"Yes."
"I'll say this. He had a miserable childhood and a difficult life. Despite it, maybe because of it, he's a kind and generous man."
"I know he is. Sometimes too generous. How do you make him stop buying you things?"
"You don't. Because he needs to do it. Money's not important to Gray. The symbol of it is vital, but the money itself is nothing more than a means to an end. And I'm about to give some unsolicited advice and tell you not to give up, to be patient. Gray's only home in his work. He sees to that. I wonder if he realizes yet you're making him a home in Ireland."
"No." Brianna relaxed enough to smile. "He doesn't. Neither did I until a bit ago. Still, his book's almost finished."
"But you're not. And you've got someone very much on your side now, if you feel the need for it."
Hours later, as Gray tugged up the zipper of her dress, Brianna thought over Arlene's words. It was a lover's gesture, she thought as Gray planted a kiss on her shoulder. A husband's.
She smiled at him in the mirror. "You look wonderful, Grayson."
So he did in the black suit, tieless, with that casual sophistication she'd always associated with movie and music stars.
"Who's going to look at me when you're around?"
"All the women?"
"There's a thought." He draped the pearls around her throat, grinning as he clasped them. "Nearly perfect," he judged, turning her to face him.
The tone of the midnight blue warmed against her creamy skin. The neckline was a low scoop that skimmed the soft curve of breasts and left her shoulders bare. She'd put her hair up so that he could play with the tendrils that escaped to tickle her ears and the nape of her neck.
She laughed as he turned her in a slow circle. "Earlier you said I was perfect."
"So I did." He took a box out of his pocket, flipped open the top. There were more pearls inside, two luminous teardrops that dripped from single flashing diamonds.
"Gray-"
"Ssh." He slipped the earrings over her lobes. A practiced move, she thought wryly, smoothly and casually done. "Now, you're perfect."
"When did you get these?"
"I picked them out when we bought the necklace. Marcia was delighted when I called and had her send them over."
"I bet she was." Helpless to do otherwise, she lifted a hand and stroked an earring. It was real, she knew, yet she couldn't imagine it-Brianna Concannon standing in a luxurious New York hotel, wearing pearls and diamonds while the man she loved smiled at her.
"It's no use telling you that you shouldn't have done it?"
"No use at all. Say thank you."
"Thank you." Accepting, she pressed her cheek to his. "This is your night, Grayson, and you've made me feel like a princess."
"Just think how nifty we'll look if any of the press bothers to snap a picture."
"Bothers to?" She grabbed her bag as he pulled her toward the door. "It's your movie. You wrote it."
"I wrote the book."
"That's what I said."
"No." He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the elevator. She may have looked like a glamorous stranger, he noted, but she still smelled like Brianna. Soft, sweet, and subtle. "You said it was my movie. It's not. It's the director's movie, the producer's movie, the actors' movie. And it's the screenwriter's movie." As the doors opened he led her inside, pushed the button for lobby. "The novelist is way down on the list, honey."
"That's ridiculous. It's your story, your people."
"Was." He smiled at her. She was becoming indignant for him, and he found it charming. "I sold it, so whatever they've done-for better or worse-you won't hear me complain. And the spotlight most certainly will not be on 'based on the novel written by' tonight."
"Well, it should be. They'd have nothing without you."
"Damn right."
She cut him a glance as they stepped into the lobby. "You're making fun of me."
"No, I'm not. I'm adoring you." He kissed her to prove it, then led her outside where their limo was waiting. "The trick to surviving a Hollywood sale is not to take it too personally."
"You could have written the screenplay yourself."
"Do I look like a masochist?" He almost shuddered at the thought. "Thanks, but working with an editor is as close as I ever want to come to writing by committee." He settled back as the car cruised through traffic. "I get paid well, I get my name on the screen for a few seconds, and if the movie's a hit-and the early buzz seems to indicate this one will be-my sales soar."
"Don't you have any temperament?"
"Plenty of it. Just not about this."
Their picture was snapped the moment they alighted at the theater. Brianna blinked against the lights, surprised and more than a little disconcerted. He'd indicated that he'd be all but ignored, yet a microphone was thrust at him before they'd taken two steps. Gray answered questions easily, avoided them just as easily, all the while keeping a firm grip on Brianna as they made their way toward the theater.
Dazzled, she looked around. There were people here she'd only seen in glossy magazines, on movie and television screens. Some loitered in the lobby, as ordinary people might, catching a last smoke, chatting over drinks, gossiping or talking shop.
Here and there, Gray introduced her. She made whatever responses seemed right and filed away names and faces for the people back in Clare.
Some dressed up, some dressed down. She saw diamonds, and she saw denim. There were baseball caps and thousand-dollar suits. She smelled popcorn, as she might in any theater on any continent, and that bubble gum scent of candy along with subtle perfumes. And over it all was a thin, glossy coat of glamour.