Page 2 of Bridge to Home

Every fiber in Harlow’s body screamed at her to turn and run. On stilted legs, she let her husband lead her to where Orlane and some of the other Hollywood bigwigs stood waiting.

“Congratulations again.” He grasped Harlow’s hand. It took every ounce of willpower not to jerk it away.

It’s just another act. Remember, it’s all part of the show.Harlow went into what she called “the zone,” a place where others, those who wanted a piece of her, couldn’t reach.

A vision of Wynn Harbor Inn appeared. The summer flowers in full bloom. Vibrant red and yellow tulips. And the lilacs? She could almost smell the fragrant lilacs that bloomed in Michigan in the springtime. The majestic Mackinac Bridge stood off in the distance, what she’d spent her childhood calling her “bridge to home.” Because whenever Harlow saw the bridge, she knew she was almost there. But it was so long ago, before…

“Aren’t you, Harlow?” Robert nudged her.

“I’m. I’m sorry. I missed what you said,” Harlow apologized.

“We were talking about how excited you are to start filming in Vancouver next week.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. He was giving herthe look.

“Yes. Vancouver is gorgeous. I can hardly wait.”

“Robert mentioned he’ll be handling business elsewhere,” Orlane said. “We’ll have to arrange some special dinner dates to keep you entertained and out of trouble.”

Harlow could feel bile rise in her throat and her stomach churned. The lecherous creep was already making plans. Plans she wanted no part of. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.”

The group made small talk, posed for several more photos. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harlow was able to convince Robert it was time to leave.

The couple strolled to his Maserati, parked in the studio’s VIP parking lot. Robert helped his wife into the passenger seat. Storming around the front ofthe car, he flung the door open and climbed inside, a thunderous expression on his face.

He slammed the door shut. “What kind of stunt was that?” he demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“You snubbed Daniel Orlane. Thank God I covered for you.”

“Snubbed Orlane?” Harlow’s jaw dropped. “The man tried ripping my shirt off yesterday. He left a welt on my arm and you think I snubbed him?”

“You’re making way too much out of it. I’m sure he was just excited and got a little overzealous. You know how much time and effort I put into negotiating these big contracts. Let’s not forget the clock is ticking.”

Harlow stared out the window, ignoring his jab about the ticking clock, code phrase for the fact she wasn’t getting any younger and reminding her there were thousands of other actresses waiting in the wings to take her place in the blink of an eye.

Robert rambled on about how important the movie deal was, how much money they would make, and how she needed to try harder to get along.

All the while, the only thing Harlow could think of was her husband had sold her out. Granted, she was the one who had clawed her way to the top, who was paid the big bucks. Robert did the wheeling and dealing. Harlow’s role was to fulfill those “wheels and deals.”

Over the past year, she’d noticed a subtle shift in their relationship. Robert leaving town, traveling without her, rarely accompanying her to photo shoots for her modeling gigs and only occasionally showing up on the movie sets.

His excuse was having to care for their properties—the house in Malibu, the condo in Palm Beach, the apartment in New York City. In his defense, Harlow knew Robert’s Type A personality, made him a workaholic, driven and status-conscious, almost to the point of obsession. It wasnearly impossible for him to sit still. He was always on the move, always working on expanding their empire.

“You weren’t there,” Harlow said. “The man was attacking me. If not for the janitor showing up, I hate to think about what would have happened.”

Her husband muttered under his breath. Low, but not so low that Harlow couldn’t hear it. “Did you call me a drama queen?”

Robert rolled his eyes and refused to answer. Needless to say, the rest of the ride home was spent in dead silence.

As soon as he pulled into the garage, Harlow hopped out and stormed inside. She dropped her purse on the table by the door and climbed the stairs leading to their perfectly appointed owner’s suite, a lavish custom retreat that took up the top floor of their multi-million dollar Malibu mansion.

Harlow peeled off the bespoke turquoise Dolce & Gabbana lace midi dress. The dress had cost morethan she’d made working an entire summer at Mackinac Island’s Grand Hotel. She slipped the Jimmy Choo stilettos off and placed them on the shelf.

Sliding the dress on the hanger, Harlow pulled on a pair of sweatpants, her favorite rock band T-shirt, and smoothed her blond locks into one long ponytail. Squaring her five-foot nine-inch frame, she critically eyed her reflection in the floor-length mirror.

During her teen years, she’d been embarrassed by her height, towering over most of her friends and classmates. All of that changed when a talent scout for a top modeling agency who was visiting the prestigious Grand Hotel had spotted her waiting tables.

It was as if fate had stepped in and turned Harlow Wynn’s idyllic island life upside down. The modeling career segued into acting offers. She was a natural at both. Photogenic. Easy on the camera,an enigmatic young woman who was an equal mix of authentic and enchanting.

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