by Vivian Wood
His hands were tapping out a beat on his legs. Right, she remembered, he's the drummer.
“This is still a fucking stupid idea, bro,” he spat quietly at Rhys and stalked away. He didn't bother with saying anything to her before he left.
“I'm here. You're all welcome. The party can start now,” a voice proclaimed from the doorway to the entertainment area they were all in.
She turned to find yet another one of the faces she had stared at during her brief stalking expedition. The last band member she'd yet to meet.
Luc walked up to the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka, taking a swig straight from the bottle before acknowledging her presence. His watery, but cool gaze gave her a slow once-over.
“Serena, I'm Luc,” he said simply before Rhys interrupted, visibly tense now.
“You look like shit, bro.”
Luc seemed unaffected by the comment and only tipped his chin in Rhys' direction before he picked up his bottle of vodka and ambled over to the bikini-clad women who had followed Jett and Anders to the pool.
The rest of the day was your usual garden variety pool party, except that this particular garden and pool must have cost a couple million dollars, and the fact that there were actual rock stars in attendance.
The alcohol flowed freely and Jett, Luc and Anders openly snorted some white powder every once in a while. Loud music blared from unseen speakers that seemed to be situated in every wall in the place.
Rhys was lounging in the pool on a giant flowing white swan, his tumbler of bourbon never leaving his hand. He checked up on her every so often, making sure she had a drink, but otherwise kept his distance.
By the time the sun started to set, the party showed no signs of letting up. She couldn't keep her eyes off Rhys, now engaged in a serious conversation with Jett on the other end of the garden.
His black boardshorts hung off his hips in the most delicious way. His tanned body was hard and muscular, but not overly so. She could see the artful tattoos on his back, chest and arms, though she hadn't been able to inspect them the way she wanted to, nor find out what each one meant to him.
His wide shoulders were set back, with his corded arms folded over his perfect chest as he nodded to Jett. She couldn't help but notice that beneath those arms and hard stomach, a little trail of hair led from his belly button, past that perfect V she'd never seen in real life, to a place she didn't care to think about with so many people around.
Her covert ogling from the now darkened corner she had taken up residence in earlier was interrupted by Luc. He had a towel tucked around his slender waist, but drops of water escaped his wet hair to fall onto his shoulders.
“So, Serena,” he slurred, definitely under the influence of something, though she wasn't sure what, exactly. “You having fun?”
“Sure Luc, yeah. Thanks for checking in.” She fully expected him to head back over to the party, but instead he slid into the lounger next to hers.
Jeans, presumably his from the way he was now digging in the pockets, were slung over the couch next to him, and he pulled out a small bag containing more white powder.
“Want to have some more fun?” he asked as he busied himself with forming lines of the stuff on the patio table in front of him.
She blushed. She didn't want to seem uncool or judgy, but there was no way she was doing that. Even with a rock star. A really hot rock star, she might have added. Not Rhys, but then, by now she didn't think she'd ever heard anyone that measured up to him.
“No, I’m okay, thanks. Thanks for the offer though.”
He looked at her incredulously, definitely not used to being turned down.
“It’s just, I don’t, uh, don’t do that.”
“You don't do drugs?” He waggled his brows at her. “So you're a virgin, no worries. Uncle Luc will teach you. So first, you...” He trailed off. He must have noticed she was blushing twice as hard at the mention of the V-word.
“No way, are you an actual fucking virgin?” He barked out a laugh at that, then snorted a line of his powder.
“I should head over to Rhys, see if he's okay.” Though she couldn't see him now, he wasn't standing with Jett where he had been before Luc had interrupted her ogling session. She stood up to go find him, but Luc jumped up and grabbed her wrist.
“Come now, honey, Uncle Luc can help you with that little problem, too. I'll teach you everything you need to know, and a whole hell of a lot more!” He pulled her closer to him, his vise-like grip on her wrist not letting up.
“What the fuck is this?” she heard Rhys demanding behind her.
“Fucking relax, Rhy, not like you’re fucking marrying her! We’re just having some fun, aren’t we, honey?”
“Let her go, Luc. You don’t fucking so much as look at her ever again. You fuckin’ hearing me, bro?” His eyes were dark as they flicked between her, Luc and the powder on the table, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Then he grabbed her wrist hard, jerking her away from Luc.
“And you? What? One of us not enough for you? Plan on working your way through the whole fucking band? And you’re snorting coke now?” He looked downright murderous.
She was shocked completely into silence by his words. They made no fucking sense. First, she didn't have him. She fake had him. Second, it's not like she had wanted a clearly drunk, stoned off his ass Luc to grab her. She'd been trying to get away from him!
The words didn't seem to want to form and come out though, so she just stared at Rhys, dumbfounded.
“Just go upstairs, Serena. Party's over,” he spat and glared at her expectantly. Unsure if she should listen to him, wait for him to come with her, or help him clear everyone out of the house if the party really was over, she stayed put, simply staring at him. “I said go the fuck upstairs, Serena. Now!”
Still shell-shocked, she turned and walked timidly to her bedroom. She collapsed on the bed, fully clothed as she waited for him to come upstairs and talk to her. I'll explain, he can't be mad, nothing happened, she thought. Why would he be mad anyway?
