“Look, you know I’d love to have you but it’s not worth it.”

 

“No, it’s nothing to do with Ben.”

 

“Darling, you know exactly what will happen if he finds out.”

 

“I know, I miss you too, but I am not letting you throw away your future.”

 

“Yeah it worked out eventually but you didn’t see what I had to do first. I’m not letting you put yourself through it for the sake of a few bloody weeks. I promise, midnight on the dot, April eighth, I will book your damn ticket myself. Just hold out ‘til then, okay?”

 

Gingerly, a nervous intern by the name of Sarah reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. Involuntarily she held her breath. Lord, she’d just touched Emilia Adair-Hamilton. There she was, intent in a phone conversation, and she’d interrupted her. She was going to throw some fit wasn’t she?

 

“Hold on… yes?”

 

Blinking like a rabbit in headlights, Sarah was less prepared for the normal reaction and neutral expression than she would have been for a tantrum. The supermodel hadn’t started screaming or glaring or tearing strips off her for daring to approach her. She’d turned in her chair and was giving her full attention.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ms Adair-Hamilton, but you’re needed in make up.”

 

“No problem. And call me Millie, please, Ms Adair-Hamilton sounds like a headmistress.”

 

Sarah was trying not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she’d just got herself onto a first name basis with one of the most famous women in the word. ‘Millie’ however had already turned away. She was giving her attention back to the person on the end of the phone.

 

“Okay sweetie I have to go but give me a call on Friday when the coast is clear, okay? Love you, bye.”

 

Sarah was trying to ignore the entire conversation. It wasn’t her business to wonder what coast needed to be clear and who she was speaking to. She hadn’t read the non-disclosure agreement they made her sign but it was long and looked serious.

 

“Sorry, just needed to hang up with my sister.”

 

Oh Lord, she’d turned back. Sarah didn’t know where to look. How could she be so daunting when she wasn’t even doing anything? This woman didn’t have a drop of make up on yet, her hair was scraped back in a harsh ballerina bun, and yet she still looked decent. With a clean face it was evident how the expensive stylists were concealing and contouring for photos, but she’d have no problem walking around and still attracting second glances. It was unfair if you asked her. When Sarah wasn’t wearing make up people asked if she was unwell because she looked ‘tired.’

 

No wonder they paid her the big bucks. They’d barely spoken and she was already feeling like she’d buy anything that had her picture on it.

 

“No problem,” she squeaked. “I just need to take you over.”

 

“Great, thanks.” With obscene grace she stretched her long legs down from the footrest and stood up. She dwarfed Sarah by a good six inches. “What’s your name?”

 

“Sarah.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. So what do you do on set?”

 

It was the voice too. It was cut glass and everything Sarah would have expected from every episode of Downton Abbey she’d ever watched. The woman even sounded like she was born in a castle somewhere.  

 

“I’m an intern with the production team.”

 

“Ahh, explains why you drew the short straw and get to cart me around.”

 

Sarah was too dumbstruck at the idea of escorting the celebrity being ‘the short straw’ to respond.

 

**

 

“It’s so fuckin’ funny. I thought people lost their shit around you, but they’re practically bowing at this woman’s feet.”

 

Trace was near cackling, he was laughing so hard. When your best friend was a world famous rock star slash actor slash business man you grew accustomed to people’s dizziest responses. The whispering, the glances, the blatant staring, the screaming and fainting, they ran the gamut and he thought he’d seen them all. There were the haters, the sycophants, the fan girls, all of them. Yet despite all that experience, he had never seen a set full of people melt into goo the way they did because the great Emilia was gracing the room. It didn’t matter how often she insisted on being called Millie, to the world at large she was the more exotic Emilia.

 

As for the woman herself, they’d been introduced so briefly he couldn’t make any judgments yet. Signs appeared positive, however, since she showed up without an entourage. Trace usually found that the size of the entourage was directly proportionate to the size of the ego.

 

Justin Timberlake looked over at his best friend from the make up chair and pulled a disbelieving smirk. “Way to exaggerate.”

 

“Oh it’s true though,” Beth interjected as she continued dabbing powder onto Justin’s face with a brush. “He’s not exaggerating.”

