Heiress vs Rockstar (Love in Illyria Book 4)

by Adalind White

  "Thank you," she said. "There's going to be a meteor shower in January. Maybe we can come to see it here."

  The boy's eyes sparkled for a moment, then a shadow passed over his features, and he turned his back to her.

  "Can we leave now?" he asked, and started walking toward the exit without waiting for her answer.

  How many people had promised him to be there for him and failed him? She didn't say anything more, but made a mental note to reserve seats for the event.

  They talked about music on their drive back to Stratford. If he were a guitarist, she might ask the Vanilla Velvet to take him in the band in her stead, even if that meant revealing her work at Stratford. Her future with Christian was one more reason she couldn't stay in the band much longer.

  "See you on Wednesday," she said when they stopped in front of the building.

  Will looked out the window, but he didn't open the car door. She had promised to come at his band practice.

  "Ok," he said.

  Alice refrained from hugging him. She was a hugger, but he wouldn't like it. Hugging wasn't cool.

  "Alice?" he said, not looking at her.

  "Yes?"

  "Why do you do this?"

  This. There could be only one 'this' that mattered to the boy. She weighed her words. Her answer should be honest but without traces of anything like pity. She clenched her jaw and tried to push away the truth rising to her lips. That truth would sound a lot like self-pity. And to the ears of a boy from the Orsino East slums, it would sound fake.

  On the sidewalk, a woman holding the hands of two little girls passed by their car. She took a deep breath. The truth, but not all the truth.

  "Because I never had anyone to do this for me when I was growing up."

  Doubt was all over his serious little face when he looked at her. She shrugged.

  "Yes, I have a family, and we're rich. I guess no one ever thought I needed anything more. We're also pretty famous, so... I couldn't go to Stratford or anywhere like this."

  "What did you do?"

  "I tried to make friends."

  Friends who wouldn't leave her because she made sure they needed her.

  "I'll be here next Wednesday."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tim

  The sound engineer hadn't arrived yet when Vy opened the door to the control room. She flopped into her chair and mumbled an unusually mopey greeting.

  "Good morning, Tigger," he said.

  She rolled her eyes and her frown deepened.

  "How do you get out of showing up at events? People must ask you to attend fund raisers all the time, right?"

  "Most money grabbers learned I don't go. Why?"

  "I have to be at a thing St. Marie does for the Military Hospital."

  "Why do you care where you sing?"

  The look she gave him was heart breaking. And Vy couldn't act to save her life. That meant she wasn't going to be there to sing.

  "What do you have to do?" he asked.

  "I'll be at a bachelorette auction."

  He burst out laughing.

  "You what?" he said, not bothering to contain the laughter under her withering gaze.

  "It's not funny," she said sulkily.

  "I beg to differ."

  "It would be funny to you, you… monster."

  "Do you want me to help you come out with creative excuses or what? You can tell them to fuck off. I usually simply refuse."

  "I already promised," she said. "Besides, it's my mother's thing and I promised Alice-"

  Her voice broke and she looked guiltily at him. She'd been extra careful not to mention the snake woman since they found out about her betrayal.

  The hair on his back stood on ends. Alice.

  "How is she involved in this?" he asked as calmly as he could.

  "It's the first stupid fund-raising stunt Alice is doing for the foundation. My mother got her into it I guess, and she asked me. Nicely."

  Of all the things the little monster could have done, she was organizing a bachelorette auction.

  "Will she on the menu?"

  "Yeah," she said half-heartedly. "Are you going to be a massive jerk about it?"

  He could not miss the chance she served him on a fancy silver platter. He was going to bid for her outrageously and then not show up for the well publicized date. Or show up and embarrass her in the worst way he could think of until then.

  "Certainly not," he said. "Where could you get that idea from?"

  She smartly didn't answer.

  "Come on. Let's get to work. You can dream about what dress you're going to wear after we're done."

  She took in a deep breath and stood up. Vy had never been one to gush over dresses and makeup. God knew how she chose what she wore on stage, but she looked good. Maybe snakey Alice was helping her with that too.

  As soon as Vy left the control room to go into the recording booth, he picked up his cell phone and called his assistant.

  "Hey, Reg, I need you to get me an invite to the thing St. Marie Foundation holds for the Military Hospital. I don't know when it is. Text me when you have it."

  Reg was a good guy. Even if the invite wasn't lying in some pile in his office or if he had already sent them a polite refusal, he'd get it done.

  #

  The St. Marie Foundation was raising money for the renovation of a wing of the Orsino Military Hospital. The listed building was a staple of Orsinian architecture and a piece of its wartime history. Restoring it was a good cause, but at any other time, Tim wouldn't have been caught dead at such an event. But now was Alice-stalking season and he wouldn't miss it.

  He smiled seeing his prey on the red carpet.

  Alice stood in front of the wall sized poster for the hospital, with her back ramrod straight. Christian Sinclair looked perfectly at ease next to her. They made a cute couple. Young and neatly dressed. Like a pair of little wedding cake dolls.

