Page 81 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Mom, we’ve been too restrictive of Emma’s dreams,” he said. “Discouraging her. Maybe she needs to chase them, even if they’re unrealistic. We can always be the fallback.”
“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?” His mom sat down on a moss-covered stone bench. “We came here to escape the violence of the city. Your dad…”
“Yes, but we’ve lost sight of what’s important. The opposite of love is fear.”
“What will you do now?” Mom’s voice wavered, and that familiar deer in the headlamp look froze her face. She was as afraid as him to venture off their safe space on the island.
“I’m going to Raleigh. I’m going to find Sierra and tell her how I feel.”
“Are you sure about this? How can you get her back when she’s married to another?”
“I only need to let her know I support her and will always be waiting for her—that she has a home here and that I’ll go wherever she wants me to go. She needs me now, even more.”
“Yes, she does. She needs to know that we’re her family, and she brought joy, not danger, to us.”
He went inside and packed an overnight bag. Before leaving, he found Emma practicing her guitar in her room.
“Emma,” he said gently. “I’m going after Sierra. I hope to be back in time for Harvestfest, so keep practicing that song you two will sing, alright?”
“Really?” Emma’s eyes widened with surprise and hope. “You’re going to bring her back?”
“I’m going to try my best,” Hank assured her. “And I promise I’ll support you in your dreams, no matter what.”
“Thank you, Dad.” Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “You’re the best dad ever.”
Chapter Thirty
The entrance to the gleaming regional hospital was lined with entertainment reporters, including the flamboyant gossip reporter Stella Gimenez, decked out with feathers and plumes like a Vegas showgirl.
“There she is. Sierra Rayne, the pop star princess,” she screamed, leading the charge.
Sierra glided through the frenzy as if she were an expressionless fashion model striding down the runway of a high-end fashion show. Her ensemble was a fusion of modern and retro glamour, wearing an iridescent hot pants jumpsuit combo with bell sleeves and a plunging neckline. Knee-high neon boots, electric bolt earrings, and oversized dark glasses highlighted her star-studded persona, and her signature hot pink lipstick added the perfect finishing touch.
The reporters swarmed like angry bees, with Stella leading the charge.
“Sierra, Sierra!” The cacophony followed her toward the entrance. “Is it true you’re married to Marco Garrison?”
“How’s his condition?”
“Why the secret wedding?”
“Is he the reason you canceled your show?”
“What is the future of the Crystal Coliseum now that you own it?”
“Any comments about your dad, Vinnie Romanski?”
Mics of all shapes, sizes, and colors bombarded her face, but Sierra simply shoved them aside without missing a single step.
In a last-ditch effort to collect a quote, Stella, feathers and plumes swaying, flung out her bejeweled hands, striking a dramatic pose in front of the automatic doors.
“Sierra Romanski, is it true your husband is a big-time mobster?” Stella crowed her question like a cock on a rock. However, the automatic doors opened so swiftly that they sucked in air, causing Stella’s plumes to flutter in all directions, blinding her as she lost her balance and spun into the lobby.
The gossip maven’s arms flailed. Her microphone flew up in an arc, and she plunged into a gift stand, sending the “Get Well Soon” Mylar balloons floating up the glass atrium.
While the crowd erupted into stifled chuckles and murmurs, Sierra cleared their midst and calmly stepped into an elevator. She punched the button for the Intensive Care Unit on the sixth floor. The rapid rise of the elevator made her dizzy, and her eyes were bleary from a night of crying over Hank.
She shouldn’t have been surprised at his rejection. It was a big ask to have him waiting in the wings while she played the charade of being Marco’s wife. But she saw no other way to keep this monster she married away from Emma. Sweet, innocent Emma was easy pickings for a manipulative mafia don like Marco.
