“You’ve worked together for long enough on your movie that she would know you’re not one of them,” his mother told him with perfect certainty. “But sometimes, it’s harder to admit to ourselves we want love in our lives than it is to keep living without it.”

Smith was suddenly hit with the realization of how close this situation between Valentina and himself was to the relationship between Jo and Graham in his film. In Gravity, both the hero and heroine were stubbornly convinced that love was the hard part, when the truth was that love should be the easiest thing of all.

He’d written the damned movie, and yet he’d needed his mother to point out the obvious to him: if he couldn’t fight gravity—and an attraction that knocked him off his feet—then it was time to fight for it instead.

“Have I told you lately how smart you are?” he asked her.

“So are you,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice now. “You’re one of the smartest men I know. Smart enough to know a good thing when you see it and to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t let it go.” She was as serious as he’d ever heard her as she said, “And if it turns out that she’s the one, no matter what, remember what you’re fighting for, even if it feels like you’re the only one fighting sometimes.”

For seven decades his mother had gained wisdom, two of those decades shared with a husband she’d loved with her whole heart, four of them as the solid foundation of eight children’s lives. Smith had learned everything that mattered from her, and especially after watching Valentina and Tatiana with their mother, he would never take Mary Sullivan for granted for a single second.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you, Mom?”

“Oh yes, honey,” she said in a voice that was slightly thicker now, “I do know. But it’s always nice to hear it one more time.”

Chapter Eight

Valentina woke with the same sinking feeling in her stomach that she’d gone to bed with. She’d been so flipped out over the thought of Smith and her sister posing for “romantic” pictures in a magazine—even though they would be completely in character, clothes and all—that she’d fled without remembering to thank him for the flower and breakfast. And that was on top of her completely unprofessional mini-meltdown over her mother’s visit.

She dropped her head into her hands as she sat on the side of her bed. For so long she’d been able to push these kinds of feelings away. Why was she having such trouble doing that now?

And why did she have a sinking feeling that the answer had Smith’s name written all over it?

Even worse, why was it starting to feel like he might also be the cure for her swirling, conflicting emotions?

With mechanical precision she showered, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, applied her makeup, and slipped on one of her suits. No matter what happened today, she’d be professional. And she would keep her emotions off the set and away from Smith Sullivan.

Once on set, she headed into her office to put down her bag and was planning to turn right around to finally say a polite thank you to Smith for the flower and breakfast, when she found something new on her desk.

Maybe she should have been prepared. After all, it was the third morning in a row that Smith had put something special on her desk for her to find when she got in.

But how could she have possibly prepared for this?

With trembling hands she put down her leather bag and reached for the wooden frame. The black and white picture wasn’t big, but it was beautiful.

She and Tatiana were laughing together on the set. One of her hands was on her sister’s shoulder, while Tatiana had one around Valentina’s waist. They’d always been so easy with their affection, had been curling up together under the covers to watch movies, and giggle, and comfort each other since her sister was a baby. Valentina had never thought twice about how natural it was to reach for her, to hold her, to laugh with her.

Their closeness wasn’t something she took for granted, but seeing it captured so beautifully made her see it anew for what it was.

Yet again, Smith had made sure she saw the gift first, his note second. She didn’t put down the frame as she picked up the sheet of paper with her free hand.

Valentina,

This picture was one of the candids Larry has been taking of the cast and crew. You and Tatiana are so easy. Sweet. Perfect.

Looking at how happy you are in this picture makes me smile.

Smith

Just as she’d done the previous morning when he’d given her breakfast, she re-read the note several times, until his words were tattooed on her memory.

No wonder he’d been able to write such a beautiful screenplay, if he could capture so much with so few words. Words that were right. So right that all the things he had said he believed love could be were in this picture. Neither she nor her sister was trying, and neither of them was afraid of love being ripped away.

The love between them just was. And the deep, intrinsic knowledge that nothing would, that nothing could ever pull them apart, made it even more precious.

A few moments later, it wasn’t the photo that she lifted to press to her lips as she took a shaky breath and worked to clear her gaze. She didn’t know how it was possible, but the short, beautiful note even smelled like Smith: clean, sexy man.

She knew how powerful actors usually behaved. She’d seen enough of them give her mother diamond bracelets and expensive trips—even a car once. One call to an assistant and each of those gifts were dispatched, much to her mother’s joy.

And yet, the flower, breakfast, and now a black-and-white photo that she’d treasure forever, meant so much more than glittering jewelry or any other expensive toy ever could.

Smith was balancing a dozen responsibilities on this film, between acting, producing and directing. She’d heard him talking with more than one member of his family on the phone during quick breaks, especially his pregnant sister Sophie, whom he checked in on every single day.

And yet, somehow in the middle of more pressure than any person should be able to withstand, he was doing this for her, too. She put in long hours and got in earlier than most of the crew, but his hours made hers look borderline lazy.

He didn’t have the time to waste on her. Because that’s what it had to be in the end, didn’t it?

A waste.

Yes, if she gave in to his wooing, they would likely end up having hot sex. Her entire body tingled at the thought of just how hot sex with Smith would likely be.