‘Solo stuff?’ Because that she hadn’t read anywhere online. ‘You’re planning on leaving The Swifts?’
‘No,’ Jude said, too quickly. ‘I’m not. I couldn’t. I just... I needed some time away, is all.’
‘And you picked La Isla Marina?’ Because, really, that was too much of a coincidence to not bear some investigation.
‘I heard someone talk about this place once. I can’t remember who, exactly. One of Sylvie’s friends, maybe.’
Sylvie. That would be Sylvie Rockwell-Smythe, Rosa’s ever-helpful brain for useless knowledge filled in. Jude’s beautiful, red-headed, heiress and model girlfriend. Exactly the sort of woman a celebrity like Jude should be dating.
Except, if he was here in paradise, and she was still in New York... ‘How is Sylvie?’
‘We split up,’ Jude said, shortly.
‘Ah. Sorry.’ There was that old talent for putting her foot in it, rearing up again. One day she’d learn not to just say the first thing that popped into her head. Maybe.
Jude shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be.’
‘Like that, huh?’
‘Pretty much.’
Rosa sat back and surveyed him, taking in the changes the last three years had wrought on a face she’d known so well, once. He looked thinner. No, not thinner, exactly. Leaner. As if some stylist had decided to play up his pale and interesting aspect. But they couldn’t style away Jude’s broad shoulders, or the muscles in those arms.
But he looked tired. Worn down, maybe.
‘So. How’s fame going?’
‘Overrated.’ Jude met her eyes. ‘Haven’t you heard the latest? The entire of the continental US is talking about it.’
‘I’ve been kind of out of touch,’ Rosa admitted. ‘I was working on a story down in South America...wait.’ Hadn’t she read something about a book, somewhere? A kiss-and-tell sort of a book, all about Jude? Maybe Sylvie had something to do with that... ‘Is this about the book?’
‘Jude: The Naked Truth.’ Jude shook his head in disgust as he quoted the title. ‘That’s the one.’
Whoever had written it should have come and found Rosa. She could have told them plenty of secrets about Jude Alexander.
She wouldn’t have, of course. That was just one of the many differences between her and Sylvie. That and the fact that the other woman was a supermodel. And at five feet three and with too many curves, Rosa would definitely never be that.
‘I haven’t read it.’
Jude didn’t respond, and Rosa resigned herself to looking him up on the internet once she’d got her laptop hooked up to the island Wi-Fi. It wouldn’t be the first time, anyway. And Jude didn’t have many secrets from the media these days, it seemed to Rosa. She could probably download the eBook and know everything she wanted to about him in a couple of hours of reading.
Except she didn’t want to. Those books never told the whole truth, anyway. And she knew more about him than any pages could contain.
Or she had. Once.
Before.
She turned back to her father’s Scrabble tiles, and ignored the letters ‘s’ ‘e’ and ‘x’ to find something else to think about.
‘So. Been a while,’ Jude said, and Rosa looked up from her Scrabble tiles to take in the sight of him in the sunshine again.
He was too pale, she decided. He couldn’t have been on the island long or he’d have lost that grey pallor that came from too long spent inside with only his guitar for company.
But he was still every bit as gorgeous as she remembered. As she’d tried to forget.
Her fingers flexed, reaching for the camera that wasn’t hanging around her neck for once. She wanted to capture him here, now, in the moment. A comparison piece to the famous, laughing photo of him she’d taken three years ago. One photo in thousands she’d taken that month, but the one everyone remembered most. The one that had made her name. Kick-started her career, when The Swifts had hit the big time.
She’d been assigned to the up-and-coming band by a magazine she’d done some work for before, asked to follow them on tour for an in-depth photo piece with some interviews. Someone high up at the magazine had a feeling about them, she’d been told, and they wanted to get in there first, before anyone else.
Whoever that person was, they’d been right. And they’d changed Rosa’s world with that one commission, in too many ways to count.
If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have taken the photo that started her rise to the top of her profession, that gave her the luxury of picking and choosing jobs wherever she wanted in the world.
If she hadn’t taken the job, she’d never have met Jude. And if she hadn’t met Jude, she wouldn’t have spent three years taking any job that kept her away from England, Spain and New York.
‘Three years.’ As if he didn’t already know.
‘You look good.’
‘You look pale.’
Jude laughed, the first true emotion she’d seen from him since she arrived. ‘You never were very good for my ego, were you?’
‘You never needed me for that.’ He’d always had plenty of hangers-on and groupies, ready to tell him how wonderful he was, even back then, before The Swifts took over the music world. Gareth might have been the lead singer, but Jude was the mysterious lead guitarist, and that had its own appeal.
And he’d had Gareth to keep him optimistic. To keep him humble.
How had he coped without him?
She should have called. It was three years too late to be asking these questions. But back then...she couldn’t.
Rosa shoved the last of the Scrabble tiles aside and got to her feet. ‘I really should go and find my mother. Let her know I’m here.’
Jude inclined his head in a small nod. ‘Of course.’
