Rockstar vs Heiress (Love in Illyria Book 3) Read online

  "She can't come to the studio at regular hours?" Isabella asked, standing in the door frame.

  He picked up a pair of socks from the top drawer and pulled them on. "She had a show late into the evening."

  "Without you," she said pointedly.

  He took in a deep breath and walked into the closet. Shoes. He grabbed the first black pair he saw and hurried into the living room. He flopped into one of the stiff and stylish armchairs and tied the shoelaces.

  "Yes, Isabella," he said. "She has gigs without me. She has a whole career on her own."

  Right, he had his shoes. He still needed his wallet, watch, phone. He had to get out of there fast.

  "But you're writing songs for her."

  He was losing hope that he might make it out the door before it was too late. He slipped into the character of the patient boyfriend, praying it would be enough.

  "She's part of my label. Her albums must be excellent."

  "Albums?" Isabella exclaimed. "I thought her contract was just for one."

  He looked at her curiously.

  "And how would you know that?"

  "I don't know that. I just thought that you're giving her a chance because you feel sorry for her. You lost last season because of her."

  Where was his damn watch? He checked the coffee table in front of the wide screen TV, the mantelpiece under the wide crystal mirror. He tried to reign in the annoyance.

  "You thought wrong."

  "Why are you so obsessed with her? Every time she goes somewhere or does something without you, you fuss after her like a puppy."

  "Are you done?" he asked, tired of the rerun of their Vy argument.

  "Are you in love with her?" Isabella asked.

  The shrill note in her voice grated on his nerves. This woman played Roxane like no one else he had ever met, she caught nuances in Lady Macbeth that many experienced actors missed, and yet sometimes she sounded like a housewife from Orsino East.

  He stopped in the middle of the room, considering her question.

  "I don't think I am," he said eventually.

  He was fairly sure that he did not have warm and fuzzy feelings for Vy. He admired her talent and the strength it took to stand up to her father. Anyone who turned their back on Paul Cesara's plans for greatness had to be strong. Paul 'the Kingmaker' Cesara did not enjoy people screwing up his plans. Not to mention how sweet it felt to know he wrenched her from King.

  He took in a deep breath. He had to calm down. He had to make it up to Isabella for the situation with Vy. From her point of view, the amount of time he spent with his protégé was a legitimate cause for concern. He couldn't tell her that he had been grooming Vy to take his place in the Waves if things went horribly wrong with his health. Mark was the only one who had any clue about his intentions, but not even he knew about the illness.

  That very weekend, Vy would be with him and the Waves in Viaverde. That was going to be the ultimate test: if she could sing as lead vocal of the Waves in front of their most rabid fans, she was ready to take over. Once that was done, he'd have more time for Isabella and their child, but until then, they had to deal with things how they were.

  "I'll be home early tonight," he said, reaching an arm around her waist to pull her close.

  "Tonight?" she asked, taking a step back, avoiding his embrace.

  "Yes. We'll have a nice dinner. I'll get us a table at-"

  "So, you're not coming to the doctor today?"

  "What doctor?"

  It was a dumb question. He had completely forgot they had another pre-natal appointment.

  "Tim, I told you I have the twenty-four weeks appointment."

  "At what time?"

  "At 2. You said you wanted to be there."

  He vaguely remembered her telling him about the appointment. He had said that he would be there. Did he want to be there? No, not really.

  "I'll be there. Give me the address again."

  "Check your email. You have it since I made the appointment. I'll see you there. If Vy doesn't need you, of course."

  She stormed off into the master bedroom. He couldn't blame her. Even if she was wrong about the reason, her intuition served her well. Vy was important to him. He had grown quite fond of his protégé. Her talent was matched only by her relentless drive to work hard and improve. In this regard, she and Isabella were a lot alike.

  Isabella had impressed him with her talent from her first audition. She'd been one of a few dozen actresses they auditioned a few months earlier, when most of the Rose staff had gotten ill. Isabella's portrayal of Roxane took his breath away. Maybe if he had been a mentor for her, he wouldn't be in this position now.

  He was grateful she hadn't made a scene when he brought up the paternity test. He'd been faithful to her during the months they'd been together, and he thought that she had been as well, but it was too important not to check.

  He thought about following Isabella into the bedroom and coaxing her into forgiving him with some romantic or playful gestures. It was something that worked when he and Alba were fighting. Then again, no matter how many times he and Alba made up, they always broke up again. More than a year had passed since their final breakup. He had always expected to miss the gorgeous and kind hearted Alba Richmond-Orsay more.

  He shook his head, and walked out the door. He would pick up Mark, go to the studio and work on the new album. He thought about the women in his life as he drove.

  When he had met Isabella, he hadn't compared her to Alba. He had compared her to Christine, the girl he had loved throughout high school. For how long had he thought Christine was the love of his life? Until a few years ago when he met Alba and screwed up even that. After Alba, and during their breakups, he had resigned himself to one-night stands.

  Then Isabella had burst into his life, and his heart had fluttered. Only a few months earlier, he was sure he loved her. For a while, he dared to hope that he could get his life together. Had she changed or had he?

