Falling for Mister Wrong Read online

  Caitlyn yanked her gaze off their interlocked fingers, gawking up at Daniel. “Twelve weeks?”

  They stood in the Tahitian hotel suite they’d shared the night before, soaking in a last few precious minutes of togetherness before their separate cars arrived to whisk them away to separate planes, carrying them back to the U.S. where they would be able to contact one another only in the most secretive ways until the show finished airing.

  “Two weeks until the show begins airing, nine regular episodes and then the finale with our wedding.” His smile faded, blue eyes crinkling with concern. “That’s still what you want, isn’t it? We talked so much about wanting to dive right into our life together. I didn’t think you’d want to wait, but if that seems too soon, I’ll grab Miranda and tell her we need more time—”

  “No, no, of course, I want to marry you,” she heard some stranger with her voice saying. “It’s just all the planning. Wedding dresses, flowers… I don’t even know how we would do invitations when we can’t admit to people that we know one another.”

  He beamed, instantly blithely happy with the knowledge that she hadn’t changed her mind about saying I do on national television. “The network will take care of all that. You just have to kick back, relax, and watch it all come together.”

  The desire to protest again was strong, but she didn’t even know what she would say. I don’t want someone else planning my wedding? Does everything we do for the rest of our lives have to be in the public eye? Can’t we just wait a year or seven until I know for sure that you’re the one?

  “You won’t have to do a thing. Except of course, dream about me every night and miss me every day.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. Caitlyn smothered the urge to sneeze. “The future Mrs. Pierzynski. Caitlyn Pierzynski. I like the sound of that.”

  I can’t even spell it.

  She tried to smile, but his movie-star gorgeous face was too close and her brain was doing the Picasso thing again. Ear. Nose. Why was she still so on edge? He was supposed to be her eye of the storm, but even though the cameras had left them alone for the last fifteen hours, she still felt the residual push of that always on feeling that had plagued her for the last weeks.

  It must be the hotel. She probably wouldn’t feel normal again until she got back to Colorado.

  “Are you looking forward to getting back to Indiana?” she asked abruptly, digging for that connection, that moment of simpatico that would remind her he really was The One.

  “Actually, I’m going to L.A. There will be so many media events and publicity appearances for the next several weeks—morning talk shows, late-night talk shows, guest spots on everything from cooking shows to medical advice programs—it seemed like it would be so much easier to manage all that if I was based in L.A. for a while.”

  “You aren’t going home for Christmas?”

  “They’ll understand. It’s such a busy time for me.”

  She’d loved his family. She couldn’t imagine not wanting to spend the holidays with them. She was already fantasizing about next year when she could have a real family Christmas. “What about your students?”

  “Oh, I already spoke with my principal. They know not to expect me back this year. It probably would be too much of a distraction for the kids anyway, being taught by a celebrity. And who knows? I might find something that suits me even better in Hollywood. Craig from last season is on one of those morning shows now.” He grinned, all dimples and twinkling blue eyes. “Can you see me as a commentator?”

  “What would you commentate on?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? If we’re lucky, maybe we can afford a mansion next door to the Marrying Mister Perfect mansion in Beverly Hills. How great would that be? We could look out our window and see where we first met.”

  “I don’t know if I want a mansion in Beverly Hills.”

  He grinned, lifting their linked hands and kissing her knuckles. “You’re right. It’s too early to be talking about all that. Right now all you need to be thinking about is going back to Colorado and packing up your apartment so we can start our new life together in twelve weeks.”

  He said it with such boyish enthusiasm, his eyes alight at the idea of her boxing up her old life to join him in his. And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? That was why she’d come on the show. Because she needed a change. She needed more than what she had in her lonely little Colorado apartment. Christmases by herself, New Year’s with no one to kiss. She wanted someone to come home to and the pitter-patter of little feet.

  Daniel wanted all those things too. She couldn’t count the number of conversations they’d had where they’d mapped out their life together. PTA and soccer practice. Who would change the diapers (both of them) and who would do the cooking (Daniel – Caitlyn was a disaster in the kitchen).

