Heiress vs Rockstar (Love in Illyria Book 4) Read online

  "Thank you, honey," he said. "Baby? Darling? We should find some terms of endearment for each other from now on."

  She took a sip of her coffee to avoid speaking.

  "Which do you prefer, Aly-baby?"

  "Stop it," she whispered.

  "We can decide later," he said and took a gulp of his coffee. "This is perfect. You know me so well, Aly-baby."

  The words sliced through her thin shield. Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head, to hide them out of habit. He put his index finger under her chin, and turned her face back to him with a gentle touch.

  "Please, stop it," she said. "I can't do this. Take it back somehow."

  A heavy tear fell from her eye and slid straight down her cheek, splashing on his hand. He wiped his hand on his jeans without taking his eyes from her.

  "Come now, being famous is not that hard. You've been in magazines since you were a baby. What's a few more stories about the heiress of Maison Pellerin?"

  "They were about my family. I've never been famous. I don't want to be famous. Everyone hates me for breaking up your relationship."

  "But I was so clear that you had nothing to do with it," he said looking up at her innocently.

  "I'm not an idiot. You said it so that everyone would hear the exact opposite."

  He stood up suddenly. He loomed over her when he spoke.

  "Maybe they heard that, because that's the truth. If it weren't for you-"

  She interrupted him.

  "If it weren't for me, you would have slept with her, and dumped her the next day."

  "Right, so we should all thank you. How many times had Isabella called to thank you while we were together?"

  Alice avoided his gaze, but he put a finger under her chin again, this time tilting her head up. The storm in his eyes gave her vertigo. Her eyelids slid close, to protect her from the pain she saw there.

  "I tried to help her, that's all," she said. "She was my friend and you... you were just a face on the screen. A voice in my ears. You were not real."

  "And when you told her about history. About my father... I was still just a face on the screen?"

  She shook her head, squeezing her eyelids tight to hold back the tears of shame.

  "I wanted to fix-"

  He let her go. He walked away from her to stare out the window. He took a sip of coffee, letting the silence stretch uncomfortable. His voice was cold and hollow when he spoke again.

  "Can't forgive you, Alice. Maybe one day, all this will fade into a memory, but now, now I hate you with the intensity of a million suns."

  Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes dried out. She understood his need for revenge and accepted her guilt.

  "Ok. I'll have to learn to live with it."

  Her heart froze a little more to leave him there, hiding from his own pain. She couldn't help him anymore. He didn't want her help.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alice

  She had fifteen minutes to get to the Drama Club. She would make if she kept up a fast pace. It was also a ten minutes drive, but with the low odds of getting parking spots in Salon, her Mini Cooper waited in the apartment's parking lot for the weekend. She put her thin notebook in her huge leather bag, and rushed out of the classroom.

  She saw the flowers before she saw Carter. He held a huge bunch of blood-red roses in front of himself. He lowered them slowly and she saw the mischievous Cheshire cat grin on his face. His cold eyes made her shiver.

  "Hello, Aly-baby," he said and offered her the flowers.

  She snatched them.

  "Really? It's come to this? You're stalking me in Salona now?"

  She kept her voice low, so that her colleagues didn't hear her words. They were slowing down to gawk at the great and wonderful Tim Carter. She tried to calm down and pretend to be happy to see him.

  He put an arm behind her back and they walked at a sedate pace along the stone paved alley.

  "I think it's only fair to warn you that there might be a few paparazzi around," he said.

  His palm burned at the small of her back.

  "And what? You want me to kiss you for the cameras?"

  His hand twitched. The words had come out of her mouth without passing through her brain. She had to hope that he wouldn't take her up on her offer.

  He stopped abruptly, and she followed suit. His eyes weren't cold any more but the anger in them was even worse.

  "Do you still think you have a chance to win?"

  She shook her head.

  "No," she said meekly. "I'm not trying to win anything. I'm trying to survive."

  "You mean wait until I get bored of the game and you can go back to your life?"

  She closed her eyes. That was exactly what she meant.

  "I'm not even fighting you," she said. "What else can I do to make up for-"

  His tone was vicious when he interrupted her.

  "You don't get it. You can't make up for it. I have a son who will grow up knowing I don't love his mother. I'm at the mercy of Isabella's whims if I'm in his life at all. This will never go away. You can never make up for it. I will never tire of making your life miserable."

  She remained silent. Of course he would. Sooner or later, he would get bored with her.

  "Where are we going?" he asked in a completely normal tone.

  The change of tone scared her more than his threats. He could switch too fast between his masks.

  "I have to be somewhere," she said. "Sorry I can't take you pub crawling."

  "I'll go wherever you go," he said, and he took her bag. "What do you carry in this? Rocks?"

  "Books," she said. "It's a university. Carter, do you really have time to waste with these games?"

  "For you, I'm making time."

  She bowed her head, accepting the torture of his company.

  "Ok then. Come with me at the Drama Club."

  "Is it far?" he asked.

  She looked at him exasperated.

  "You just said you have time."

  "All the time in the world," he assured her. "I wanted to know if we're taking the car or you'd rather walk hand in hand with me."