She waited, just a moment, in case he was going to say anything more, but he was already studying his letters again. If those groupies could see him now—wild-child rock-and-roll star plays Scrabble. Wouldn’t they be disappointed?
Was she, though? Rosa wasn’t even sure. Already this trip home was nothing like she’d expected.
But she couldn’t be certain if that was a bad thing or not. Not yet.
She paused as she reached the archway leading into the villa.
‘Jude?’
He looked up. ‘Yeah?’
‘Did you really not know I’d be here?’
‘Honestly?’ Jude gave her a sardonic smile. ‘I would never have come if I did.’
Rosa looked away. Well. That told her.
And really, what else was she hoping for?
Shaking away the conversation with Jude, Rosa headed inside to find her mother. And some answers.
* * *
Jude watched Rosa go, then realised she’d stopped, just inside the archway to the villa.
Not that he cared.
He shouldn’t care.
He absolutely shouldn’t care enough to want to watch her every move.
Except...he did. Even after everything.
Trying not to be obvious about it, Jude tilted his chair just enough for him to see inside the villa, to where Rosa had found her mother. Both women seemed far too preoccupied with each other to be worrying about him, so he took advantage of their distraction to shift his chair around a bit more, so he could watch them properly.
It wasn’t his place to spy on a reunion, he knew. But since his own with Rosa had been so anticlimactic, he wanted to know what a real one would look like.
Inside, Sancia threw her arms around Rosa and held her tight, swaying her back and forth with her outpouring of affection.
Once, Jude had imagined that his and Rosa’s reunion might be full of love, like that. Filled with passion, at least—the same kind of passion they’d shown each other during their brief time together.
Sometim
es, late at night, he’d allowed himself to picture it. Rosa coming back, finding him backstage, just as he was finishing a gig. He’d be on a performance high, anyway, and when he saw her...everything would crystallise, fall into place. He’d sweep her up into his arms and never let her go again.
Except she’d never come back, had she?
And then Gareth had died, and he’d been so lost. So hopeless, without his best friend. He’d needed Rosa, then.
But she was long gone. And even if she hadn’t been...how could he let himself love her again, knowing what that love had cost him?
From the moment they’d met, when Rosa had arrived on the tour bus and introduced herself as the person who’d be documenting their every move for the next month, her presence had filled his whole world, pushing everything else to the edges. The connection had been instantaneous, even if the physical side of their relationship had developed more slowly. Rosa had spoken to them all, of course, taking notes, filming them, her camera always to hand. But somehow, when it had been just the two of them, Jude had found himself giving up far more than she’d asked for—details about his life, his mind, his friendships, his heart. Details she’d never used in the article, because they were just for her.
Whenever the music was done, they’d gravitate towards each other, letting the others head out to party while they headed back to the bus or a hotel room. And soon, all those late-night talks had become midnight kisses, and more, as Jude had lost himself in the wonder of Rosa.
Unbidden, memories of their last night came back to him, filling his brain with the images of them together. The hotel room, the champagne, the post-gig euphoria that always came over him—and Rosa. Rosa’s eyes, bright with excitement. Her hair, loose and soft and dark as it hung over her bare shoulders. Her olive skin, so smooth and welcoming under his hands.
The feel of her against him, both of them mindless with the kind of passion Jude knew didn’t come around all that often.
Or ever, for him, it seemed, unless it was with Rosa.
It was crazy. He’d been with supermodels, Hollywood actresses—some of the widely acknowledged most beautiful women in the world.
And they’d never made him feel an iota of what he felt in one night with Rosa.
He pushed the memories aside. It was that passion, that uncontrolled connection, that had made him forget the promise he’d made to Gareth after his first close call. Jude had sat beside that hospital bed looking at his best friend—too pale, too lost, so close to being utterly ruined by the drugs and the alcohol and the life it was so easy to live as a band on the road. And he’d made the most important promise of his life—he’d promised to keep Gareth safe from then on. To be the one Gareth could rely on to steer him away from temptation, to remind him how much he had to live for.
But then he’d met Rosa and let that promise slide, too distracted by passion and infatuation to notice his best friend slipping again.
Until it was too late.
Shaking his head, he looked away as he saw Sancia putting an arm around Rosa’s shoulders as she led her further into the villa. He had to stop living in his memories.
He needed to focus on what this meant for his future.
He’d made a new promise, when Gareth died—an echo of the one he’d made him a year before, except this one he’d kept, would keep on keeping. He’d live life for the both of them. He’d have the success that should have been theirs, chase the fame Gareth had always wanted. Live the life Gareth should be there to enjoy.
The Swifts’ success wasn’t his. It wasn’t even Jimmy’s or Lee’s or Tanya’s. It was all for Gareth.
And that was why he could never walk away from it. He owed his friend, for the life he got to live, without him, and for the promise he should have kept.
But even then, he couldn’t stay in New York for the publication of that book.
He’d come to La Isla Marina with a very firm objective in mind—to stay out of the public eye for a few weeks, long enough for all the fuss about The Naked Truth to fade away again, and to give him time to think about his next move, musically.