He didn't come to her though.
She sent off a quick message each to Katie and Mary, letting them know she had left Josh's and that she was safe, spending some time with someone she'd met at the party. That was as close to the truth as she could get, considering the NDA. She played on her phone for a while, but there was still no sign of Rhys.
The music blared on, though she could hardly hear it with her door closed. After what felt like hours of waiting, she drifted off, confused and wondering just how big a mistake she had made.
Chapter Eleven
“Serena? Serena, wake up.” Someone was shaking her shoulders as she opened her eyes hesitantly, not wanting to let go of the dream she'd been having before this rude interruption.
Her eyes snapped open when she realized the subject matter of the dream she didn't want to let go of was now sitting on her bed, gorgeous green eyes irritated but imploring her to wake up.
Dream Rhys had been a sweetheart and a gentle lover. Real life Rhys, on the other hand, she wanted to punch.
“What the fuck, Rhys? You disappear for two days and now you can't let me sleep one more minute?” she fumed, morning breath be damned.
“Yeah, look, Serena. I’m sorry. I should’ve called, let you know I was going to be gone for a few days.”
“So where were you, Rhys?”
The party had been two days ago. Two days ago she had fallen asleep waiting for him after he had sent her upstairs. Two days ago she had been drifting through his ginormous house by herself, with not a single word from him. She may not have been his real girlfriend, but she was a real person. A real person stuck in his house. Alone. For two days. Okay, maybe not stuck. She could have left if she'd wanted to, but a small part of her was afraid if she left, she'd never get back in.
So instead she'd spent a ton of time on her laptop, read more books on her Kindle than she'd ever admit to, fixed her meals in the splendor of his kitc
hen and generally lounged around pathetically waiting for him to return.
“Look, Serena. I’m sorry. Okay? Really. Won’t happen again. I was preoccupied, but I should’ve let you know when I’d be back at least.” He seemed sincere, but still on edge and mildly irritated with her for some reason.
“Yeah! Yeah, Rhys. You should have!” She couldn't stop the hurt from sneaking into her voice.
“I said I’m sorry, Serena. Okay? I’m really fucking sorry, but it’s not like I can change it now!”
He was quiet for a moment before he continued, softer this time. “I'm sorry for the other night, too. I spoke to Luc. He told her it wasn't your fault. You didn't come on to him or anything.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Rhys. Girlfriend or not, I wouldn’t hit on your fucking brother in your house. Ever!”
“I get that, now. It’s just…” he trailed off. “Never mind. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain. But we need to get moving, yeah?” He ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. Like he was trying to push away a bad memory. Oh how she wanted to run her hands through his hair, take away all his bad memories…
Instead, she sat up. “Moving? Where? Why?”
“We had to check Luc into rehab. That’s where I’ve been. He’s completely out of control, was going to kill himself if we didn’t get him help.”
Well, that explained the worried look glued to his face.
“The paparazzi are going to have a fucking field day with this little cliché. ‘Rock star in rehab hot off the heels of a world tour.’ That’s why we need to get moving. Distract them.”
“You mean you need me to be a good little distraction today?”
“Yeah. We’ll head out, go to all the fucking places to get noticed that I usually avoid like the fucking plague, hold hands, make out a bit. Whatever it takes to keep the heat off Luc. He needs to focus on getting better.”
She reached for his hand. “I'm sorry about Luc,” she began, but he was already moving for the door. “Get ready, will you? We leave in forty,” he said.
Okay, so it was time to pay the piper. This was why she was here. “Create the narrative” for the paparazzi, just like he'd said.
She took a quick shower and then got ready as best she could for her introduction to the world. God, she was nervous. In a couple of hours, if she did her job right, there would be pictures of her everywhere. Holy hell. Why had he chosen her for this?
His stylist had come over yesterday, an elegant older woman who had assured her that she was the best in the business. She had taken a look at Serena's wardrobe and seemed adequately impressed, but had left her with a ton of clothes, shoes and accessories anyway.
“I like your style, dear. But this isn't just about you now. How you look impacts them all. I can see that you dress yourself,” she had said, and Serena had reeled at the insinuation that at twenty-two-years-old she wouldn't be capable of that, especially since that had been the one thing she'd ever had any measure of control over. “But you call me if you need anything, okay? Or snap a picture of yourself before you go out if you're unsure.” Serena had seethed, quite sure she would never call her, but had bitten her tongue and smiled politely.
There was no time to wallow in self-doubt though, about his stylist or why he had chosen her. He would be waiting, and her time was up. She slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed a pair of designer sunglasses she'd had delivered yesterday for an occasion such as this and headed downstairs.
He waited in the large modern kitchen, looking as delectable as ever. Her heart skipped a beat, a now familiar heat spreading through her body. Sure, she was still pissed at him, but she couldn't help being human. No way seeing him wouldn't evoke some sort of reaction... Jackass or not.
He was wearing what she had began to think of as his uniform in her mind. Skinny jeans that looked like they were made just for him, although come to think of it, they probably had been. He wore a dark t-shirt that hugged his body close and allowed a look at the sexy tattoos her fingers still itched to trace. A pair of sunglasses rested in his hair as he leaned on the kitchen island, checking his Tag Heuer for the time.