  She had opened her mouth when he mentioned the car, but she snapped it shut at the mention of walking hand in hand.

  "Let's take the car," she mumbled.

  "Finally, I'm getting you in my car."

  She blushed at the vivid imagery his tone conjured. She switched the flowers in the hand next to him, determined not to give him her hand. Touching Carter was dangerous in more ways than one.

  Tim

  He held the car door open for her and reached over to secure the seatbelt in its place. He liked the idea of tying her up. Stripped the evil witch of her powers. She needed one of those Hannibal Lecter style masks over her face.

  His arm brushed unintentionally against her breast. Something stirred inside him when she gasped. He hadn't lied to her. Couldn't imagine ever getting tired of the sound of her fear.

  "How does it feel?" he asked, his mouth hovering over hers. If any paparazzi were doing their job, the photos would look like they were kissing.

  "Not the first time I've been tied to a chair," she said, turning her head a fraction to avoid brushing against his mouth.

  "Really? Who else did you piss off, little monster?"

  She kept looking away from him offering him a close view of her neck. He looked at the blueish vein under the translucent skin. With any other woman, he'd think about pressing his lips on that perfect skin. But this was Alice, and it made him sick to the stomach to feel anything other than disgust for her.

  He went around to his side of the car, composing himself. He hadn't gotten close to another woman since Isabella had entered his life. In their three months break, the illness had taken its toll on his libido and he hadn't done much with his temporary freedom. Once Isabella had come back, he might have well been sworn to chastity. His body was coming back to life in the worst possible moment, around the worst possible woman.

  "Drama
Club," he said when he got in the car. "The story will get even juicier if they do some digging," he went on looking in the rearview mirror at the paparazzi following them. "You and Isabella used to be friends until you stole me from her."

  She remained silent and motionless like a statue.

  "Come on, little monster, lash out. Say something nasty. Express your true self for once."

  She turned to look at him.

  "I had to be the adult with everyone in my life for as long as I can remember. You think that you, acting childish, is even a challenge?"

  "Who tied you to a chair?" he asked as if he hadn't heard her.

  "I was joking," she said. "There. Stop in that parking lot."

  He threw her a glance. She was lying to him. Again. He pulled over in the parking space next to the Drama Club building. Alice didn't wait for him to open her door. She got out of the car, but she didn't go inside without him. She didn't seem to be happy to wait for him, but she did it. Good. She was learning.

  He caught up with her and he opened the big door gallantly for her. It came out of habit, but he didn't fight it. While they were being watched, he intended to play the part of the perfect boyfriend.

  Inside the old building, Alice took him through long and convoluted corridors until they got to a large room crowded with props and costumes. It looked like the backstage of the Rose theater, and like the backstage of dozens of other places where he had performed. Strange to see Alice in such an oddly familiar setting.

  He watched her go the rack of costumes and flip through them. She took out a vaguely medieval jacket.

  "How did you end up in Drama Club?" he asked, sitting on a wooden chair that looked like a throne.

  She squared her shoulders in defiance, then she let them slump again. He expected a snarky remark, but she surprised him.

  "I didn't have anything better to do. My grandmother taught me about clothes and I learned to sew in her atelier. It made sense to help them with wardrobe."

  She was staring at the costume in her hands, avoiding his gaze.

  "And your other duties? How did you get to work with Isabella?"

  Alice went to a sewing table and placed the costume on the flat surface. She smoothed it as she spoke.

  "D'Amato wanted me to help them clean up their accent. Isabella happened to need the most work."

  "Must have been hard for you to get the Orsino East out of her. She still slips sometimes, you know?"

  "Why are you such a jerk?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. "You know she's committed to her craft. Whatever else you may think of her, Isabella lives for the theater more than you. Do you think it's easy to work twelve hour shifts in a pub to make rent in a dingy room in Salona just so she got a chance to be in the Drama Club? Do you know what level of dedication is needed to teach yourself acting?"

  He went near her. He loved to whisper in her ear. She was used to hiding her reactions. He needed to be very close to catch her micro expressions.

  "You don't have to praise her to me," he said. "I'm very well aware of her acting skills."

  She shook her head, but she didn't add anything else.

  "Do you really give a damn about Isabella?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Wasn't she just an experiment for you? Your chance to see firsthand if your ideas about social reform could work."

  "They're just ideas. I never intended to run for office and put them in practice, and you well know it."

  "Why not? Because you don't like to be in the spotlight? Guess what, Alice? You are."

  "They'll forget," she said. "In a few weeks, no one will remember your announcement about the start of my political career. And I will go back to my studies."

  Her quivering voice was balm on his wounds. She was trying to convince herself that she still had a way back. Her hands were steady as they undid seams, and sew new ones. The jacket was changing shape in front of his eyes.

  "People won't forget," he said. "I'll make sure they don't."

  "Ouch," she said when the needle pricked the index finger of her left hand.

  "Where is the medical kit?" he demanded.

  "Top shelf," she said pointing. "Don't bother. It's nothing."

  He located it and came back with it in a few seconds.

