Page 26 of Reel Love

The substitute water taxi driver is funny. And attractive. I don’t mention his appearance for any reason except that he’s one of the beautiful people. And I don’t think he even knows it. He could easily co-star in a major picture. Until he opens his mouth.

I grin to myself thinking of how he stumbled over himself when I approached the boat. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo. People lose their marbles over me all the time. I don’t usually have to contend with the fan freak-outs from my inner circle of drivers and bodyguards, assistants, makeup artists or other people who are employed to surround and sustain my life. But someone having an attack like this guy, Stevens? Yes. I’ve dealt with more than my share of stuttering, screaming, and even fainting. Thankfully he didn’t faint. Things were awkward enough without that added bonus feature.

I finally decided to put him out of his misery. It was either going to go one of two ways. He’d crash the boat when I came up to sit next to him, or we’d talk. I’m glad we ended up in an easy conversation. I miss Joel. He reads me. And he knows when to initiate a conversation. Also, Joel was never ever impressed by me. Not even a little. But, to this guy’s credit, he’s made up for the heavy case of nerves with his sweetness and sensitivity. I really believe he’s “the chest.”

I smile again thinking of that whole interaction.

Stevens pulls into the slip and kills the engine. He walks to the side of the boat and extends me his hand. I grab my duffle, rest my palm in Stevens’ and step from the boat to the dock. His hands are strong and big, slightly calloused, clean. Nice hands. He watches me, and I’m pretty sure he’s more focused on my safety than my appearance. That’s more refreshing than I can say.

“You have a car waiting for you?” he asks.

He pockets the key to the boat and steps out next to me.

“I have a car. And …” I point toward the end of the finger of slips where Ken is standing in his typical stoic stance, doing a stellar impersonation of a statue entitled,Beefy Bodyguard Awaiting Starlet.

“Is that your security detail? Oh. Wow. Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Stevens assesses Tank for more than a few seconds. Then he glances back at me. “He’s big.”

I chuckle. “He is. Massive. And he literally never smiles.”

“Never?”

“Not that I’ve seen, and he’s worked for our family for years.”

“Huh.”

I almost don’t say the next sentence, but history has shown me even the most seemingly trustworthy people can turn on you or be the opposite of what they appeared to be. Though, this guy seems pretty reliable. Still …

“I’m sorry. I just need to remind you. Please don’t tell anyone about me—or today.”

“No. Yeah. Of course. I won’t.”

“No one.” I repeat, feeling instantly bad for insisting so hard.

I look up into his eyes—brown and warm, compassionate, even.

“You’d be surprised how many people say something about being with me or spotting me to that one person they can trust, and before you know it, one hundred people and the local press know where I am.”

“Wow.” His brow furrows with definite concern. “That must be horrible.”

I can only nod. I can’t explain it, but the way he’s looking at me could nearly draw up tears.

“I mean it. I’ll keep this whole morning a secret,” he assures me. “It sounds like you have no privacy. You can’t even ride over on the main ferry. That’s a big price tag for the life you live.”

I search his face for any hint that he’s being sarcastic.

Finding nothing but warmth in every feature of his, I answer, “Thank you. Yeah. There’s a heavy price tag.”

He looks me dead in the eyes. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even my mom, who loves you. I mean, she’s a superfan. She watched your shows religiously when you were on television. And she has every older movie of yours on DVD. She kept her DVD player just so she could have a full collection of your movies. Well, you and Jude Law. She loves that man. But that’s beside the point. She’d die if she knew I took you to the mainland today.”

It seems to suddenly dawn on both of us that I’ve already met his mom. She actually seemed to have tried to set Stevens up with me.

“Your mom. Yes. I remember her. Painting class?”

I feel my eyebrows pinch together. I know this guy means to keep my confidence. He did sign an NDA, but I really, really don’t want to have to sue him for breach. I’m not even sure I would. But it would stink if he talked to his mom, even though a part of me wishes I could offer to officially meet her—as Alana, not Layna, hiding behind sunglasses and a ball cap just so I could get out of the house and do something creative for once. Brigitteset that painting class up too. I’m glad she did. On one hand, it was a great way to spend an afternoon. On the other hand, I could have been identified and that would have had ramifications I don’t even want to entertain.

I can’t officially meet any fan. Especially not when we both live on the island. Marbella is my sanctuary. I can’t afford to have rabid admirers knowing I’m residing there whenever I’m not filming.

Stevens reiterates his mom’s love of me. “She’d go crazy. Like … so crazy. I think you got a small sample of that Saturday. And she had no clue who you were then. I’m surprised, honestly. I guess your disguise did the trick.”

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