Articoli correlati a Home Again: The Chesapeake Diaries: 2
New York Times bestselling author Mariah Stewart presents a captivating contemporary romance novel in the tradition of Robyn Carr, Susan Mallery, and Barbara Freethy.
Dallas MacGregor is living the Hollywood dream. At thirtysomething, she’s an award-winning actress beloved by the public and bound for even bigger success. But when her soon-to-be-ex-husband, producer Emilio Baird, is caught in a sex scandal, Dallas’s charmed life turns tabloid nightmare. Determined to shield her young son, Cody, from the ugly uproar, Dallas seeks refuge in sleepy St. Dennis, Maryland—the Chesapeake Bay town where her happiest childhood days were spent.
Reunited with her boisterous great-aunt, Dallas wants nothing more than to leave her Hollywood days behind. And when she crosses paths with local veterinarian Grant Wyler, her high school summer love, she finds he’s everything she remembers, and more—and that the spark is still there. But Dallas’s promising new life takes a troubling turn when the unimaginable happens and she finds herself living a mother’s worst nightmare—and Emilio storms into St. Dennis to save the day, along with his damaged career. Trapped in the unwanted glare of the limelight once again, Dallas discovers that it’s coolheaded Grant who is willing to risk everything to protect her and her son, and to secure the future they were always meant to share.
Dallas MacGregor is living the Hollywood dream. At thirtysomething, she’s an award-winning actress beloved by the public and bound for even bigger success. But when her soon-to-be-ex-husband, producer Emilio Baird, is caught in a sex scandal, Dallas’s charmed life turns tabloid nightmare. Determined to shield her young son, Cody, from the ugly uproar, Dallas seeks refuge in sleepy St. Dennis, Maryland—the Chesapeake Bay town where her happiest childhood days were spent.
Reunited with her boisterous great-aunt, Dallas wants nothing more than to leave her Hollywood days behind. And when she crosses paths with local veterinarian Grant Wyler, her high school summer love, she finds he’s everything she remembers, and more—and that the spark is still there. But Dallas’s promising new life takes a troubling turn when the unimaginable happens and she finds herself living a mother’s worst nightmare—and Emilio storms into St. Dennis to save the day, along with his damaged career. Trapped in the unwanted glare of the limelight once again, Dallas discovers that it’s coolheaded Grant who is willing to risk everything to protect her and her son, and to secure the future they were always meant to share.
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L'autore:
Mariah Stewart is the award-winning New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty-seven novels of contemporary romance and romantic suspense. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she lives in southern Chester County, Pennsylvania, with her husband, their daughter, and their dogs.
Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:
Chapter 1
At the precise moment Dallas MacGregor was picking up her son, Cody, from his pricey summer day camp out near Topanga State Park, the home video starring her soon-to-be ex-husband and two of the female production assistants from his latest film had already been uploaded to the Internet. By the time she arrived at her Malibu home—she’d stopped once on the way from the set of her latest movie promo shoot to pick up dinner—the one-thousandth viewing had already been downloaded.
The phone was on overdrive, ringing like mad, when she walked into her kitchen.
“Miss MacGregor, you have many messages. Two from your aunt Beryl.” Elena, her housekeeper, cast a wary glance at Cody and handed her employer a stack of pink slips as the phone continued to ring. “About Mr. Emilio . . .”
“Would you mind answering that?” Dallas slid the heavy paper bag onto the counter. “And why are you still here? I thought you wanted to leave today by four?”
“Yes, miss, I . . .” Elena lifted the receiver. “Miss MacGregor’s . . . oh, hello, Miss Townsend. Yes, she’s home now, she just arrived. Yes, I gave her the message but . . . of course, Miss Townsend . . .”
Elena held the phone out to Dallas.
“It’s your great-aunt,” she whispered.
“I figured that out.” Dallas smiled and took the cordless receiver from Elena. “Hello, Berry. I was just thinking about—”
“Dallas.” Her aunt cut her off sharply. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“Not much.” Dallas paused. “What’s supposed to be going on?”
“That numbskull you were married to.” Berry’s breath came in ragged puffs.
She was obviously in a lather over something. Not unusual, Dallas thought. At eighty-one, it didn’t take much to rile Berry these days.
“What’s he done now?” Dallas began emptying the bag, lining up the contents on the counter.