But Rosa being here...that could change everything. He mustn’t forget that he’d actually met Rosa when she was photographing the band for some British music magazine. What were the chances she was still doing that sort of work? Just because he hadn’t seen her at any of his gigs since didn’t mean she wasn’t still in the game.
And even if she wasn’t, she was a freelance photojournalist. A few shots of Jude Alexander hiding out on a remote Spanish island, when no one else had been able to get a hint of where he was...that would pay big money. Enough for a struggling freelancer to not have to worry about bills for a while, anyway.
Would she sell him out?
Three years ago, Jude could have answered that question without hesitation: never. Rosa wasn’t that sort of person. He might have only known her for four weeks, but he’d learned more about her in one month than he’d known about his own parents in a lifetime.
And maybe it still meant something. After all, she hadn’t used his secrets in the eventual article that had been published about that month-long tour. And there was no mention of Rosa—or any of the secrets only she knew—in That Book. There were whole chapters on Gareth, his death, Jude’s guilt over it, and everything that happened next, but no mention of the part Rosa had played in everything that happened.
Of course, probably the author just hadn’t known to look for Rosa. If they had...
No, she still wouldn’t have talked. She wasn’t that sort of person, he was sure.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth making sure she was on the right side of his hide-and-don’t-seek game with the press, before she let something slip to the wrong person.
The last thing Jude wanted was to have his hiding place uncovered now, just when his last remaining secret had walked back into his life.
CHAPTER THREE
‘MAMA. MAMA!’ Rosa interrupted her mother’s non-stop flow of conversation with an impatient shout. It might be rude, but she knew from experience that if she didn’t get in there quick before Sancia got lost in one of her conversational tangents, she could be stuck discussing anything but the matter in hand for hours before she got back to the point.
Sancia stopped talking, smiled, then hugged her again.
Rosa hugged her back. Maybe there were some parts of this homecoming that weren’t completely awful. Hugs from her mama were definitely one of them. Whatever their family issues, Rosa knew she was lucky to still have her mother in her life. Ten years after she left, Rosa had long forgiven her for walking out on them—understood why she’d needed to, even. Rosa knew that, in her place, she’d have done the same.
If she couldn’t fix a situation, couldn’t get what she needed from it, she broke free. Just as her mother had done. Just ask Jude.
‘I’m sorry, querida,’ Sancia said, with a warm smile. ‘I’m just so excited to have both my girls home with me again.’
Which led Rosa neatly into the first of her very many questions. ‘Where is Anna, anyway? Jude said something about her going to Barcelona with someone called Leo?’ Which seemed utterly unlike her sister, to be honest.
‘Ah, you’ve already met Jude! Isn’t he a delight?’ Sancia beamed. ‘We were so lucky he decided to come and stay here, you know. And he brought your father over with him, for which we are all grateful.’
‘He...brought Dad?’ Rosa frowned. That made no sense at all. But then, Sancia’s ramblings often didn’t.
‘Well, they arrived together. They travelled over from the mainland in the same boat.’ Which was not at all the same thing, Rosa realised.
Sancia didn’t always operate on exactly the same plane as everyone else. It wasn’t worth explaining the difference—or asking if Sancia had even realised who Jude was. The Swifts wouldn’t mean anything to her mother. And she def
initely didn’t want to mention their past acquaintance.
Which left her with her more immediate concerns.
‘So, Mama. Anna. Where is she?’
‘Why, Barcelona, like Jude said. With Leo.’
‘And Leo is...?’ Rosa pressed.
‘Anna’s...well, not boyfriend, exactly. At least I don’t think so. Lover, I suppose.’ Sancia sounded far too happy with that answer. Rosa tried to imagine Anna’s face if she heard their mother describing any man as her ‘lover’ and bit back a laugh. ‘And he’s close to the bride, of course,’ Sancia went on, bringing Rosa quickly back to the matter at hand.
‘Why don’t you tell me more about this wedding, Mama?’ she suggested as she manoeuvred her mother further into the villa, towards the small office that sat behind the reception area.
‘Of course! You’ll need to know all about it,’ Sancia agreed, a little too readily for Rosa’s liking. ‘Anna has left you a list of all the things she needs you to take care of.’
‘Has she?’ Of course she had. St Anna always did need to be in perfect control of everything. She wouldn’t let a little thing like, oh, not actually being there get in the way of that.
Sancia nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yes. She’s thought of everything. Just look!’ She rustled around on the desk until she pulled out a clipboard, with a neatly typed list that, Rosa was almost certain, would prove to contain no typos or grammatical errors.
Although it did seem to contain an awful lot of work to be done.
Rosa took the clipboard from her mother and flipped through the three pages of jobs. ‘Seriously? What’s Anna been doing since she got here?’
‘Oh, everything!’ Sancia clapped her hands together, pride shining from her eyes. ‘She and Leo, they’ve repainted all the bungalows, tamed the jungle growing out there on the island, fixed all the little things I’ve been meaning to get around to around here, sorted out the swimming pools for the season...everything!’
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