Page 5 of Shine For Me

Jimmy knows all this. He just doesn’t give a shit. The man has a singular focus, and nurturing his children or grandchildren is not it.

But we’re Cains, and that means we know how to perform. I can practically feel my twin falling into his role next to me. The moody, arrogant, above-it-all movie star. It’s what people expect from him so it’s what he gives them.

And I’m no different. My smile is bright enough to light up Times Square and I go up on my toes to kiss Jimmy’s cheek when he pulls me in for a hug. “Happy birthday, Grandpa,” I say. “Are you having a good night?”

“Can’t complain,” he says, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks over me. Looking for flaws, imperfections. Anything he might need to point out in his regular lectures on how I can better represent the family.

“Nice party, old man,” Grey drawls, and the people around us chuckle. Grey can get away with crap like that because it’s part of his image. And there’s nothing Jimmy cares about more than image.

“There’s a DJ for later,” Jimmy says, clapping him on the shoulder. “After all us old folk head home you kids can have some real fun.”

“Thisis real fun,” I say, sliding my arm through his and giving it a squeeze. I hear a lady nearby murmur a softawand I’m not sure if I feel pleased or disgusted by myself.

I’m very good at playing this role—the loving, dutiful granddaughter to the most powerful man in the movie world. The always sweet, always smiling princess of Hollywood. But God, does it feel gross to do it.

Luckily the rest of the interaction doesn’t require much effort on either of our parts. If there’s one thing Jimmy knows how to do, it’s dominate a conversation. He tells the group around us about the movie Grey is filming in Greece and my upcoming project with Fox. I can’t help but scan the room when Jimmy says Fox’s name, but I don’t see that tell-tale head of blonde hair anywhere.

“He’s hitting on a model,” Grey mutters in my ear a few moments later when Jimmy’s attention shifts to the man at his side, some cinematographer who won an Oscar a few years ago.

“Who?” I ask, thinking maybe he meant Sebastian, who I still haven’t seen.

“Fox Ransome,” Grey says. “He’s over by the bar with a Victoria’s Secret model.”

Again my nails go into the flesh of my palms. “So? Why are you telling me this?”

My twin just looks at me, which is all the explanation I need. We might not be as close as we once were, but that doesn’t change our life-long ability to know what the other is thinking.

“Fox can hook up with whatever model he chooses,” I say, careful to keep the bite out of my voice.

“Uh huh,” Grey says. “You keep telling yourself that, Junie.”

I’m about to snap at him when a soft, warm hand circles around my shoulder. “Sweetheart. You look beautiful tonight.”

I’m grinning before I’ve even turned fully to face my grandmother. “I don’t think anyone else can be described as beautiful with you in the room,” I tell her, and there’s not a single bit of hyperbole in my words. My grandmother is gorgeous. The kind of beautiful that makes people stop in their tracks and lose their train of thought. In her heyday, she was considered one of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood. Now, even at the age of sixty-eight, I’ve seen men literally trail off in the middle of sentences when talking to her.

She gives me a cheeky smile and pulls me into a hug and just like that I feel better than I have all night. Her familiar scent—Chanel No. 5—surrounds me and I inhale deeply, wishing I could store up this feeling of peace and safety.

My grandmother is the best.

For once Grey doesn’t look arrogant when he leans down to kiss her cheek. “I have something for you,” he murmurs, slipping a small paper-wrapped square into the clutch she’s holding.

Her eyes sparkle as she grins up at him. “You remembered.”

He rolls his eyes. “You act like you haven’t texted me twenty times since I got to Greece reminding me.”

She winks at me. “There’s a sweet shop in Corfu that makes these raspberry candies that are to die for. Idreamabout them.” Then her eyebrows come down. “Sweetheart, are you okay? You look sad.”

My hand moves to my face, like I might be able to detect sadness there by touching it. Grandma gently brushes my fingers aside. “I’m not talking about your smile—you’re good at faking that. I’m talking about your eyes.”

“I’m fine, Grandma,” I assure her, even as my brain repeats Grey’s words. Fox is hitting on a model. Probably going to take her home. Oh, he’ll ask if I’m okay with a raincheck for our taco truck plan. And I’ll have to smile and say,of course, no problem. Go sleep with some woman you’ll never talk to again. Have fun.

There’s no sense in feeling sick about it. This is the reality of things and that’s not going to change.

As if reading my mind, Jimmy turns to join our group, his hand coming down on my shoulder. Not in the gentle, loving caress of my grandmother a few minutes ago. Jimmy’s hand feels more like a weight. A shackle.

“You haven’t been photographed with Adam yet,” he says in a low voice, just for me.

Just the name sets my skin crawling. Adam. Jesus, at this rate my palms are going to carry permanent indentions from my nails.