“Not what as much as who.” Berry was becoming increasingly agitated.
“Mommy.” Cody tugged at her sleeve. “Why are all those cars out there?”
“Berry, hold on for just a moment, please.” Dallas glanced out the side window where cars were lined up on the other side of the fence that completely encircled the gated property, cars that had not been there five minutes ago when they drove through the gates. It wasn’t unusual for paparazzi to follow her home, but she hadn’t noticed any cars tailing her today. She raised the blinds just a little, and saw more cars were arriving even as she watched.
“I don’t know, Cody. Maybe the studio put out something about Mommy’s new movie. Maybe we should turn on the television and see.”
“No!” Elena and Berry both shouted at the same time.
“What?” Dallas frowned and turned to her housekeeper, who stood behind Cody. She pointed to the child, then raised her index finger to her lips, their silent code for “not in front of Cody.”
Keeping a curious eye on Elena, Dallas asked, “Berry, why don’t you tell me . . . ?”
“Are you saying you don’t know? Seriously? You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That idiot ex of yours—”
“Not ex yet, but soon, please God . . .” Dallas muttered. “And it’s long been established that he’s an idiot, so anything he’s done should be viewed with that in mind.”
“—managed to get himself filmed doing . . . all sorts of things that you will not want Cody to see . . .” Berry was almost gasping. “And with more than one person. It was disgusting. Perverted.”
“You mean . . .” Dallas’s knees went weak and she sat in the chair that Elena wisely pulled out for her.
“Yes. A sex tape. Not one, but two young women. I was shocked. Appalled!”
“Wait! You actually saw it?”
“Three times!” Dallas could almost see Berry fanning herself. “It was vile, just vile! You know, Dallas, that I never liked that man. I told you when you first brought him home that I—”
“Berry, where did you see this?”
“On my computer. There was a link to a site—”
“Hold on for a moment, Berry.” Dallas put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Elena. “Would you mind cutting up an apple for Cody? Cody, go wash your hands so you can have your snack.”
After her son left the room, Dallas took the phone outside and sat at one of the tables on her shaded patio.
“Dear God, Berry, let me get this straight. Emilio made a sex tape and it was put on the Internet? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, and not just any sex tape. This one had—”
“Wait a minute; they allowed you to download the whole thing?”
“No, no, not all of it, just a little peek. You had to pay to see the whole thing.”
“And you did? You paid to watch . . .” Dallas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The thought of her elderly aunt watching Emilio and his latest conquests burning up the sheets—and paying for the privilege—was horrifying and crazy funny at the same time. “Wait—did you say three times?”
“Yes, and it was—”
“Berry, why did you watch it three times?”
“Well,” Berry sniffed. “I had to make sure it was really him.”
The rest of the evening went downhill from there.
Dallas made every attempt to remain calm lest Cody pick up on the fact that she was almost blind with anger at the man she’d been married to for seven years.
Seven years, she repeated to herself. Seven years out of my life, wasted on that reprobate. The only good thing to come out of those years was Cody—and Dallas had to admit that she would have weathered a lifetime of Emilio’s amorous flings and general foolishness if she’d had to in order to have her son. When she filed for divorce eight months ago, following the latest in his long line of infidelities, Emilio hadn’t even bothered to beg her to reconsider: they’d done that dance so often over the years that even he was tired of it.
She managed to have a normal evening with Cody and ignored the cars that parked beyond the protective fence. They had a nice dinner and watched a video together, then Cody had his bath and Dallas read a bedtime story before she tucked him in and turned off the light.
It wasn’t until she went back downstairs, alone, that she permitted herself to fall apart.
There was no love lost between her and Emilio. She’d long since accepted the fact that he’d married her strictly to further his own career as a director. For a time, she’d remained stubbornly blind, insisting that her husband be signed to direct her movies, and for a time, she’d been equally blind to his affairs. Lately it occurred to her that she well might be the last person in the entire state of California to catch on to the extent of Emilio’s indiscretions.
