Great Big Beautiful Life(94)

When she moved to follow them, her hem had been snagged underfoot by whoever’d stepped out from the latest car to arrive.

She turned, her reflexive apology whizzing back down her throat before it ever reached her lips.

“Hello,” Cosmo said, his dark eyes glimmering, his mouth quirked in that funny, almost-sheepish, heartbreakingly sexy smile of his.

The smile that launched a thousand teenage tears, and plenty of shrieks of excitement around them now, even from a crowd of seasoned celebrity journalists.

The flashes went off all around her, like distant stars exploding, imploding—significant, sure, but not to her, not then.

She was barely aware of the actress on Cosmo’s arm, an ingenue who’d been nominated for Best Supporting Actress earlier that night and lost out to West Side Story’s brilliant Rita Moreno.

Cosmo didn’t seem too aware of his date either, his eyes glued to Margaret, his smile just for her.

His date, for her part, was relatively unbothered, waving and posing for the cameras in a ruby-red Dior.

The next day those pictures would be everywhere.

Two-Date Peggy and Two-Timing Cosmo? one headline asked.

Stars Collide at Governors Ball, another article’s caption began.

There were dozens more, but only one felt right to her. One, she thought, was true.

Cosmo Sinclair Spots Margaret Ives and the World Stops.





28




When I get out of the shower Saturday night, my phone is still lit up on the counter with a new text from Cecil.

I’d told him I was curious to see the photo of him in his “hippie days” too, and he sent a grainy phone picture of the old film photograph.

I wrap my hair in a towel, another around my body, and then open the message to get a better look, balancing on the edge of the baby-pink tub.

Nothing especially jumps out to me from the image. He’s sitting on a boulder in front of some pine trees, smiling and waving. He’s much thinner and less wrinkled, but the biggest difference between the Cecil of then and the one I’ve met is exactly what he prepared me for.

His long blond hair hangs past his shoulders, gleaming in the light, a thick blond mustache slightly covering his smile.

Is there something kind of familiar about him, or am I just staring so hard I’m willing myself into a sense of déjà vu?

I forward the picture to Hayden but don’t ask any questions.

I’ll figure out why this picture matters on my own, or I’ll wait until this game is over, but I’m not going to let him hand me any information.

In the bedroom, I pull on my pajamas.

Hayden and I decided to do our own things tonight, largely because we both could use the time to catch up on work, and we made plans to explore more of Savannah tomorrow.

I only have one week to push as far into Margaret’s story as I can and piece together a proposal and writing sample, and I’m going to need every spare second.

But first, I drop the picture of Cecil into a reverse image search. Nothing noticeably useful turns up, and when I add the surname from his card—Cecil Wainwright—I still find nothing of consequence.

Then again, it’s not like I know what I’m looking for. I close out of the window, tie my hair into a stubby little ponytail, and pick up transcribing Margaret’s story from earlier.





The Story


Their version: Cosmo Sinclair and Margaret Ives’s relationship caused a rift in the Ives family that would never be completely repaired.



* * *



? ? ?

Her version: He came to see her the morning after the Academy Awards. When Briggs told her, Margaret was giddy; she was terrified. She was hopeful; she was miserable.

She changed her clothes three times—the last outfit being the one she’d already had on before Cosmo Sinclair showed up at her door—and went down to meet him.

But the library was empty. She traipsed back into the hall and heard voices from the breakfast room. She went toward them, unsure what to expect, and found herself quickly at the doorway, looking in on a scene that squeezed her heart ferociously.

“There you are,” Laura said, smiling with a mug of tea in hand. “I was just keeping Cosmo here company.”

Cosmo here had lurched to his feet, his forehead canted slightly down and mouth in that funny little shy smile of his that turned her inside out.

Laura stood too. “It was lovely to meet you,” she told Cosmo. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of a good book.”

“The pleasure was all mine, ma’am,” he said, his drawl irresistible. Laura grasped Margaret’s elbow on her way from the room, and she took it as the sign it was: It’s okay.

She knew. Somehow, Laura knew. Margaret had no idea how, but there wasn’t much room for guilt or shame over her secret right then. Cosmo had taken a slow, hesitant step toward her, his hands stuffed into his back pockets, chin still tucked to take her in, accommodating for their height difference.

Suddenly, his closeness felt like too much. It overpowered her. Stole her breath.

“Would you like to go for a walk, Mr. Sinclair?” she said, more formally than she’d intended.

His smile split open. “I’d like that very much. And you can call me Cosmo.”

“Cosmo,” she said, so quietly she was surprised he could hear it. But she knew he did, because his smile grew.