He looked up as she entered, openly checking her out and nodding his approval.
“You look sexy as all hell. I love it. You're perfect.” He shot her a smile as he jingled his keys and headed for the garage. She followed him into the cavernous space that held four cars.
To her surprise, not all of them were flashy. There was an old beat-up truck that might have been red at one point before the paint had flaked off and the metal had rusted. A silver sedan with black windows. A black Range Rover as well, and he was headed toward a black Aston Martin. Idly she wondered whether someone just gave famous people the obligatory black Range Rover as soon as they made it big.
She didn't know much about cars, but even she knew the Aston Martin she was sliding into as he held the door open for her was crazy expensive and super luxurious.
“I hardly ever get to drive this thing, but we're out to get noticed today, right?” He seemed delighted and almost giddy with excitement as the engine purred to life and the garage door opened.
The ever-present throng of paparazzi that seemingly lived outside his gates fell over themselves trying to get the money shot as soon as they drove out. Several of them were already on motorcycles to follow them wherever they were going.
“How do you feel about brunch? Couples do brunch, yeah?”
“I think so. Besides, I’m starving. My boyfriend didn’t give me time for breakfast this morning.” She wasn't so sure she'd be able to keep anything down, since her stomach was filled with knots, but she knew she had to try to eat for the sake of the photos.
“He sounds like a jerk. You deserve better” he said, sounding like he was only half joking.
“Nah, he’ll make it up to me with ice cream later,” she replied, trying to lighten the mood again.
She was here to create a distraction, a good one. And the better she was at it, the longer she would hopefully get to spend time with him, so it wouldn't do to have him look unhappy on their first day out as a “couple.”
“He will, huh? Ice cream? That’s really all it takes?” he threw back at her, relaxed half smile back in place.
Good. That’s what she needed him looking like.
“So, what’d you get up to by yourself these last few days?”
“Not much, I read, played around online, explored the house… rummaged through your underwear drawer and put them in the freezer as revenge.” She was only joking about the last part, of course, but his face blanched for just a second.
“I like the thought of you in my underwear,” he joked, or at least she thought he was joking. Though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, his mouth had turned up into a naughty smile.
“I’m kidding! I didn’t do that! I explored every part of the house, except your room. I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that!”
“I’m glad. This way, I can be the one who shows it to you.” Her heart began to race. He wanted to show her his bedroom? Wow, this man was way too confusing... He may have been the crowned prince of guitar to the world, but to her, he was the king of mixed messages and double entendre.
He pulled the luxury vehicle into a spot reserved for VIPs at a restaurant frequented by those celebrities wanting to be seen.
Yes, she knew this now. He may have been gone for two days, but she'd done a bit of homework on celebrity culture while licking her wounds. Her time on her laptop was definitely going to come in handy...
Her stomach was still in knots as he got out of the car to flashing cameras all around, and walked around to her side to open the door for her. This was it. The moment of truth. She felt like she may vomit.
He offered her his hand as he opened the door and helped her out of the car, pulling her firmly to his side and keeping his arm almost protectively around her shoulders. The flashing was insane. Even though it was daytime,
she was blinded by the cameras.
“Rhys, who is this?” “Rhys, is it true the band has broken up?” “Rhys, Rhys, Rhys...” was all she could hear. These people were crazy for him. He didn't say anything though, keeping her safely tucked under his arm and simply smiling as they finally made it through the doors to the restaurant.
“You okay?” he asked as he pulled out a chair for her at a table clearly visible through the windows where the paparazzi were clamoring for their picture. He bent down to kiss the top of her head before taking his seat across from her.
He reached for her hand across the table as soon as he sat down, and she didn't hesitate before placing it in his. Cue those invisible sparks she'd really hoped would've gone away by now. This man didn't want sparks, just pictures. And yet, the sparks were definitely there. For her, anyway.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for keeping me close. Not sure I would’ve made it inside if you hadn’t, those flashes are intense!”
He gave her hand a squeeze. Wait, that couldn't be for the benefit of the paparazzi, could it? Yep, king of mixed messages.
“Wish I could tell you it’ll get better. But it doesn’t, you just sort of get used to not being able to see properly.”
A waitress came over to them, carrying a bottle of ice cold sparkling water. She went to set it on the table but nearly missed due to the way she was staring at Rhys.
She had to be used to serving famous people working in a place like this, but you couldn't tell from the way her wide eyes were popping out of her skull. She was pretty, but to his credit, he barely glanced at her as she set the bottle down. His focus was entirely on Serena.
She almost felt bad for the waitress. Almost, but not quite. Rhys was her man, after all. Her fake man, sure, but it's not like the waitress knew that. Plus it wasn't polite to stare at someone else's man, however impossible it might be not to stare at this particular one.
She followed his example though, and kept her focus on him.
“Thanks,” he said as she poured them each a glass.
“No problem. I'm not supposed to do this Mr. Grant, but I'm such a huge fan of Misery! I...” she didn't finish her thought, however, as the manager seemed to be approaching.