Come A Little Bit Closer (The Sullivans #7)(21)

“Hi Mom.”

“Smith, honey, how are you?”

“The movie’s going well.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” She paused for a moment, and he knew she hadn’t been fooled by his reply about the movie and not himself. “And how is everything else?”

For as long as he could remember, Mary Sullivan had had a laser-sharp radar when something was bothering one of them. She never poked, never prodded, but was always there when they were finally ready to come for help and advice. Smith knew he’d called her because it was long past time for him to admit that he knew exactly what was happening to him.

“There’s a woman.”

“So I’ve heard,” his mother said softly. “Marcus and Nicola said Valentina was very pretty. Very sweet, too.”

Smith immediately thought back to the tears on Valentina’s cheeks during filming the previous day. She’d been so moved by the love story he’d written that the sweetness of her response had tugged at him, right in the center of his chest. It was why he’d given her the flower and the cinnamon bun—because they were both sweet, and both reminded him of her.

“She is sweet,” he confirmed to his mother. “And beautiful, and smart, and strong.” He blew out a hard breath. “And she won’t let me take her out on a date.”

Jesus, it was like being fifteen years old again and pouring his heart out over his mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen. Smith loved his brothers and sisters, but only with his mother had he ever admitted just how difficult his extreme fame had been for him at times, especially when it had reached a point where he could no longer go where he wanted, where he felt trapped under a magnifying glass. It had taken years to learn how to deal with it, and to find ways to make sure he lived his life according to his own terms, while still managing the demands of his fans and the media. Just like today, when he’d needed someone to talk things over with, Mary Sullivan had been the only person he could think of calling.

“Did she tell you why?”

“She doesn’t trust actors.” He had to admit, “And I don’t blame her. There’s a lot of scum in my profession.”

“You’ve worked together for long enough on your movie that she would know you’re not one of them,” his mother told him with perfect certainty. “But sometimes, it’s harder to admit to ourselves we want love in our lives than it is to keep living without it.”

Smith was suddenly hit with the realization of how close this situation between Valentina and himself was to the relationship between Jo and Graham in his film. In Gravity, both the hero and heroine were stubbornly convinced that love was the hard part, when the truth was that love should be the easiest thing of all.

He’d written the damned movie, and yet he’d needed his mother to point out the obvious to him: if he couldn’t fight gravity—and an attraction that knocked him off his feet—then it was time to fight for it instead.

“Have I told you lately how smart you are?” he asked her.

“So are you,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice now. “You’re one of the smartest men I know. Smart enough to know a good thing when you see it and to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t let it go.” She was as serious as he’d ever heard her as she said, “And if it turns out that she’s the one, no matter what, remember what you’re fighting for, even if it feels like you’re the only one fighting sometimes.”

For seven decades his mother had gained wisdom, two of those decades shared with a husband she’d loved with her whole heart, four of them as the solid foundation of eight children’s lives. Smith had learned everything that mattered from her, and especially after watching Valentina and Tatiana with their mother, he would never take Mary Sullivan for granted for a single second.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you, Mom?”

“Oh yes, honey,” she said in a voice that was slightly thicker now, “I do know. But it’s always nice to hear it one more time.”

Chapter Eight

Valentina woke with the same sinking feeling in her stomach that she’d gone to bed with. She’d been so flipped out over the thought of Smith and her sister posing for “romantic” pictures in a magazine—even though they would be completely in character, clothes and all—that she’d fled without remembering to thank him for the flower and breakfast. And that was on top of her completely unprofessional mini-meltdown over her mother’s visit.

She dropped her head into her hands as she sat on the side of her bed. For so long she’d been able to push these kinds of feelings away. Why was she having such trouble doing that now?

And why did she have a sinking feeling that the answer had Smith’s name written all over it?

Even worse, why was it starting to feel like he might also be the cure for her swirling, conflicting emotions?

With mechanical precision she showered, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, applied her makeup, and slipped on one of her suits. No matter what happened today, she’d be professional. And she would keep her emotions off the set and away from Smith Sullivan.

Once on set, she headed into her office to put down her bag and was planning to turn right around to finally say a polite thank you to Smith for the flower and breakfast, when she found something new on her desk.