  She wasn’t losing her old life, she was gaining that new one. The one they’d planned. Even if they hadn’t planned it in Los Angeles.

  That wasn’t such a big deal. It didn’t really matter whether he was an elementary school teacher or a commentator. And she could teach piano lessons anywhere. She was still getting her happily ever after with the perfect guy.

  A gentle knock sounded on the door. “Caitlyn,” a familiar segment producer’s voice called through the wood. “We’re ready for you.”

  She smiled up at Daniel. “Probably won’t be hearing that again for a while.”

  She wasn’t sure Daniel heard her. He was too busy gazing meltingly into her eyes. “I love you, Caitlyn.”

  She tried to echo him, but the words got stuck in her throat, so she closed her eyes and tipped her face up for his kiss, concentrating on remembering the feel of him since it would be weeks, perhaps even months, before she saw him again. Her fiancé.

  The Rock of Ages—as she’d come to think of her engagement ring—was safely tucked away in her carry-on bag. She couldn’t be seen with so much as a tell-tale crease on her finger for the next three months. As far as the world at large knew, she might as well be another of the broken-hearted Suitorettes who had been discarded along the way.

  Daniel opened the door and a pair of large crew guys swept in to collect her luggage. The show always shot strategically to make it look like each of the Suitorettes traveled with only one dainty roller bag, but the truth was they usually needed a separate SUV just to carry all the shoes.

  Caitlyn squeezed Daniel’s hand one last time before extricating her fingers, her hand feeling strangely light without his gripping it. She trailed the producer down the hall to the bank of elevators where Miranda was waiting, her tablet tucked against her stomach.

  “Eager to leave all of us in your vapor trail?” Miranda asked, punching the down button with a single slender finger.

  “Am I that obvious?” The engraved doors slid back and Caitlyn preceded Miranda into the car. The other producer and the two crew heavies with her bags continued on toward the freight elevators.

  Miranda smiled her catlike smile as the doors shut. “Honestly? I consider it one of the great victories of my career that you didn’t pull a runaway bride on us weeks ago. Some people have a harder time with the reality TV format than others and the girls who come on looking for love and family and happy endings tend to be the ones with the most disillusionment when the reality of reality TV hits.”

  “I guess I’m lucky it was Daniel then. I never would have made it without him. And now we really do get our happy ending.”

  Miranda blinked. “Lucky.” But her tone didn’t make it sound lucky at all.

  Caitlyn frowned at the producer who had become the closest thing she had to a friend here in the last few weeks. “You know, as pep talks go, this one sucks.”

  Miranda grimaced as the elevator doors opened, waving her forward with one arm. “I’m supposed to be reminding you of all the non-disclosures you signed. No discussing the show—either in interviews or casual conversations with friends or family. No admitting to a relationship with Daniel—not even to the other Suitorettes,
if they should contact you. Basically, the network will sue you into the ground if you do anything to spoil the ratings of the big finale.”

  “Understood.”

  “Telephone conversations between you and Daniel are permitted only if you use the cell phones we have provided for you for that purpose. You are not to use that phone except to call me or Daniel. You are not to be seen together—no matter how casually. At about the halfway point of the season, we’ll arrange a weekend getaway for the two of you, but you aren’t to tell anyone where you’re going or who you will be seeing.”

  “Miranda, I get it. I read everything I signed.”

  They’d reached the black SUV waiting in the valet lane at the hotel—one of a fleet of such vehicles that the show used. Miranda stopped beside the rear passenger door, fidgeting with her tablet—which only reinforced Caitlyn’s impression that Miranda was avoiding whatever she’d really wanted to talk to her about.

  “It’s gonna be fine,” Caitlyn said. “The hard part is over.”