 

“You haven’t been out of this trailer all morning, how would you know?” He teased.

 

“I work with her a lot and they’re all the same. Like, intimidated to the point of deferential, which is crazy because it’s not like she’s mean or anything. I can’t explain it, but people just react to her. I don’t know if it’s the whole lady of the manor angle or what.”

 

“Could just be that she’s insanely hot,” Trace suggested.

 

“They’re supermodels, they’re all insanely hot,” Justin said. “No, I think Beth’s right. It’s the whole English heritage aristocrat thing. In conjunction with the fact that she’s beautiful.”

 

“Better not let the boss hear you say that…”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Justin glared, but tellingly halted the topic. Trace tried not to let his irritation show. He objected to the casting of said supermodel in his friend’s latest video for this reason. Not because of anything against her, but because he didn’t think he could stand having another one of those socialites around. It was bad enough putting up with the one his friend was dating without hiring another in. He couldn’t cope with watching him scrape and crawl to placate the inevitable jealous complaining.

 

He didn’t like to think it, knew it was sexist, but he could only imagine the woman was dynamite in bed. It was the only possible explanation. Trace saw nothing else going for her that Justin couldn’t have found in a hundred other women. Ones who didn’t drive his best friend to drink. 

 

“Well if you stick around you can judge for yourself because she’ll be here any second.” Beth tossed the brush back into her kit and nodded to herself. “You’re all done though.”

 

“Thank God,” Justin muttered.

 

He didn’t bother to lower his voice. Beth worked with him plenty and wouldn’t take it to heart. She knew it wasn’t a personal aspersion; he hated wearing make up. He hated the feeling of it on his skin. It was a necessary evil on shoots but nobody said he had to like it.

 

As if she’d heard them, the door to the trailer opened and in stepped the woman of the hour. Justin twisted around in the chair to introduce himself but found himself caught short. He had to work not to gape at her himself.

 

He’d worked with plenty of famous beauties in his time, so it wasn’t her looks that caught him off guard. In any event she wasn’t made up yet and didn’t look quite like her catwalk guise. It was the insouciant way she stepped into the trailer and filled the entire space with her presence. Words were unnecessary. She exuded a nonchalant confidence, like she owned the world but it was no big deal. It ought to have been arrogance but it wasn’t. It was impossible to explain.

 

“Hi Justin,” she said. “I’m Millie, nice to finally meet you.”

 

“And you,” he said, now recovered from the moment. “Thanks for coming out.”

 

“No, thank you for having me. I’ve never done a music video before so this is a new one on me,” she said. “Oh Beth, darling! How are you?”

 

The girls reached out and exchanged air kisses, chattering away to each other. Trace was eyeing the whole interaction with an amused glint. He knew his friend well enough to spot the reaction, and took his own turn to size up the model.

 

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by her. The preconception was baseless, but she wasn’t what Trace expected. Somehow in his mind he’d thought the exalted Emilia would be either a bubbly giggling debutante or something arch and more calculated - a diva of some kind. She was neither. There was something more reserved and quieter about her. She wasn’t unfriendly though. Her tone was muted and she wasn’t exactly effervescent, but she seemed okay. ‘Beth darling’ could have sounded ridiculous and phony from a lot of people; with her he got the impression it was simply the way she talked.

 

Before either of the men really took stock of the situation, Millie was already in the chair and Beth was setting to work.

 

“Oh, honey, what the hell are you doing to your hair?” Beth exclaimed as she took it out of the bun. “This is awful.”

 

Justin and Trace exchanged a quizzical look. It was blonde and the artful highlights were probably very expensive. How was it awful?

 

“God I know.” She pulled a face. “I’ve been doing back to back shoots and no time to rest it, it’s getting like straw. I’m desperate to cut it but I’ve been banned until the L’Oreal contract’s up. Apparently I don’t own my own hair any more.”

 

“Well your skin looks alright…” She took Millie’s chin in her hands and peered critically at it. “Little dry but I can fix that.”

 

“Oh how I love you and your wonder cream.” The men were finding the conversation more bizarre by the second. “Seriously, can I really not talk you into a launch? I will invest. Just say the word.”

