Disclaimer: I don't own Orlando Bloom or any living person depicted in the story. They deserve my utmost respect.
A/N: Thanks to Viv my darling beta ,
Miriel, Jillian B. and Sindohte, who were the ones nudging the muse .
Enjoy and please let me know what you think.
CHAPTER 23
Verena waited for all passengers to leave
the plane before moving out of her seat.
She had avoided returning to LA for whole
four months, telling herself that she and Zoë needed time to settle in
their new life in New York, and that there was no need for them to go
back so soon.
So soon after she had turned their lives
upside down yet again.
Zoë had taken Orlando’s departure quietly,
with a painful silent acceptance that hurt more than if she had thrown
a tantrum, cried and yelled at her mother. The girl didn’t ask for reasons
or explanations, just looked at her with her big brown eyes and then hugged
her mother. “We are going to be alright, mamma, right?” was all she said,
and Verena held on to her as if Zoë was the last straw to sanity, while
she reassured her child that indeed, they would be good together.
Verena had decided that she would take
GEO’s offer, for the sake of getting out of LA, and her little girl had
taken their new life in New York in stride, adjusting to the new school
and house.
Rita had moved with them and hadn’t commented
about Orlando leaving the house either.
They had packed, rented the house, and
arranged Zoë’s change of school in few days, with Spencer’s help. Spencer
had also taken up a contract with GEO and moved to New York.
Normally, after her usual nomad life,
the change wouldn’t have meant much.
Except this time Orlando’s absence and
the way they had parted weighed hard on Verena. It wasn’t easy to block
him and the feelings he had brought out in her, but she struggled to deny
the fact she was so very much in love with him that the breakup had torn
her to pieces. She hoped no one could see it. She refused stubbornly to
discuss him or their relationship with anyone, and plunged into the activity
of the move across the country and taking up the new job with energy and
devotion that bordered on fanaticism.
But it was in moments like these, when
she allowed her mind a respite from routine and schedule, that he snuck
in, his image, his smile, his touch and the beautiful memories of him
and Zoë taking hold of her conscience and making her wish for what simply
couldn't be.
Verena Devereaux lived by leaving regrets
behind. But for once, she wished she had had the chance to do things differently.
She had imagined many versions of the last argument on the beach, and
none of them felt right except for a storybook ending where they lived
happily ever after.
Still, her rational thinking kicked in
and shattered the happy ending. So she convinced herself that it had all
been for the best and she would learn to live without him in her life.
As much as it hurt.
***
Verena took a moment to look for a café
at the airport before leaving. She needed a glass of water to take her
medication, so she could get rid of the headache pounding in her skull
and then check into a hotel. The next day would be busy enough, as she
had to arrange a shoot for GEO, a couple of meetings and lunch with Georgina.
It had not been easy to talk things through
with George, but they had worked things out eventually. A couple of weeks
after Verena had stormed out of her agent’s office with Orlando, George
had shown up in New York at V’s new apartment for Christmas Eve, and they
had exchanged apologies and explanations over tea after they had tucked
Zoë in. By now they avoided mentioning Orlando or the contract.
Verena had let her mind wander to tomorrow’s
schedule and coming meeting with George, so she was startled by the strong
male hands closing over her eyes and pulling her back gently against a
hard chest. She tensed and was about to swing out with her elbow against
the attacker when she recognized the velvety voice in her ear. “Long time
no see, Bonita,”
Viggo.
She smiled and turned around hooking
her arms around his neck, sighing, “Oh, it’s you, Viggo”.
“All yours, darling,” he said and held
her close.
Indeed months had passed since they had
parted in friendship some time before V had left for London, when they
recognized that though they were fascinated by each other, there was something
missing. Viggo had a busy filming schedule overseas and they agreed on
staying friends, and maybe get together later … but that was before V
admitted her feelings for Orlando and before he had taken over her life.
Right now, Viggo felt to her like heaven.
Strong and caring, his arms felt so good that she almost let herself go
and started sobbing on his shoulder, for no precise reason at all, as
she was feeling the need to do so often lately. But she only held on to
him and let him hold her close, which he instinctively did, caressing
her hair.
After a moment she panicked. “God, I
am sorry Viggo. We are in a public place, what if some photographer saw
us …” She wondered if she’d ever get over the horrible feeling that the
press was always watching, always waiting to catch her at something. Her
recent experiences had left her perpetually nervous.
Viggo shrugged and didn’t let her leave
the embrace. “I don’t care. I am hugging a dear friend and the media can
kiss my ass for all I care. And I think you needed a hug, Bonita. Do you
have time to chat, or are you in a hurry?”
