That would explain why they were following her, why they were asking so many questions about him, although she couldn’t imagine it would make a very interesting story. Then again, maybe it would be of interest, at least to the men and women who had come to the signings.
What would Ronan’s fans think if they discovered she was an imposter? What if she had broken the law?
“I’m not sure of his plans,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get back to work.”
“Do you think…?”
“As I said, I have to go.” She rose, indicating the interview was over.
“Of course.” Hewitt’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you for your time.”
“Yes,” Overstreet said, rising, “thank you.”
She watched the two men descend the stairs and get into the Honda parked at the curb. She wished suddenly that Ronan had been there. He would have known what to do. Nothing ever seemed to bother him, but doubts assailed her. Had she said something wrong? Did they know she was a fraud? Would they reveal it to the whole world? What would Ronan do if Hewitt and Overstreet splashed the truth on the front pages of their respective newspapers? And did it really matter? She didn’t understand why he wanted to remain anonymous, or why he had arranged such an elaborate charade.
Well, there was no sense worrying about the consequences now. It was over and done and whatever happened now, she’d had a wonderful time in New York. She’d had a chance to experience life as a celebrity, and she liked it. She had been wined and dined by Ronan’s editor and agent, and she had liked that, too. And she’d had the opportunity to see a play on a New York stage. Humming theBeauty and the Beast theme song, she picked up the cake plates and went into the house to help her mother with dinner.
Ronan appeared just as her mother was serving dessert later that night.
“I’m beginning to think you’re afraid to try my cooking,” Verna said with a pout. “You’ve missed every meal since you got here, but you’re not getting away without trying my Dutch apple pie.
Now you just sit down and try this and tell me if it isn’t the best apple pie you’ve ever tasted.”
Ronan sat down beside Shannah and forced a smile. “I don’t eat many sweets, so I’m really not much of a judge.”
“Go on with you now, I’ve never met a man yet who didn’t love my apple pie.”
Ronan glanced at Shannah, but no help was forthcoming in that direction.
“Mom really does make the best apple pie,” she said, her voice filled with pride and affection. “I think you’ll like it.”
“She won’t stop nagging until you try it,” Mr. Davis said with an affectionate glance at his wife.
“But you won’t be sorry. She does make the world’s best pie.”
Ronan nodded helplessly. He hadn’t eaten solid food in centuries, but there was no way to avoid it now without hurting Verna’s feelings. Still, the very thought of ingesting mortal cuisine made him cringe.
“We missed you today,” Shannah was saying, unaware of his growing unease. “Where did you go?”
“I had some business to take care of,” Ronan replied. But he wasn’t looking at Shannah. He was watching her mother as she cut a huge slice of apple pie.
“Do you want some vanilla ice cream with that?” Verna asked.
He shook his head, his nostrils filling with the scent of apples and cinnamon, sugar and flour. His stomach clenched.
“A slice of cheese, perhaps?” Verna asked.
“No, thank you.”
Verna set the plate before him, then stood beside his chair, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Just try that,” she said, “and tell me it isn’t the best pie you’ve ever tasted.”
Feeling like a man about to knowingly swallow poison, Ronan picked up a fork and took a small bite. He chewed the disgusting mess and forced himself to swallow. It was all he could do not to gag.
“Well?” Verna asked expectantly.
“It’s…” He swallowed again. “It’s very good.”
Verna cut a slice for Scott, one for Shannah, and one for herself. “Would you like a glass of milk or a cup of coffee, Ronan?”
“No,” he said, his voice sounding oddly strangled. “Thank you.”
“Shannah?”
“Milk, thanks.”
“Coffee for me,” Scott said.
“Ronan, we had company today,” Shannah said.
“Oh?” Feeling Verna’s expectant gaze, Ronan choked down another bite of pie.
“Jim Hewitt and Carl Overstreet came to see me.”
Ronan coughed into his napkin. “What did they want?”
“I’m not sure. Mostly, they asked about you.”