 

“Well hey now, I didn’t get any wonder cream. Thought I was the star here,” Justin joked.

 

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. She didn’t smile at him, but something about it softened and was a little more congenial.

 

“Has our Beth been holding out on you? It’s amazing; I swear it’s the only reason my face isn’t red raw. She’s a genius.”

 

Trace was having a hard time imagining the face of Dior with skin problems.

 

“Really, you picked up an allergy to something hon?” Beth frowned. “Do I need to avoid anything?”

 

“No, just working with Massimo too much. He likes to change my entire face and hair every five bloody minutes and they’re taking a battering.”

 

“Well lucky for you we’ve only got you in one outfit today so you’ll be fine,” she replied. “So what I…

 

The door to the trailer crashed open and she was quickly drowned out by a loud Manhattan tone. “Justin?”

 

Trace stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was expending a great deal of self-restraint by not rolling his eyes. He could have sworn she was supposed to be too busy to join them today.

 

“Hey,” Justin said, stifling a groan. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

He cringed at the way she drew out the syllable. Not only did it hold a sarcastic edge, she was staring daggers at the back of Millie’s head as she said it. This was not good.

 

It was his own fault for not telling her, but he didn’t feel like dealing with the reaction. She had a jealous streak, sometimes refused to understand that business was business. If it was good for his career to work with someone he needed to do it whether or not she liked the idea. Love interests were part of the acting deal, this woman was big news and a lot of artists tried to score her for videos. Getting her was a coup. His sort of girlfriend needed to live with it.

 

He purposely didn’t invite her to the video shoot because he figured she’d find it easier to live with if she didn’t know. More to the point, he would find it easier to live with as a result – she was vocal when displeased.

 

“You didn’t tell me who your co-star was going to be,” she said. That piece of information inspired the visit. “What a lovely surprise.”

 

“Felicity,” Millie replied. “Long time no see.”

 

Trace found himself warming up to the model even with that one short phrase. It was evident that the women knew each other. It was equally obvious that the much hated Felicity was not enamoured with Millie. What he appreciated was how little Millie seemed to give a shit and how much that was irritating a seething Felicity.

 

“No kidding. So what’s new? How’s your father?” The bite in her voice told everyone present that this was meant to be an insult, though Trace was at a loss to understand how.

 

“Wouldn’t know.” Her voice remained steady and cool. “How’s yours? Not seen him in an age but he’s well I trust?”

 

Yes, Trace liked this woman. She very clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass.

Millie

 

This would be a pretty decent job if I didn’t have Felicity Jameson staring daggers at me from a director’s chair. Oh well, she’s going to have to live with it.

 

I was a little apprehensive about this, actually, but thus far it’s been alright. It’s a new experience but all smooth going so far. There’s a lot of waiting around but that’s always the case on sets. Most ads I do are only about ninety seconds, but this eventual video will be five or six minutes. So of course there’s more to film which means more set ups. Which means more waiting. It’s a shame that I can’t talk more to Justin, who seems a decent bloke, but I think it’s more than his life’s worth.

 

Oh well, I have lovely Beth to sit around and chat to. Spending so much time in the chair, make up artists are probably the people I speak to most in my work. She’s a real gem. She’s so funny and forthright and doesn’t give a crap about my double barrelled surname. That’s so refreshing. You’d think after being so summarily disinherited people would stop treating me any differently – that they’d take me off the pedestal. No such luck.  It seems churlish to complain, given how much privilege it affords me, but sometimes it’s alienating.

 

I only wish I could talk her into launching this skin care range. I don’t think she takes me very seriously when I say it (a lot of people don’t take me very seriously when I say things). She could do so well, and I am dying to branch out. Modelling pays the bills and was one of the few things I was qualified to do with nothing but a name and the right measurements. Even so I don’t find it fulfilling. A lot of people love it and I almost feel bad that I’m taking somebody’s place, somebody who’d enjoy it more, but it doesn’t excite me that much.

 

It doesn’t help that it has the stink of nepotism. I inherited my name from my father same as I would’ve inherited his money. I loathe that. It makes me feel like I haven’t earned it off my own back. (A lot of my detractors would agree with me on that score).