  The executive producer grimaced and glanced back toward the hotel, not meeting Caitlyn’s eyes. “When you watch the show,” she said haltingly, “try to remember that everything is exaggerated for dramatic effect. There may be times when things seem worse than they are. Try to focus on your experiences and trust your own memories.”

  Caitlyn frowned. Miranda had seen all the footage. She knew what kind of show it was going to be. Caitlyn only had her own little piece to go on. Love in a vacuum. “Is there something specific I should know? About Daniel?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just…” Miranda hesitated, flipping the tablet between her hands. “Well. You have my number. You can call me if you need anything. Travel safe, Caitlyn.”

  Miranda watched Caitlyn’s car pull away, smashing down the flare of guilt that tried to rise. The girl was too delicate for this business by half. Too hopeful. Too trusting. And too damn sweetly optimistic. She actually thought the worst was over. Miranda cringed in spite of herself. Too naïve by half.

  The filming was rigorous, but it was the airing of the show that really changed people. For the last several weeks, Caitlyn hadn’t been able to walk down the street without a camera crew tracking her every move, and perhaps a few curious glances wondering why she was being filmed. In the next two months, as she became more and more of a featured player in the reality drama that was about to play out on national television, she wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without being watched by every eye, pointed at, and stopped for her autograph or a photo. Camera phones would be sneaking pictures of her in the produce section at her grocery. Bloggers would discuss every minute detail of her life—on screen and off. Privacy was a thing of the past.

  Not to mention the experience of everyone in America watching her fiancé make out with half a dozen other girls.

  And she thought the worst was over.

  Miranda winced. She felt sorry for Caitlyn. For what she was about to go through. And she didn’t like feeling sorry. She liked her job. She was damn good at her job. And she hated the stupid rumblings of her stupid conscience.

  Damn Bennett anyway. It was his deep voice she heard grumbling in her head about the morality of using people like Caitlyn for America’s entertainment.

  Of course the griping was only in her head because he’d stopped speaking to her weeks ago. He’d been her mentor, then her lover—which had, in retrospect, probably been a colossal mistake, no matter how huge a crush she’d always had on him—but he’d been the one constant in her life and now he was… what? Her ex? It felt wrong to think of him that way.

  Things had been so good at the beginning of the season. She’d thought they were over the disagreements about her work on Marrying Mister Perfect and his need to tell her what she should be doing with her life. She’d said the L word, for crying out loud, and he hadn’t exactly said it back, but it had been implied.

  But it hadn’t been a cure all pill. Two weeks into the new season of Marrying Mister Perfect, he’d begun bugging her to quit and go back to work for him at American Dance Star. The fights had only gotten worse and when she’d decided to travel with the show again, rather than stay in Los Angeles with him… well, the result was predictable. Angry silence.

  She swallowed back her anger at his abandonment. She’d told him she loved him, damn it. Not something she confessed lightly. And he’d just kept trying to turn her into who he wanted her to be.

  And the worst part was, she still missed the bastard.

  She hadn’t been able to talk to him about her concerns for Caitlyn as the show progressed. She hadn’t had anyone to talk to when she worried she was pushing Caitlyn too hard, coaching Daniel too much, or pulling too many strings to force the outcome that would get the best ratings. She missed her sounding board, but she wasn’t about to apologize to him. He was the one who owed her an apology—

  “A glorious day, isn’t it, Miranda?” Daniel called jovially, jolting her out of her thoughts as he strode out of the hotel, golden and beaming.

  “Glorious,” she echoed direly, then grabbed hold of herself and put on her professional face. “Are you ready for the masses, Mister Perfect?”

  Daniel grinned as another black SUV slid into the place Caitlyn’s had vacated. “You know. I’m young, healthy and in love. Today I do feel like I deserve to be called ‘perfect’.”

  Miranda laughed at his enthusiasm. “Save it for the interviews, you ham.”