For the past five years, she and Emilio had battled over the same ground, over and over until Dallas no longer cared who he slept with, as long as it wasn’t her. Looking back now, she realized she should have left him the first time he’d cheated on her, when the tabloids had leaked those photos of Emilio frolicking with a pretty up-and-coming Latina actress on a sunny, sandy beach in Guatemala when he’d told Dallas he was going to scout some locations for a film he was thinking about making, but it had been so much easier to stay than to leave. There was Cody to consider: Emilio had never wanted the child, but Dallas had hoped—for Cody’s sake—that he’d come around. Besides, Dallas’s schedule had been so hectic for the past three years that she’d barely had time to read the tabloids. She’d had the blessing—or the curse—of having had wonderful roles offered to her, roles that she’d really wanted, so she’d signed on for all of them, and had gone from one set right onto the next, leaving her time for nothing and no one other than her son. It had only been recently that Dallas admitted to herself that perhaps she’d been deliberately overworking herself to avoid having to deal with her home situation.
Well, avoid no more, she told herself as she dialed her attorney’s number. This time, Emilio had gone too far. When the call went directly to voice mail, Dallas left the message that she wanted her lawyer to do whatever had to be done to speed up the divorce.
“And oh,” she’d added, “we need to talk about that custody arrangement we’d worked out . . .”
While she waited for the return call, Dallas logged on to the computer in her home office. She searched the Web for what she was looking for. The link to the video appeared almost instantaneously, along with a running tally of how many times the video had been watched—all thirteen thousand, four hundred, and thirty-one viewings. Her stomach churning, she clicked on the link and was asked first to confirm that she was over eighteen, then for her credit card number.
At the precise moment Dallas MacGregor was picking up her son, Cody, from his pricey summer day camp out near Topanga State Park, the home video starring her soon-to-be ex-husband and two of the female production assistants from his latest film had already been uploaded to the Internet. By the time she arrived at her Malibu home—she’d stopped once on the way from the set of her latest movie promo shoot to pick up dinner—the one-thousandth viewing had already been downloaded.
The phone was on overdrive, ringing like mad, when she walked into her kitchen.
“Miss MacGregor, you have many messages. Two from your aunt Beryl.” Elena, her housekeeper, cast a wary glance at Cody and handed her employer a stack of pink slips as the phone continued to ring. “About Mr. Emilio . . .”
“Would you mind answering that?” Dallas slid the heavy paper bag onto the counter. “And why are you still here? I thought you wanted to leave today by four?”
“Yes, miss, I . . .” Elena lifted the receiver. “Miss MacGregor’s . . . oh, hello, Miss Townsend. Yes, she’s home now, she just arrived. Yes, I gave her the message but . . . of course, Miss Townsend . . .”
Elena held the phone out to Dallas.
“It’s your great-aunt,” she whispered.
“I figured that out.” Dallas smiled and took the cordless receiver from Elena. “Hello, Berry. I was just thinking about—”
“Dallas.” Her aunt cut her off sharply. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“Not much.” Dallas paused. “What’s supposed to be going on?”
“That numbskull you were married to.” Berry’s breath came in ragged puffs.
She was obviously in a lather over something. Not unusual, Dallas thought. At eighty-one, it didn’t take much to rile Berry these days.
“What’s he done now?” Dallas began emptying the bag, lining up the contents on the counter.
“Not what as much as who.” Berry was becoming increasingly agitated.
“Mommy.” Cody tugged at her sleeve. “Why are all those cars out there?”
“Berry, hold on for just a moment, please.” Dallas glanced out the side window where cars were lined up on the other side of the fence that completely encircled the gated property, cars that had not been there five minutes ago when they drove through the gates. It wasn’t unusual for paparazzi to follow her home, but she hadn’t noticed any cars tailing her today. She raised the blinds just a little, and saw more cars were arriving even as she watched.
“I don’t know, Cody. Maybe the studio put out something about Mommy’s new movie. Maybe we should turn on the television and see.”
“No!” Elena and Berry both shouted at the same time.
“What?” Dallas frowned and turned to her housekeeper, who stood behind Cody. She pointed to the child, then raised her index finger to her lips, their silent code for “not in front of Cody.”
Keeping a curious eye on Elena, Dallas asked, “Berry, why don’t you tell me . . . ?”
“Are you saying you don’t know? Seriously? You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That idiot ex of yours—”
“Not ex yet, but soon, please God . . .” Dallas muttered. “And it’s long been established that he’s an idiot, so anything he’s done should be viewed with that in mind.”
“—managed to get himself filmed doing . . . all sorts of things that you will not want Cody to see . . .” Berry was almost gasping. “And with more than one person. It was disgusting. Perverted.”
