Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,72

haven’t been misreading her interest in me.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Gwen

“What are you doing home?” Gwen asks her daughter as she walks through the front door to her house.

Tara drops her overnight bag and joins her mom in the living room. “James and I had our last interview with the reporter from the Tattler this morning. I figured there’s no reason for me to stay in hiding. The whole world is going to know where I am in a couple of days.”

Gwen pulls Tara toward her and gives her a hug. “You’ve got this, honey. God knows you’ve been through worse.”

Tara rests her forehead on her mom’s shoulder. “I’ve been through a lot for sure. The problem is I thought I was done with all of this, and now it’s followed me to the place I was starting to think of as home. Those articles coming out could ruin everything.”

“Only if you let them. You alone have the power to care about what people think about you.”

“I just don’t want them to treat me differently.”

“Then don’t act differently. The people at the lodge have already gotten to know you without knowing your real name. If I were you, I’d give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“I blame Romaine,” Tara says. “I mean, sure people sort of care about supermodels, but they never chase them down the street yelling and screaming their names like they do for rock stars. I bet if I’d never been with him I could have transitioned nicely into regular life.”

“Blame him all you want,” Gwen says, “but it won’t change anything. You loved the guy and were with him for three years. What’s done is done.”

Tara stands up and says, “I’m going to take a shower and then I’m heading to work. I don’t want to wait until the first article comes out before I tell everyone who I am.”

“Are you sure?” Gwen asks.

“I’m sure. I should face the music while I still have some control of the situation.”

“You want me to come with you?”

Tara shakes her head. “No thanks, Mom. This is something I need to do on my own.”

Tara

Housing in LA

I bought my first house in LA when I was twenty-two. It was a two-bedroom, one bath and was on a tiny plot of land. It cost two million dollars.

My second house in LA was four bedrooms, three baths, on a slightly bigger plot of land and cost ten million dollars.

My third house was the one Romaine and I shared. He bought it, but I made sure to cover my fair share of housing expenses. It was a ten-bedroom, eleven-bathroom house with a theater, pool, and tennis courts. It cost him thirty million dollars.

Housing in Spartan

I rent my three-bedroom, two-bathroom house on a darling property for fifteen hundred dollars a month. It would cost less than three hundred thousand to buy.

As soon as I walk into the kitchen at the lodge, Geoffrey calls out, “Tara!” Everyone turns to greet me. I smile and wave without stopping to answer any questions. Instead, I make my way toward the chef.

“Hey, Geoffrey.”

He opens his arms up to give me a hug. “Everything okay at home? I was starting to get worried.”

“It’s okay and not okay at the same time. Do you have a minute to talk?”

He hands his sous chef his wooden spoon and instructs, “Finish the béarnaise and get started on the potato brandade.” Then he leads the way into his office.

He motions for me to sit down across his desk for him. “Ruby told you I had a family emergency,” I say. “But that’s not really the truth.” Geoffrey’s eyes widen and he tilts his head slightly forward. I hurry to explain, “My full name isn’t Tara Delaney.” I practically choke on my spit when I say, “It’s Tara Delaney Heinz.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t seem to be getting the significance of what I’m telling him, so I explain, “Tara Heinz, the model.”

He keeps nodding his head. “Yeah, I know the name. Any guy with access to a Victoria’s Secret catalogue knows your name.”

“Why aren’t you acting surprised?” I demand.

“Henry and I had a wager. I told him I thought you were really Tara Heinz and he said there’s no way. I guess I win.” He smiles brightly.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” I demand. He’s acting like it’s no big deal that I’m his pastry chef.

He shrugs. “I figured if you’d gone to the trouble of using another name, you didn’t want people to know. It wasn’t my business to