the club.”
“You feed them?”
Karen walked around him back to the house. “Not all the time. But they know after we’ve had a party to expect something special.”
He followed her into a huge pantry off the kitchen, which housed another refrigerator. Inside were several more trays of food. “All of this is leftovers?”
“No. We have the chef make extra, more kid-friendly food. The kids will eat the fancy desserts but skip the caviar.”
“I’d skip the caviar.”
Karen laughed and the sound splashed over him with warmth. “Yeah, me, too. I find more fish eggs in crumbled up napkins after these parties than I can count.” She started pulling the oversize trays out one at a time and loaded him up. When he kept nodding for more, she continued to pile until they met his chin.
She pulled the last one and walked with him back to the car. “If no one eats the caviar, why do you serve it?”
“Some things are expected. Have you met Tony?”
“No.”
“Tony is Michael’s manager. He takes great pains in knowing the personal tastes of many of Michael’s co-workers, the producers, so that everyone feels taken care of when they visit.”
“Do you know their tastes?”