Verena didn’t even check her watch, enjoying
his warmth and the tender words. Sighing, she burrowed deeper into his
chest. “I don’t have any appointment until tomorrow. I was going to check
into a hotel and sleep off the jet lag.”
Viggo sighed as well. The last time he
had heard of her was when he had met Orlando at the premiere of The
Two Towers in December, and the Brit had been elusive, just mentioning
that she no longer worked with him and had moved to New York.
Filming schedules were insane and Viggo
hadn’t found time to look for her until now. And what were the odds of
running into her in the madness of L.A. Airport? Viggo Mortensen believed
in fate.
“Forget the hotel. Stay at my place?
I promise to take good care of you,” he asked, looking into her eyes.
Verena hesitated for the one second that
it took for her to meet his teal-blue gaze. “Yes Viggo. I’ll stay with
you. Thank you.”
***
His house was outside of the city, in
a not-so-fashionable area, but still in the protected suburbs where few
celebrities lived. The inside reflected Viggo, in the mixture of colors,
in the nature of the souvenirs from all over the world scattered through
the house randomly. There was an atmosphere of serenity and peace that
was also Viggo´s, and though Verena could see that there wasn’t a day
of the year when everything would be in immaculate order, this little
corner of chaos reflected his intense character.
Viggo lead her to the guest room, a cozy
chamber in earthy tones that made her feel immediately at home. She left
her luggage on the floor, kicked her shoes off, and padding back towards
his kitchen. He was brewing tea.
He was tanned and his hair was unkempt,
in the usual dark blond. He wore a soccer-uniform shirt from Real Madrid
and jeans, and went barefoot on the stone floor of the rustic kitchen.
Viggo´s face was rugged and so very lovable; the way his eyes settled
tenderly on her made Verena’s heart skip a beat.
“Here you go, Bonita. We can chat for
a bit and then you can take a nap. Later I’ll cook something for us. Like
the plan?” he said, handing over a mug of tea and leading her to an oversized
couch that looked worn and inviting.
“Sounds great. Are we going to have a
chat to catch up on the past few months?” Verena asked. Would she be able
to tell him about her heartache? She couldn’t lie to him. Not to Viggo.
He smiled with that honest smile that
lit up his whole face. Laughing wrinkles surrounded his eyes as he got
comfortable in the couch and pulled her close. “We are going to chat about
what we have been up to, Verena. As much or as little as we feel like
telling. And then just cuddle like the good old friends that we are.”
Verena settled against him, her head
on his chest, both stretched on the couch. “You start”
Viggo smiled and in a lazy voice began
to retell the past months, emphasizing the facts that were meaningful
to him: “Let me see, hmmm … I was in Dakota and Montana and Morocco. Did
I tell you about this movie? I loved the outdoors, the people … You would
love the landscapes … the forest and the desert. I have some ideas for
painting. Frank has this deep conflict with his identity and carries a
deep guilt; he is a rich character. I decided to buy TJ, the horse. I
will have to travel soon to promote Hidalgo, they tell me. But I have
this week and the next off. Time to catch up with you. Your turn,” he
said, rumbling off the stream of conscious while his hand absently stroked
her arm.
His soft voice was a caress in itself,
lulling her, luring her. But his slightly calloused fingers on her skin
made her nerve endings tingle and her whole body fitted itself against
his.
“I missed you, Viggo,” V whispered. She
searched his face briefly, seeing the languor and acceptance there. With
the slightest pause, Verena leaned forward and pressed a kiss against
his scruffy jaw line. When he did not draw away, she moved on to the cleft
in his chin, his full lower lip.
Viggo´s scent was unique and intoxicating.
His tenderness had touched Verena deeply, and she needed more of him,
to fill the void she felt inside. His hands lifted after a moment and
roaming her body as she continued leaving kisses on his skin, drinking
his warmth as if it were life-giving water.
He growled and took her face in his hands,
looking into her eyes before kissing her fiercely. “It is good to be missed,
Verena,” he said hoarsely, in between kisses, his body adjusting to hers,
softness against hardness, curves and hollows encountering bulging flesh,
welcoming the weight.
V arched against him, her body seeking
the contact hungrily, her arousal growing tenfold because she knew he
wanted her, needed her, as well.
With tender persistency he kissed her
jaw, her neck, the point behind her ear, and then he followed the column
of her throat towards her collarbone, his sensitive fingers seeking contact
with the skin beneath the T- shirt.
Verena writhed beneath his hands, her
own fingers tangling in his hair, caressing his scalp, the muscles of
his neck.