 

The one thing I do love about modelling is the make up. Maybe that sounds frivolous but I love the way the right lipstick shade can cheer you up on a bad day. I love the way a good make up artist can transform you. My best mate likes to psychoanalyse me and say it’s because it’s one of the few parts of my image I’ve ever had any control over. Perhaps she’s right, I don’t know. I do know that I’d love to get into business. Make up and skincare would be a logical place to go from modelling.

 

The other thing I know is that I’m sick and bloody tired of being unable to cut my own effing hair if I bloody well feel like it.

 

I shouldn’t complain. I was penniless, in serious danger of becoming homeless (it’s amazing how many of your so-called ‘friends’ evaporate when you no longer have a chalet to invite them to) and modelling saved me. I couldn’t afford to get myself back into education. I couldn’t sustain a living on any of the few jobs I was qualified for. My only assets were my body and my name. I hate to sound so up my own backside, but I know I’m good looking. I had some fame in the British press because of my family. I knew that if I walked into any of the agencies I could use that as cache and I was right.

 

I try not to forget that and to be grateful. There are a lot of young women who get kicked out by their families and don’t have the options I did. There are a lot of young girls in the industry without my name power who are a lot more vulnerable when they start out. I’m a lucky cow, compared to a lot of people.

 

It just doesn’t always feel like that when you’re standing around on a set and people are gawping at you. Even when I was expected to be Miss Social Butterfly I was only ever good at the pretence of all that chit chat, a bit of a fraud. These days I find I can’t do it at all. That’s unfortunate given how many people I’m surrounded by all the time. And it’s all because of that stare...

 

People stare at me. A lot. They’re not doing it in a creepy or lascivious way, but I still wind up feeling like a piece of meat. Certainly nobody puts any value on the brains I might have in my head (between my profession and my former life as the entitled aristo-brat they assume I have few).  They’re all staring at my body, my fame and my name. You have the people who get flustered, the people who fawn over you, and then that resentful group muttering to themselves about how you’re not so special anyway. Fortunately on this set that’s a group of one - thank heaven for small mercies and all that.

 

Dear old Felicity. It’s sad that we wound up like this, but I just find the reason more irritating than anything. It’s that silly old money versus new money rubbish, ancient English aristocracy versus new American industry. The whole thing’s just tiresome if you ask me.

 

Especially since these days my money’s as new as anybody else’s. And the agency still hasn’t paid me a good half of what I’m due this year, which they get away with because the modelling industry’s about as regulated as a snake pit. Lord, I really do need to convince Beth she wants to go into business with me. I could do with getting out of this.

Justin

 

Trace is killing me right now.

 

People think that since I’m the famous one I must be the real mover and shaker, the one pulling the strings. Well, these people fatally underestimate Trace. We’re on break while they change the lighting and he’s wasted no time. He’s pulled out his iPad and is pitching our clothing line to the supermodel playing my love interest as she gets her make up retouched. It’s a smart move. Anything she agreed to would need to be properly booked and negotiated through her agency, but getting on her good side now will probably make her more willing to do the job. He’s a shark, man, but I kind of love it.

 

Probably a good thing it’s him. After the Felicity incident I’m not sure she’d be as receptive to me. It’s embarrassing, to be honest. I wasn’t expecting it to be so personal. I did expect something, which was why I neglected to tell her in the first place, but not this.

 

It was a given that Felicity might get jealous of any love interest in any of my videos. She may not care what (or who) I do when we’re in our ‘off’ periods but when she’s around she doesn’t accept even imagined competition. I also knew she’d probably come across Millie before since they both come from that set. As I understand it there’s some kind of snobbery about the blue bloods versus the Park Avenue princesses, so I also figured she might be a little annoyed.

 

What I didn’t know was that there’s some raging feud. I prepared for manageable irritation and got steaming fury.

 

The comical thing is that it’s a one sided feud. Millie is almost indifferent to Felicity – doesn’t like her, but doesn’t waste attention on her either. That’s probably what’s driving her so crazy. She’s taken every shot she can. She’s done her best to make the girl feel uncomfortable while we’re shooting, keeping herself ostentatiously in sight and staring her down. She’s only wasting her own energy because Millie doesn’t care.