“Me?” He was going to die, now, tonight, he thought ruefully. He had survived for centuries, only to be done in by a slice of homemade apple pie.
Shannah nodded, thinking that he looked rather odd. “They wanted to know where you were and when we were going back home.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you were in the city on business. You don’t think they suspect that I’m a fraud, do you?”
“You’re not a fraud,” he said, his voice tight. He took another bite of pie, then pushed away from the table. “Excuse me,” he said, and fled the room, and the house.
“Oh, dear,” Verna said, “I hope he isn’t sick. You don’t think it was the pie, do you?”
Scott shrugged. “I don’t think so, Mother. This is my second piece and it tastes fine to me.”
“I’ll just go make sure he’s all right,” Shannah said. Leaving the table, she went in search of Ronan.
She found him in the furthest corner of the backyard on his hands and knees being violently ill.
Chewing on her lower lip, she waited until his nausea subsided, then handed him a couple of tissues she found in her pocket.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Sitting back on his heels, Ronan wiped his mouth. Unless he missed his guess, he had just discovered a new method for destroying vampires, one that was right up there with sunlight and beheading. Instead of driving a wooden stake through his heart, all you had to do was stuff him with homemade apple pie.
“Ronan?”
“I’ll be all right,” he said, but it was a lie. It felt like a thousand piranhas were eating away at his insides.
“Was it the pie?” she asked. “Are you allergic to apples or cinnamon or something?”
“Yes, something.” He closed his eyes. He hadn’t eaten solid food in five hundred years, though he had wondered, from time to time, what it would be like. Now he knew.
“You shouldn’t have eaten it then.”
“Your mother didn’t give me much choice,” he said glumly. “Besides, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Shannah laughed softly. “That was mighty sweet of you.”
“Yeah, sweet,” he muttered, “that’s me.”
“Are you ready to go back inside?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, come on,” she said, offering him her hand, “we can sit in the swing until you feel better.
You’ll be more comfortable there.”
He grunted softly, certain that he would never feel better again.
The next evening, at dusk, Shannah and Ronan bade her parents good-bye.
With tears shining in her eyes, Verna begged Shannah to move back home. Her father, too, tried to persuade her that it was for the best.
“Maybe later,” Shannah said, “but Ronan needs me right now. Isn’t that right, Ronan?”
“Yes, of course.”
Shannah hugged her mother and her father. “I’ll call you soon,” she promised.
She was quiet on the way back to the Waldorf. She loved her parents and she knew she would miss them, but she couldn’t stay, didn’t want them to watch her get weaker and weaker, couldn’t abide the thought of seeing the sadness in their eyes, didn’t want them to feel guilty because they couldn’t kiss her hurt and make it better.
When they reached the hotel, they packed their bags, then took a cab to the airport, and now they were on board the plane. Shannah glanced out the window, knowing she would never see her parents again. Earlier in the day, she had gone to see Judy. It had been a bittersweet visit.
But her good-byes had all been said.
“So,” she said, turning away from the window to look at Ronan, “where were you this afternoon? Never mind, don’t answer that,” she said irritably. “I know what your answer will be. You went into the city on business, right?”
He looked at her, his expression mildly amused. It only served to annoy her more.
“Just what kind of business were you taking care of? It can’t be book business, since you don’t want anyone to know who you are.”
Ronan lifted one brow. “Feeling a little testy this evening, are we?”
“I’m just tired of being kept in the dark, that’s all.”
Kept in the dark. He had to laugh at that. If she only knew.
The plane hit some turbulence. Shannah’s hands grasped the arm rests, her knuckles white.
“Take it easy,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. And she didn’t relax her grip on the seat.
“Your folks wanted you to stay with them,” he said, hoping to distract her.
“I know, but nothing’s changed. They worry about me too much, you know? I can’t stand to see the hurt in their eyes, or the pity. Or the guilt. I know they feel like it’s their fault that I’m sick.”
“What do you want to do when we get home?”
“I don’t know. I guess I should go back to my place…”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