Viggo took off his shirt and lifted the
fabric of hers. She moaned softly as his hands sought the skin beneath
the soft cotton, outlined her breasts and freed them from the bra. When
he cupped them, kissing the aroused skin, she thought she would lose herself
in the heat and moaned, “God yes, please Orl …”
Even before she finished saying the name,
her eyes flew open and met Viggo’s. In the awkward moment of silence,
he looked at her questioningly and with regret, and then he carefully
withdrew his hands from her clothing, kissing her softly . He sat by her
side, and she looked up to him like a guilty child.
“Sorry, Viggo. I am so terribly sorry.”
Taking a deep breath, he gathered her
close again and shushed her, kissing her forehead.
“Is okay, V.” He stroked her hair and
fought for control of his arousal. He was gentle as he said, “No more
games now, tell your old friend what happened to you. All of it.”
Blinking tears of embarrassment away
Verena breathed and said, “I don’t know where to begin …”
Viggo laughed. “At the beginning is always
good.”
Verena held on to Viggo as she began
to tell, words and tears filling the awkward silence between them.
***
July 2003 – Malta
It was hot and dry, and still Orlando
could only enjoy the lovely sights of the island in between shots of the
mega-production Troy. It was very different from working with Peter
in New Zealand, or the fun ride with Johnny and Gore during the making
of Pirates. But Orlando was a pro by now, a well-paid and sought
after lead actor with A-list scripts and blockbusters lining up to be
read and considered.
How long had it been since The Fellowship
of the Ring? How long since he had moved to Hollywood and his life
had become a roller coaster ride? Not even two years, and yet sometimes
it seemed like a lifetime.
He heard the soft rapping at the door
of his trailer and called for whoever was outside to enter.
“Hello mate, are you decent?” he heard
Eric Bana’s voice ask from the entrance.
“Yeah, I am wearing my skirt, for all
it’s worth, mate. But since when does my state of undress matter to you?”
replied Orlando laughing.
“It is not every day that my family comes
to visit, you know,” Eric commented with a happy grin on his face. He
was holding a baby in his arms, and his wife and a toddler followed him
into the trailer.
“These are baby Sophia, my big son Klaus,
and the saint I married, Rebecca,” he introduced his family.
Orlando smiled, “A saint indeed. Pleased
to meet you, I am Orlando.” He carefully touched the baby’s tiny head
and then kneeled on the floor to greet the small boy. “Hello, Klaus.”
The toddler held on to his mother’s dress
and hid from Orlando. “He is the shy one in the family. Not one of his
father’s traits,” said Rebecca.
“Only until he gets to know you; then
you are his new best friend,” laughed Eric.
“That sounds familiar. We will see if
you behave for as long as your family is here,” Orlando replied, giving
Eric a half-hug, careful with the baby his friend was holding.
“They will stay for the week. Wolfgang
is cool with that. Do you want to hold her?” said the proud father, offering
the small baby.
“I have no experience with babies … but
sure,” Orlando said.
Eric laid Sophia in the crook of Orlando’s
arm. She seemed so tiny and light, and definitely fragile. “It’s hard
to imagine we all were this small. It is like holding a miracle in your
hands,” the younger man said.
“We all were. And when you have your
own children, you will see the miracle come true. Well, a miracle which
will change your life and sleep patterns forever, but a miracle nevertheless,”
the father commented.
Orlando watched in awe the movements
of the baby girl and felt something stir inside of him. Still, when he
saw himself holding a child in his mind’s eyes, it wasn’t a baby but a
girl with brown eyes and loving demeanor who used to watch him adoringly.
The memory hurt.
“Children are miracles, Eric. But founding
a family is the miracle that has to happen before that,” he said and carefully
returned the baby to his friend.
Eric took his daughter and smiled at
Orlando. There was something that bothered him and that he had remembered
while holding Sophia. Maybe sometime the Brit would trust him enough to
speak about it.
“We’ll leave you to your lines then,
Orli. Practice well how to whine and suffer,” Eric teased .
“I shall, and you be sure to rehearse
the part were Brad kicks your butt,” Orlando replied. Then he turned to
Rebecca. “It was a pleasure indeed, Rebecca. And you have wonderful children.
Just be sure to ditch the husband.”
She laughed and said, “I have been thinking
of that for a while now, but I need someone else to help with the diapers.
Do you volunteer?”
Orlando smiled charmingly. “I just might.”
Eric played the part of being offended.
“Another female has fallen prey to your charms, mate. I had better drag
her out of here while I still can. And I shall certainly ponder this before
I introduce her to Brad. That could be tempting fate one time too many.”
Rebecca gave Orlando a peck on the cheek
and laughed as she followed Eric out of the trailer.
Orlando sat down, and almost automatically
his hand went to the worn black organizer on the table. He opened it on
the last page, and his fingers followed the lines of the faces on the
picture he kept there.