  She must have felt safe around him. Little details in her posture told him that she was beginning to relax. That smile that shone brighter in her eyes than on her lips. The very fact that she was not fiddling with her perfect hairstyle. His hand twitched with the urge to mess it up. His hand only twitched when his mind created music and his fingers didn't have an instrument close by to express it. And when he lost himself staring at the woman he hated.

  He walked over to them, with a serious expression on his face and the intention to kick Christian straight out of the picture. The boy was a Sinclair, but the press loved him more than any of the Sinclairs.

  When he got closer, he heard her voice. He could tell how anxious she was by the dominant accent. Gone were the rolling R's of her French accent that gave him goosebumps. Only a few weeks earlier, he got to hear it almost every time they were alone. Now he heard with the rest of the world her upper-class accent of her Salona education.

  As soon as the press spotted him, the cameras and the microphones turned from Alice to him.

  "TC, what do you think about the Foundation's initiative?"

  "As you know, I'm not in the habit of showing up to fund raisers, as long as I can get away with signing a check to a worthy cause," he said, and stepped next to Alice in front of the banner.

  He noted with glee that the younger Sinclair moved aside. Alice's hand hovered a few inches away from her body in an attempt to hold on to him, but she let it down quickly. He put an arm companionably on her back. She tensed up immediately. He could feel her tremble as his hand slid a few inches. He rested his palm on a spot at the small of her back and left it there, allowing her tension to surged up his arm, energizing him.

  "It's all Miss Lewis's merit that I'm here tonight," he said.

  "How did she convince you?" a reporter asked.

  "It came up while we were working in the Sing House," he said, and turned toward her, inviting her to fill in the blanks.

  He struggled to stop a growl of sheer pleasure at her anxiety. It seeped out of her through the shaking of her body and her voice
. She hadn't been lying about this. She did not like the spotlight.

  "Mr. Carter has always been a supporter of daring projects, and when we talked about the Foundation's initiative, he generously offered his support."

  "But he wasn't announced as part of the charitable concert the foundation organizes next month."

  "That's my fault completely," he intervened. "I wasn't sure I could clear my schedule for that, but I can promise that I will be there."

  He lied happily, not caring that he hadn't cleared it up with his band mates. If they didn't want to play, he could not show up or go on his own, whatever would put Alice in a more embarrassing position.

  The little monster kept shivering under his touch, but her voice became steadier when she spoke. She was adapting.

  "We will finalize the schedule for the event this week and the St. Marie Foundation will make a formal announcement with the list of entertainers who will donate their time performing that night."

  "The venue hasn't been announced yet," another reporter pointed out.

  Alice looked to her right. Tim caught Christian's discreet nod.

  "I'm happy to announce that the Sinclair Grand will be able to house the gala."

  "The Sinclair Grand was not due to be opened for half a year."

  Christian stepped back into the frame.

  "The hotel will not be operational, but the ballrooms will be ready and it's our honor to inaugurate our new flagship hotel with an event for the St. Marie Foundation."

  "Miss Lewis, will Madame Pellerin also be there?"

  "I'm afraid not. My grandmother will attend the Fashion Week in New York, as she has done for many years."

  "Is it not enough that I'm there?" Tim asked, and the reporters laughed. "Thank you for your time. Now we have to go and get some money out of people's pockets," he said.

  The flashlights sparkled like a vicious summer storm before they left. He was pleased to see that Alice wasn't holding Christian's hand. He offered his arm gallantly and she took it, shooting her boyfriend a guilty look.

  "Will you really be there?" she asked when they walked into the ballroom.

  "Of course. You know you can get me to do anything."

  "Looks like I can't make you disappear."

  "I hate you, too, little monster."

  She opened her mouth as if to reply, but closed it. She probably didn't hate him. He'd been her stooge. Her puppet. Why would she hate him?

  "Your hair looks terrible," he said.

  "I will be sure to mention that to Didier," she said.

  The come back perked him up. It was much more fun when she fought against his stings.

  "I have to go backstage, to help with the preparation," she said. "You can find your table, or do you need special attention?"

  "Thank you for the offer. I can find my way."

  He gave her a small courtly bow, and waited for her to turn her back before speaking again.

  "I look forward to seeing you on stage."

  She froze for a moment, but didn't stop. He would have liked her to beg him for mercy. She had to be expecting him to bid for her.

  The evening was rather dull until the bachelorette auction. He tried not to yawn while the socialites, super models and Alba-wannabes came on the stage. He perked up when it was Vy's turn.

  He was oddly proud of her for going up on that stage looking like a princess. Vy's stage attire was usually black. Leather, jeans, lace. The only exceptions were her ripped t-shirts with rock band names on them. She was beautiful in the whitish Pellerin dress.

  If Isabella had asked him at that very moment if he loved Vy, he wouldn't have hesitated. He didn't love her in any way that would threaten a romantic relationship. He cared for his rockstar protégée as for a younger sister he never had.

  And that was the downfall of his plan. The flash of panic in Vy's eyes when she saw Andrew King. He knew how much it had cost Vy to stay away from the idiot she was in love with. He couldn't let all that hard work go to waste. If King took her on a date, that would be the end of her resistance.

  Robinson Dean who was MC-ing the event started to read Vy's bio. King, the consummate liar, pretended to be indifferent to the vision in white.