“You mean . . .” Dallas’s knees went weak and she sat in the chair that Elena wisely pulled out for her.
“Yes. A sex tape. Not one, but two young women. I was shocked. Appalled!”
“Wait! You actually saw it?”
“Three times!” Dallas could almost see Berry fanning herself. “It was vile, just vile! You know, Dallas, that I never liked that man. I told you when you first brought him home that I—”
“Berry, where did you see this?”
“On my computer. There was a link to a site—”
“Hold on for a moment, Berry.” Dallas put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Elena. “Would you mind cutting up an apple for Cody? Cody, go wash your hands so you can have your snack.”
After her son left the room, Dallas took the phone outside and sat at one of the tables on her shaded patio.
“Dear God, Berry, let me get this straight. Emilio made a sex tape and it was put on the Internet? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, and not just any sex tape. This one had—”
“Wait a minute; they allowed you to download the whole thing?”
“No, no, not all of it, just a little peek. You had to pay to see the whole thing.”
“And you did? You paid to watch . . .” Dallas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The thought of her elderly aunt watching Emilio and his latest conquests burning up the sheets—and paying for the privilege—was horrifying and crazy funny at the same time. “Wait—did you say three times?”
“Yes, and it was—”
“Berry, why did you watch it three times?”
“Well,” Berry sniffed. “I had to make sure it was really him.”
The rest of the evening went downhill from there.
Dallas made every attempt to remain calm lest Cody pick up on the fact that she was almost blind with anger at the man she’d been married to for seven years.
Seven years, she repeated to herself. Seven years out of my life, wasted on that reprobate. The only good thing to come out of those years was Cody—and Dallas had to admit that she would have weathered a lifetime of Emilio’s amorous flings and general foolishness if she’d had to in order to have her son. When she filed for divorce eight months ago, following the latest in his long line of infidelities, Emilio hadn’t even bothered to beg her to reconsider: they’d done that dance so often over the years that even he was tired of it.
She managed to have a normal evening with Cody and ignored the cars that parked beyond the protective fence. They had a nice dinner and watched a video together, then Cody had his bath and Dallas read a bedtime story before she tucked him in and turned off the light.
It wasn’t until she went back downstairs, alone, that she permitted herself to fall apart.
There was no love lost between her and Emilio. She’d long since accepted the fact that he’d married her strictly to further his own career as a director. For a time, she’d remained stubbornly blind, insisting that her husband be signed to direct her movies, and for a time, she’d been equally blind to his affairs. Lately it occurred to her that she well might be the last person in the entire state of California to catch on to the extent of Emilio’s indiscretions.
For the past five years, she and Emilio had battled over the same ground, over and over until Dallas no longer cared who he slept with, as long as it wasn’t her. Looking back now, she realized she should have left him the first time he’d cheated on her, when the tabloids had leaked those photos of Emilio frolicking with a pretty up-and-coming Latina actress on a sunny, sandy beach in Guatemala when he’d told Dallas he was going to scout some locations for a film he was thinking about making, but it had been so much easier to stay than to leave. There was Cody to consider: Emilio had never wanted the child, but Dallas had hoped—for Cody’s sake—that he’d come around. Besides, Dallas’s schedule had been so hectic for the past three years that she’d barely had time to read the tabloids. She’d had the blessing—or the curse—of having had wonderful roles offered to her, roles that she’d really wanted, so she’d signed on for all of them, and had gone from one set right onto the next, leaving her time for nothing and no one other than her son. It had only been recently that Dallas admitted to herself that perhaps she’d been deliberately overworking herself to avoid having to deal with her home situation.
Well, avoid no more, she told herself as she dialed her attorney’s number. This time, Emilio had gone too far. When the call went directly to voice mail, Dallas left the message that she wanted her lawyer to do whatever had to be done to speed up the divorce.
“And oh,” she’d added, “we need to talk about that custody arrangement we’d worked out . . .”
While she waited for the return call, Dallas logged on to the computer in her home office. She searched the Web for what she was looking for. The link to the video appeared almost instantaneously, along with a running tally of how many times the video had been watched—all thirteen thousand, four hundred, and thirty-one viewings. Her stomach churning, she clicked on the link and was asked first to confirm that she was over eighteen, then for her credit card number.
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- Data di pubblicazione2010
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