He wondered if Verena was smiling happily
at that very moment, if Zoë was looking up adoringly to someone else.
Seven months had passed, and he still missed them as if he had left the
house just yesterday.
But it wasn’t yesterday. And he couldn’t
go back.
***
After the initial commotion of the media
about the arrival of the cast in Mellieha, the town had adjusted more
or less to the extra activity that involved having the entourage of the
movie engrossing the flood of tourists common for the time of the year.
It was a beautiful country town, picturesque
with medieval buildings and churches, and shops, restaurants and cafés.
Orlando’s first thought was that Verena
would love it, but he hastily he discarded the idea as he always did when
reveries of Zoë or her mother barged into his conscience.
They sat in a van, Brad and Jennifer,
Diane and him, on the lookout for a nice place for dinner. Eric and his
family had stayed at the hotel, enjoying a family meal by themselves.
This week the families had come to visit.
Orlando saw the way Brad’s face lit up the moment he saw his wife, how
his whole mischievous demeanor changed, and how, after a particular scene
was shot, he hurried to wherever he knew Jennifer was waiting for him.
That left Orlando and Diane to watch
the family dynamics as outsiders and spend their spare time together.
Diane’s French husband hadn’t been able to travel to Malta -- he was busy
with his own schedule -- and Orlando enjoyed the company of the German
actress thoroughly. Once she had overcome her shyness at being in her
first large movie production, Diane had shown her friendly, easygoing
character and had fitted in well amongst them.
Tonight, though, Orlando was distracted.
Someone had left a copy of GEO in the van, and he had been absently passing
the pages when he saw her, Verena.
The editorial was written by her, addressing
the main article in the Americas section. But he didn’t read it. He only
saw the picture of her, recently taken. Her hair was longer, her face
thinner, which made her green eyes even more expressive. What had he hoped?
That she would realize that he loved her madly and that she would love
him enough to set everything else aside? That she’d be waiting for him,
pining for him? Stupid. Verena had been clear enough when they had parted.
Orlando didn’t recall the exact words, but the wounded, angry accusing
look of her face was fresh in his memory.
Was the magazine the famous “job of a
lifetime” she’d mentioned? She seemed to have moved on, why couldn’t he?
“We arrived,” he heard Diane tell him.
He looked up smiling. “Earth to Orlando? Are you still with us?” she joked,
the very slight German accent coming through.
“Yes. Let’s go,” he replied.
Brad and Jen walked up front, their arms
around one another, and Diane and Orlando followed them. Diane was the
one with a dreamy look in her face now, and Orlando laid an arm around
her shoulders.
“Missing home?” he asked.
“Actually I love this place. I love the
country, and Malta is so unique … but I’d like to share what I see with
Guillaume, you know?” she said, referring to her French husband.
He pondered telling her that he didn’t
miss anybody, but that would be a lie. And something in Diane’s wistful,
vulnerable expression made him say, “I know exactly how you feel.”
“Were you thinking of her, before, in the car?” she asked quietly.
Late march 2003, Los Angeles
“Yes,” he answered and pulled her closer, his free hand digging deeper in the pocket of his worn jeans in discomfort.
Diane took the hint and didn’t ask any further. They reached the restaurant and jokes between them and Brad and Jennifer filled the conversation at the table. After the fourth bottle of wine, Brad suggested that they move on to a Cuban pub close to the restaurant, recommended by the waiter.
The tipsy company went to the Cuban pub and settled in a corner table. After the first round of Cuba-Libres, Jennifer dragged Brad to the dance-floor, following the rhythm of Merengue. Brad shot a grin at Orlando, who still lingered at the table.
“Chicken. You are a chicken, Orlando Bloom! You couldn’t dance if your life depended on it and someone strapped a mixer to your hips,” teased Brad from the dance floor.
Orlando was just drunk enough to respond to the jab. Laughing, he grabbed Diane’s hand and dragged her to the dance floor. “You’ll see, bloody yank, there is nothing that I can’t do.”
He pulled Diane close, his hands on her hips, her hands on his neck. Without thinking too deeply about it, he lost his body to the music, rotating his hips against Diane’s, leading the motion, flowing like water, adjusting to the teasing rhythm.
A memory of a dancing lesson long ago filed his mind, and Orlando sighed, letting himself forget the present and be aware of the body fitted against his, the movements matching every beat; they moved as one.
Somewhere in his mind the background changed: only the music mattered and the woman in his arms, whose rapid heartbeat he could feel against his chest.
They were somewhere else, some other time, and his right hand cupped her cheek, lifting her face to him. But instead of the well-known green eyes he was looking for, he met Diane’s bright blue gaze.
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