Jane’s beatific smile included both of them. “Let the games begin.” The chauffeur got out, rounded the car, and opened the door. The second Mick exited, the cameras started flashing and the shouting began. “Mick!” “Mick Talford!” “Look over here!” He ignored them and helped first Jane and then Sarah, his wife-to-be, out of the limo. The two women slipped their hands through his crooked arms. He could feel the gentle weight of them resting against the black silk of his Tom Ford Shelton suit.

“Mick, my man!” His producer Paul rushed over, grabbed Mick’s face, and standing on tiptoes, managed to lay a loud kiss on each cheek. The camera flashed.

“Again!” the photographers cried. “Look this way!”

“Don’t even,” Mick said to Peterson, who was starting to rise onto his tiptoes again. Peterson shrugged good-naturedly. “Paul, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Sarah Rainsford, and her aunt, Jane Clarke.”

“Harris,” Jane said. “I’ve decided to reclaim my maiden name.”

“Hello, ladies,” Peterson said, sweeping into a Shakespearian bow. “Paul Peterson at your service. You’ve snagged a good one.” He gave Sarah a wink and a nudge. “Never thought I’d see Mick Talford, the bad boy of Hollywood, settling down. Speaking of . . .” He turned back to Mick. “You’re never gonna believe my good fortune. I’m in the clear! The police got a confession out of some guy in New York. Thank God. I’ve been dealing with an absolute nightmare while you wiled the days away on a fuckin’ vacation.” He turned to Jane. “Excuse my French.” His eyes widened as he took her in. “Hey, Mickster! How come you get two beautiful ladies on your arm and I’ve got none?” He looped his arm through Jane’s and gazed admiringly into her eyes. “Pure East Coast class, born and bred. That’s what I’m missing in my life. Are you married, sweetheart?” Jane shook her head, her eyes twinkling. Her lip caught between her teeth as if she were holding back laughter.

Sarah was nestled next to Mick. He could feel the suppressed laughter shaking her slender frame. “Hmm . . . Don’t think he’s quite what Auntie Jane had in mind for her new beginning,” Sarah murmured.

“And you’re the perfect height, too!” Peterson continued happily. “I need an old broad. I’m so damned tired of chasing after women half my age and twice as tall as me. Always come home empty-handed, with blue balls and a crick in my neck.” That comment was the tipping point that broke the dam, and Sarah and Jane burst into laughter. There was a frenzy of flashes from behind the area cordoned off with a red velvet rope.