Anywhere You Are Read Free Page A

was. Not a bit.
    Adapting an air of insouciance, Grace slouched in the booth, strategically holding the menu so as to guard her face from the rest of the restaurant. Despite the crowds, she hadn’t been recognized—yet. If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be at all, especially by Marc.
    Because how did you explain to a virtual stranger…to anyone, really…that Jerry Davingham—
the
Jerry Davingham—was your dad? That your mom was a supermodel whose legs were insured by Lloyds of London for millions of dollars? That your two younger brothers ran around doing nothing of substance except allow themselves to be filmed for fame?
    You didn’t.
    Because then you couldn’t trust him.
    For a while, Grace had played the game. After art school, she’d tooled around with her family, appeared in all the right places at the right times—vacations, fashion shows, parties—and smiled at all the right people. Until she realized that in chasing fame, she’d lost herself.
    She’d learned the hard way that the glare from a flashbulb was soul-sucking, that sometimes even seemingly ordinary people wanted a taste of fame, and that finding love—true love—wasn’t really possible when everybody knew your name.
    So she’d bowed out of the game, the race, the life.
    She was much happier in Eastbridge than she’d ever been in Manhattan or London. In her refurbished farmhouse out in the woods, she worked on her art and her projects, grew flowers in her hothouse, and relaxed with the few friends who truly
got
her, away from the insanity of her in-your-face family.
    Not that her parents and brothers didn’t try to drag her back into their crazy, especially when it came to their show,
The Evergood Life.
They did. Weekly. But so far, she’d resisted.
    Over time, she hoped she’d be known for her art rather than for her name or, worse, her face. Her disappearance from the limelight a few years ago was helping her regain some anonymity, and she wanted to keep it that way. Maybe someday, things might even be
normal.
    She could only dream.
    Because even her normal wasn’t normal. Case in point: the hike that had gone to hell in a handbasket faster than she could say
Grammy Award.
She prayed that lunch wouldn’t follow suit because despite his dour attitude, she was starting to like Marc.
    He was frowning now. Oh, he definitely would rather be somewhere else, but no—he was the perfect gentleman, helping her out of the woods and into urgent care, and even offering to feed her after she’d been cleared. He was a little stiff—okay, make that a lot stiff—but honestly, it was refreshing.
    Most of the guys she’d dated were just as messed up as she was. Like the film producer who took her to the Empire State Building—and tried to climb the security gate on the observation deck in a misguided publicity stunt. A trip to the Midtown South Precinct? Not sexy.
    Or the extreme athlete who took her racing through the streets of Manhattan after dark with a rabid pack of screaming die-hard in-line skaters…without asking her if she knew how to skate beforehand? More than Grace’s pride had been bruised that night.
    And don’t get her started on the dozens of groupies, fame-mongers, and rock star wannabes, wanting to get a piece of her and her parents.
    Marc finally seemed to have made up his mind about his order, since he very decisively closed the menu and pushed it toward the center of the table. His clear, cool gaze met hers.
    “Do you know what you want?” he asked.
    “I’m not sure,” she said, not really having studied the menu. “Maybe the turkey club?” Every diner had a turkey club. She hoped.
    He nodded approvingly, but then frowned. “I’m amazed you could read with those sunglasses on.”
    “It’s my eyes,” she lied, shoving them more firmly on her face. “Very sensitive.”
    “Right. Your eyes,” he said in a tone that indicated he believed her not at all. He glanced at his watch again.
    “Are you sure