  The first bet came from Ryann Ford. Other joined in, but he couldn't help himself stepping in. With Dean on the stage and Ryann Ford upping the stakes of the auction, he felt like they were filming an episode of Sing. As long as King kept his mouth shut and didn't bid, he and Ryann could entertain the public.

  "I missed the chance to have you on my team last year, I am going to fight tooth and nail for this date," Ryann said looking at Vy. "A thousand."

  "Unlike Mr. Ford here," he said, "I'm bidding because I care about the cause you are supporting. The Orsino Military Hospital was a symbol of our resistance during the war and it deserves all the money we can raise. Fifteen hundred."

  He hoped to draw Ryann out for another few rounds. He had every intention to lose this bidding war so that he could bid for Alice. Reg had told him that the rules explicitly said that once someone won a date, they couldn't bid again. But if King made a move, he might have to give up revenge for loyalty. He would save Vy.

  If he were in King's place, he'd raise ten thousand, twenty thousand, whatever it took to have the girl. If King did that, he would relent, not because of the money but because the idiot might have finally figured out Vy was worth fighting for. More than his dislike of King, more than winning, more than anything, he wanted Vy to be happy.

  "Excellent point, Carter," Ryann said. "Three thousand."

  King seemed to have lost his ability to conceal his intentions. He could see the tension in the big man's posture. His head was bowed and he stared into the glass of scotch as if he was trying to vaporize it. He could torture him a bit more.

  "We can do a little better than that," he said. "Four thousand."

  "Five thousand," Ryann said immediately.

  He hesitated, trying to gage King's interest. He caught the look that passed between him and Vy. King's shoulders slumped in defeat. Idiot.

  Tim bowed his head toward Ryann and started to applaud. The audience followed his example and they applauded while Ryann Ford offered Vy his hand and accompanied her back to his table. They looked good. Vy could do worse than hook up with the best music producer in Illyria. Ryann wasn't the songwriter he was, but Carter couldn't deny that the younger man was far more successful in creating new stars.

  It didn't matter. Vy was his star and nothing would change that. Not even a tumble in they hay with Ryann Ford.

  Deann announced a small break before the next auction. He nodded at Paul Cesara who was sitting with his wife at the next table. He sat up to walk over and talk to Vy's parents for the first and probably the last time. After ruining the publicity stunt that should be his date with Alice, there was little chance Adeline St.Croix-Cesara who was on the board of the St Marie Foundation would ever talk to him again.

  A waiter materialized between himself and the Cesaras.

  "Mr. Carter, there's a telephone call for you in the lobby," the waiter said.

  Who the hell would track him down at such an event and not have his cell number? He needed to stretch his legs anyway. When he got to the lobby, a concierge came to him.

  "In here," the man said, opening a door.

  "Thank you for joining me, Mr. Carter," Christian Sinclair said, standing up from the armchair.

  Not a phone call after all.

  "Are you going to challenge me to a duel or something?" he asked.

  "Of course not," Sinclair said. "We're going to have a civilized chat, like two men of the world."

  "Is jealousy finally rearing its ugly head?"

  "Nonsense. What possible reason would I have for that?"

  "There's always only one reason to be jealous of someone. When they have something you want."

  "I very much doubt you know what I want, Mr. Carter. But if you're referring to Alice, you can't possibly think that you have her, d
o you?"

  "Why else would we be here?"

  "You are an intelligent man. Albeit at this time blinded by… emotions. I will be direct with you. Alice is important to me. We will have a good life together. I will be Mayor while she finishes her studies. In fifteen, twenty years time, we will be on the Hill, in the Felician Palace. Leave Alice alone. Cut your losses."

  "Or what?"

  Sinclair shrugged.

  "Or you will not become poet laureate," Christian said mockingly. "I'm not here to threaten you. Being rude to Alice hardly impacts our plans. But she cares more than she should, and I would rather spare her the discomfort."

  Alice's discomfort hadn't even started.

  "I appreciate the gesture," he lied. "I will consider your words."

  "No, you don't appreciate it," Christian said more seriously. "You do not take me seriously. Just because Basil hasn't come after you for the pain you caused Alba, don't think either he, or I will forget. We are old families, Carter. We have long memory."

  "That sounds very much like a threat," he said.

  "A warning. We play the long game."

  The game. He knew about the game. The Illyrian aristocracy hadn't gone away just because the monarchy was gone and with it their titles. Now they used money and corporations to maintain their hold on the country.

  "Good," he said. "I like games."

  There was a flicker of pity in Sinclair's eyes. Anger and bile rose inside him. This wealthy young man didn't see him as a threat. Poet laureate had been a dig at this very thing. Poet laureate. Court fool. They saw him as someone to entertain the masses while they made the games in silence and darkness.

  "You are very good at them," Sinclair said extending his hand.

  He shook it despite the mistrust.

  "Maybe we'll play sometime," he said.

  Sinclair nodded.

  "Indeed," Christian said. "I might even play fair when it doesn't come to the woman I want to spend my life with."

  Not "the woman I love", he noted. Of course. Who could love that snake of a woman?