  He pulled over in front of Mark's building, thinking that Isabella would have been even more upset if he told her that Vy was supposed to be at the studio as well. They were a few days away from the Summer Festival and he wanted to put the final touches on her performance with the Waves.

  "Rough night?" Mark asked when he got in his car.

  "Just showing my age," he answered. "I need one of those paintings in the attic."

  "I thought you'd go for a vampire metaphor. Is the Rose Theater preparing to stage Oscar Wilde in the next season?"

  "Unfortunately, not."

  "Are you ok, man?"

  His first instinct was to shrug off the question. But if he couldn't be open with a man who stood by him for a decade, he was broken beyond repair. Mark was one of the few people who knew that Isabella was back in his life. He deserved to be the first to know the reason.

  "I'm going to have a child," he said. "With Isabella."

  "Congratulations. That's great news."

  Happily married Mark sounded hopeful when he congratulated him. Even rockstars settled down, and his friend probably wanted to believe the best of the situation.

  "It was... unexpected."

  He didn't need to say anything else for Mark to get the picture. At one time or another, they all had to deal with clinging groupies or unplanned pregnancies. Sometimes it all worked out for the best. As much as he wanted to believe it could be the case, the bitterness at the back of his throat warned him not to get his hopes up.

  Chapter Three

  Alice

  THE UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT between Alice and her grandmother, Clara Pellerin required her to attend several events in the social calendar since she turned eighteen two years earlier. She could choose which ones, but if the frequency fell under a certain level during the season, Clara would summon Alice's parents to the castle and chastise them for not living up to the family's reputation. It turned out to be easiest all around if she represented Maison Pellerin on the social scene, no matter how shoddily.
/>   She didn't resemble her grandmother's ideal candidate for the face of their fashion label, but she was better than nothing. Her mother's rebellious attitude toward the Pellerin empire made those family reunions unnecessarily tense. Alice sacrificed a few hours each month to maintain peace in their family.

  At least no one had demanded that she should have a partner for the events. Yet. She cringed at the thought. Sooner rather than later, her grandmother would make it part of the deal.

  She always made a bare minimum small talk with people who would mention it to Clara Pellerin that she was there. Then she got creative with avoidance tactics.

  As an avid opera goer for many years, Alice knew the layout of the Grand Opera to perfection. Everyone knew the twin spiral staircases at the entrance. Some even knew the archway entries toward the boxes. Very few knew how to get to the outside terrace.

  She strode across the vast space with a self-assurance not entirely real but beautifully displayed in each graceful step and every discreet nod of recognition. A polite smile and a friendly wave got her out of conversations with the small groups she passed on her way.

  The only difficult bit was to climb up the staircase without arousing too much curiosity. For camouflage reasons, she had chosen a dark red dress that matched the shade of the thick carpet of the stairs. The few people on the first landing congregated in tight groups and paid no attention to her.

  She spotted Paul Cesara, Vy's father, and for a moment she thought he looked at her, but as he made no sign that he saw her, she continued on her way. She turned the corner and breathed deeply. Finally alone. In a few steps, she found the door to the terrace, and once that was closed, even the music faded away.

  The terrace was the designated smoking place, and she cultivated the vice because it gave her an excuse to spend time on her own during such events. Most people who attended either didn't smoke, or they preferred to enjoy fancy cigars in special rooms, with perfect ambiance. She wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders, and took out the slim pack of cigarettes. She put one of them in her mouth and reached into her clutch to fish out the lighter.

  The door opened and for a moment the hum of the party ruined the beautiful silence. The party faded again when the man who came out closed the door behind himself.

  He was a head taller than her, his dark hair was just long enough to betray its waviness. The haircut was this side of trendy, but the tuxedo and his bearing made him look like he was stepping out of a 1920s movie. Even in the dim light from the party she could see his regular features and think him handsome. She was trying to make up her mind if he was more from a gangster movie or Jane Austin.

  "Smoking is so unfashionable these days," he said.

  His low, warm, cultivated voice increased her confusion. Gangster or royalty. An exquisite lighter appeared in his hand and offered her a light. Alice leaned in and lit her cigarette.

  "Thank you."

  "Christian," he said, offering her his hand.

  Alice shook it and a thrill went through her when he bowed his head, as if to kiss the back of her hand. She secretly loved that old school and highly unfashionable custom, but she preferred it to be suggested rather than executed. Christian had done it perfectly, stopping short of touching her skin with his lips.

  "Alice."

  He lit himself a cigarette and drew in a long breath. The smoke coming out of his mouth made Alice think of dragons.

  "Nice to meet you, Alice."

  She wanted to resent his intrusion, but Christian remained quiet. Strangely enough, the silence between them didn't have the slightest tint of awkwardness. She drew in a breath, and relaxed. Maybe sharing this unfashionable vice took the edge off her usual anxiety.

  She looked longingly at the embers of her cigarette before putting it out.

  "We don't have to go back," he said.

  She shrugged, and took a few steps toward the door.

  "It's too cold anyway," she said.

  He started to take off his coat.