  He winked and ducked into the SUV—and she scolded herself for worrying. The mild-mannered school teacher from Indiana might have morphed into a spotlight seeking attention whore, but he was still a good guy underneath it all. And she wanted to believe he really loved Caitlyn. If he did, maybe it wasn’t naïve of Caitlyn to believe in their happy ending. And maybe Miranda wasn’t the devil incarnate for throwing them together and exploiting their romantic drama on national television.

  They just needed a happy ending. Miranda watched another SUV pull away, airport-bound, and vowed to do everything in her considerable reality-TV power to make sure Caitlyn and Daniel got their happily ever after.

  If only so she would finally stop hearing Bennett’s deep voice scolding her in her head.

  Chapter Three

  After over fifteen hours of planes and airports and another hour’s drive west into the mountains from Denver, Caitlyn watched, punchy with jet-lag, as the driver the show had arranged for her ferried her bags up to the shadowy second floor landing of her apartment building, neatly stacking them beside her door. This would be the last time for quite a while that anyone catered to her needs—a realization that met with an odd blend of nostalgia and relief as she pressed a tip into the driver’s hand.

  He said something about waiting to see that she got into her place all right, but she waved him off. This was Tuller Springs, not Manhattan. She was too tired to argue the point, but with a glance at his surroundings he seemed to agree with her, grinning and tipping an imaginary cap before heading down the stairs with an insulting amount of energy.

  God, she was exhausted.

  Caitlyn was tempted to sink down to the floor and just hang out there until she got her second wind. With all the travel they’d done over the last several weeks and her own jet-setting childhood, she ought to be used to it, but she still got off a plane and felt like she’d been flattened by a steam-roller. And that didn’t even take into account time zones and sleep deprivation.

  The dingy faded burgundy carpet on the landing looked remarkably comfortable. But her bed would be a thousand times better, so she forced herself to rummage in her carry on, feeling around for the apartment keys she hadn’t needed in over two months.

  The contents of her bag seemed to have done a full one-eighty rotation during take-off and landing. She fumbled for a good five minutes before her fingers brushed against a bit of metal and she heard the muted jangle.

  Yanking out the keys, she unlocked and shoved open her door. Light immediately streamed onto the landing, blas
ting through the giant windows that dominated the apartment’s main room. Her body might not know what time it was and all the clocks in the kitchen might be blinking from a power outage while she was away, but the angle of the sun told her it was early afternoon on this side of the world.

  She’d dozed in the car, not really registering the familiar scenery, but now, with the sunlight greeting her, Caitlyn felt a weight lift off her chest. She could get a full breath again—and it wasn’t until the weight was gone that she realized it had been pressing on her for the last two months straight.

  Feeling lighter but still exhausted past reason, she began shoving and kicking her bags into the apartment, piling them haphazardly inside the door with just enough room for her to squeeze past and shut it.

  The apartment wasn’t particularly new or chic. Built at the base of one of Tuller Springs’ three ski resorts back in the eighties when the town was trying desperately to compete with Aspen and Vail for tourist dollars, the A-frame chalet had been broken up into a pair of independent apartments over a decade ago. The lower-level featured a ski-out deck when the snow piled up in the winter, but Caitlyn got the giant triangular windows, exposed beams, and insanely gorgeous views.

  The apartment was primarily one open room. She’d set up a little sitting area closest to the windows to capitalize on the views of the mountain and the warmth of the fat little potbelly stove. The kitchen was tucked into a corner on the wall farthest from the windows, home to a tiny café table and two chairs she’d picked up at a yard sale.

  Where most people would have set up a proper dining room sat Caitlyn’s pride and joy—a gorgeous sprawl of gleaming ivory, polished wood, and strings. Her Steinway grand piano. Her mother liked to brag about the Bosendorfer Caitlyn had been raised playing, but for her money nothing compared to the sweet bell-like tone of the Steinway.

  Beyond the piano was the apartment’s single tiny bathroom, always kept scrupulously tidy as her students often asked to use it as a stalling tactic when they hadn’t practiced. Shower only, no tub, but those were the sacrifices one made for gorgeous views and heavenly acoustics.