  "Hand," he asked firmly.

  She stuck out her left hand, reacting to his command out of instinct. As always, she avoided his touch, and reached for the box.

  "Let me," she said, trying to get the box from him with the good hand, but he swatted it away lightly.

  He took out a plaster from the box and grabbed her wrist.

  "Hold still." He wrapped the plaster around her finger. "I thought you said you can sew."

  "Poking fingers is part of sewing," she said.

  She hissed when he squeezed lightly to help the glue adhere to her skin.

  "Sorry," he said instinctively, and regretted it. He shouldn't be sorry he caused her pain, even if it was something as minor as this.

  "Sure you are," she muttered.

  He squeezed her finger again, harder and more purposefully this time.

  "Now I'm not," he said. "I never lied to you. Not that you understand what that's like."

  "Yeah, Carter. You're a saint."

  "Not a saint. Just not a demon like you."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He stood up and put the box back on its shelf. He didn't need her apologies. They didn't make up for losing his son, or her friendship.

  He stood with his back to her, staring into the wall.

  "I really enjoyed your company," he said. "Stupid of me, I know. It felt good to have someone to talk to about history, war, the Evil Dead."

  He heard her breathe in as if she was preparing to speak. He went on before she could talk.

  "Don't say you're sorry. I wouldn't believe you if you told me the sun comes up tomorrow."

  "I'm s-" she started to say, but stopped herself.

  "You're not even halfway to how sorry you're going to be from now on. Every day, Alice, every day I'll find something to do to you."

  He ended up helping her make alterations to the costumes. This was his world more than hers. He'd slept many nights of his childhood in such rooms, when his mother hadn't found anyone who would look after him when they were touring in some small towns in the middle of nowhere.

  "Thank you," she said putting the last costume back on the rack.

  He answered her fake gratitude with a lie.

  "It was my pleasure."

  She frowned when she checked her phone.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Vy was supposed to text me when she comes back. She's house sitting while Adeline and Paul are away but she should be back by now."

  "Don't worry, baby," he said. "I'll come home with you and keep you safe."

  "Trusting you to keep me safe sounds a lot like leaving the wolf in charge of the flock," she said, locking the backstage door after them.

  "I'm hurt that you would say that."

  "Is that your way of saying you're not coming with me?" she asked while they walked out of the building.

  "Dream on. I didn't drag an army of paparazzi after me and leave them without more of a story. We're going to your apartment and you're going to make me a coffee while we wait for Vy."

  He opened the car door for her, but didn't get close to her again. His gaze passed over her breasts involuntarily. His relationship with Isabella and his illness had kept him from having sex in way too long. He hadn't found her attractive before that evening, but there he was. Reacting to her.

  "Wouldn't the story be even more interesting for the tabloids if they thought you had a threesome with me and Vy?" she asked when he got in the car.

  "I'm not dragging Vy into this. You're the only one who is going to get fucked tonight."

  She didn't react to his crassness.

  "I don't know about that," she said. "She had her date with Ryann Ford today. For all I know, that's why she hasn't texted me."

 
; "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked. "What the hell happened at that wedding?"

  The day before, two of Vy's friends from Sing got married, and Ryann had been one of the guests. Maybe Alice saw some sparks between them that he had missed. For years he'd been convinced that Ryann was in love to Lauren DeSalle, the one woman he couldn't have.

  "Nothing happened," she said. "Are you sure you want to come up for coffee?"

  He smiled his most lecherous smile, and this time he was rewarded with an obvious blush on Alice's cheeks.

  "Yes, I'm sure I want to come up 'for coffee'. We can watch Netflix and chill, too."

  He'd never visited Vy before. Not her studio downtown, or her parents' home but as soon as they stepped inside he was sure that she hadn't chosen this place. This was all Alice. From the squeaky hardwood floors to the wall to wall library in the living room.

  She put the roses on the table and hurried out of the room

  "Do I get a tour?" he asked going after her.

  They nearly bumped into each other as she came out with a vase half filled with water.

  "No," she said.

  Her breasts rubbed against his arm as she sidled past him. He got a whiff of her perfume. It was strange to smell it without the accompanying leather and cigarette smoke. Her Salona dress style differed a little from what she wore in the House and it differed a lot from the formal dresses she wore at high society events.

  She looked young as she arranged the flowers in the crystal vase. It had to be the ponytail look. Very schoolgirl-y.

  "How about that coffee?" he said.

  "I'll make your damn coffee and then you can mosey off back to Orsino!"

  He tutted in mock disapproval at her rudeness.

  "They're still outside," he said. "It will damage my reputation if I don't spend at least a couple of hours here, and you wouldn't want that. I'll be in a very rotten mood afterwards."

  If the tabloids journalists had any sense, which he knew they didn't, they'd figure out something was wrong. In his whole career, he'd never shown off his affairs. They found out about them and they got photos of him with his girlfriends, but never anything as blatant as going with them for an afternoon quickie.

  He dropped on the large living room couch. It felt comfortable and seemed made for being slept on. He was tired and he was used to sleeping on a couch.