  "No, please. It's not necessary."

  She put her hand on his arm to stop him. The innocent grin blossoming on his face tipped the balance. Gangster movie. No Regency era gentleman would look into her eyes so intently. He placed his palm over hers.

  "I insist. I don't want to go back and I would appreciate the company."

  He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The light from the ballroom revealed even more of his features. She saw the family resemblance, the thin nose and high cheekbones, and most of all his eyes. She could put a surname to the name. Sinclair. The jacket on her shoulders belonged to the younger of the Sinclair siblings.

  He stepped out of her private space before she felt invaded. She smiled shyly when he held out the lighter for her.

  "One more and we'll go back," he said.

  "I'm not much of a smoker," Alice said.

  She lit her cigarette anyway and took in a drag from it.

  "I appreciate you staying out even more."

  "Shut up," she said as if addressing any of her friends. "You know I didn't want to go back."

  "That doesn't make me enjoy your company any less."

  "Why are you out here? Didn't you like the foie gras? Did the truffles taste funky?"

  He laughed and to Alice's surprise, she felt even more at ease around him.

  "Maybe it was the wine," he said.

  "It was not!" she said outraged.

  Christian laughed even more.

  "No, of course it wasn't the wine. I can't even bring myself to joke about it. The Opera hired the best sommelier in Illyria."

  "No, they didn't. One of my friends helped organize the event, and I know they went with Giraud."

  "Etienne Giraud is the best Illyrian sommelier."

  "Arguably the best," Alice said.

  "Who's arguing?" he asked.

  "It looks like we are."

  "As reasons go, I would go far to defend my opinions about wine."

  She snorted. "We could not find a more snobbish reason to fight."

  "And yet, we will remember it fondly. Our first fight."

  Alice was grateful for the poor lighting on the terrace. It helped hide her blush.

  "I trust Hoffmann's opinions above Giraud's," she said.

  "Hoffmann chooses the wines for Indigo, doesn't he?"

  "Yes. For a couple of years now."

  "Then you can convince me of his superiority over dinner. We're going back inside, sampling Giraud's choices and next week, we're going to Indigo. What do you say?"

  She had wanted to go to Indigo ever since they opened, but her friends didn't enjoy that level of sophistication.

  "I say that next week I have to prepare for my finals."

  "We can go after, but I'm afraid we'd have time to forget Giraud's."

  "Then we'll have to agree we disagree."

  "I have another solution. Giraud has a little restaurant in Larissa. We'll celebrate your exams in Larissa and come back to Indigo to try Hoffman."

  "Giraud also works for La Madeleine, right here in Orsino. We can test him there."

  "As long as I get two dates with you, I really don't care where," he said.

  Chapter Four

  Tim

  HE PULLED A T-SHIRT over his head and grabbed a shirt off a hanger.

  "Why do you have to go to the studio in the middle of the night?" Isabella asked.

  He buttoned up the shirt, desperately trying to find a way out of that situation before spun out of control. She wasn't accusing him of not going to the studio. He counted that as an improvement.

  "She's coming over again, isn't she?"

  He slipped into a pair of running shoes, willing himself not to get drawn into the argument.

  "Say something, damn it!"

  He wouldn't lie to her. Not even to avoid an argument.

  "I'll work with Vy on her album."

  "I knew it! You don't have time to come with me to the doctor but you make time for her whenever
she wants."

  He had gone with her to every appointment, but he hadn't hidden his annoyance when they had been inconvenient.

  "You know my schedule and you keep making appointments when I have commitments."

  "Commitments more important than your son," she said resentfully.

  "They're routine checks. You don't need me there to hold your hand while the doctor tells you everything is ok and you have to eat vegetables or something."

  "Hold my hand? Hold my hand?! You haven't touched me in weeks, I wouldn't expect you to hold my hand."

  She had noticed. He tried his best, but he couldn't bring himself to want to touch her any more. She looked every bit as beautiful as the first time he saw her, but beauty alone only worked for one night. Whatever else had drawn him to her seemed to have vanished.

  "She abandoned you. When will you get the hint? She doesn't want you!"

  "For the thousandth time, Isabella, drop it."

  "You're not even denying it anymore," she said.

  "You don't seem to hear it anyway."

  He bit his tongue. It was true, but it didn't help calm her down.

  His soul was full of wasps and dust. He couldn't think straight. All his life, he'd done things his way, without bending his will to anyone's expectations, emotional blackmail or even to the public opinion. The more he wanted to make this relationship work, the worse it got out of his control.

  "Are you having an affair with Vy?"

  "To have an affair I'd have to be married, and we are not."

  The words had come out of their own will. She had never mentioned marriage but at some level she must have wanted or expected it. Even in modern Illyria, marriage gave a seal of approval and respectability. He wasn't opposed to marriage as a concept. He just couldn't see himself married to Isabella.

  All blood drained from her cheeks. He cursed himself. That was exactly what he had tried to avoid. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Neither of them wanted to be in this situation. He should fix this somehow. Without lying to her. Without making things worse. He had to find a way to stay in her life. But how? He hung his head and his shoulders slumped.