 

I do care because it reflects badly on me. This is my set and I want things to be professional. If Millie was at all inhibited by her it would be detrimental to the video and I can’t have that.

 

It makes me wonder why I’m still with the woman. Trace is totally unfair about her, acts like she’s a bitch (she’s not, just real in charge and real particular about what she wants), but I can’t blame him for not getting it. It’s always been on and off, never committed on either side. She’s very demanding, especially for someone who’s so flaky about drifting in and out of my life, but… I can’t explain it. Even though we have nothing in common and it would never go anywhere, I have a feeling we’ll keep separating and coming back together until one or the other suddenly meets somebody serious. We have fun together. Chemistry’s a friggin’ weird thing, and I have it with her.

 

Of course when I explained that to Trace he said and I quote: ‘cyanide is chemistry but that doesn’t make it a good idea to do shots of the fucking stuff.’ Smart ass.

 

Finally I managed to get her out of the way by pulling the fake concerned act. I laid it on thick about how boring hanging around is for her and how much I appreciated her support but I thought she deserved to relax instead. She’s gone to the spa at the hotel. I had to get her a driver but it’s money well spent. Things are easier. And hey, I might be able to talk to my co-star without getting punished for it later.

 

Which I would like to do. She’s an interesting story, darling of the British upper class social scene until her father publicly and messily cut her off age nineteen. There’s got to be some shit behind that, I’d love to hear it (I’m nosy, what can I say?). She’s then made it in the modelling industry on her own and is now a big name and wealthy in her own right. I respect that - takes some grit after being kicked out like that.

 

My semi-girlfriend describes her as a stuck up bitch. So far I don’t think she is, but I can see how people could get that impression. She seems like the kind of person who needs to talk to you a little bit before she loosens up. Kind of an introvert. She’s a few years younger than me, twenty seven, but she seems pretty together. She’s been fine to work with – maybe a little detached or aloof, but no ego. This is in contrast to all reports I got but obviously Felicity’s biased.

 

After our little debate with Beth earlier about why so many people go for her, I think I’ve decided it’s the eyes. They remind me of Elvis. It’s that stare. No matter how laid-back the expression there’s still this natural intensity.

 

And… okay, it’s shallow, but it helps that she’s beautiful. Obviously even supermodels don’t roll out of bed looking like supermodels, but when she walked in without her make up or hair she still looked nice. She has this classic English Rose face. She’s all long legs, glossy blonde hair and these very light blue eyes.

 

The interactions I’ve had with her are pretty basic, but even from them there’s something I can’t put my finger on. Once you get over the snooty accent (seriously, she sounds like a caricature), she seems like a nice girl… but you can’t be sure. There’s a guarded quality about her; it’s like she’s not letting you see much of who you’re really talking to.

 

At the same time though she doesn’t come off as shy. She’s so casually confident I think you could throw rocks at her head and they’d bounce off, but it’s not obnoxious. It’s hard to explain. There’s no getting away from the air of privilege about her but she still comes off like a human being. She’s nice to the crew. I guess rather than being that irritating ‘I love myself’ kind of confidence it’s more that she’s at ease with what she’s doing.

 

Like the cool girl in school that you didn’t dare approach - not because she was mean but because you got around her and felt gauche, like a total dork.

 

All in all she’s exactly the kind of character who makes me look twice - one I can’t immediately get a handle on. I’m good at people reading and being unreadable is the fastest way to make me curious. But I better stop analysing so much because she’s just come over to sit next to me.

 

“So your friend’s quite the business man,” she says lightly.

 

“Sorry, has he been bugging you?”

 

“Not at all.” She waves a manicured hand. Every movement is soft with her. It makes me wonder if she ever trained for ballet. “Was interesting, actually, he’s got a good eye for branding.”

 

“As his business partner I’m relieved,” I joke.

 

“Though I didn’t come to talk to you about that, I actually wanted to ask you a favour.”

 

Really? Intriguing. “Sure.”

 

“It’s… well, I know this sounds silly but Matthew’s just shown me the story boards for the next scenes and I hadn’t been aware of either of them. I’m a bit concerned.”

 

I take a sip of my water. I don’t need it, I’m not thirsty, but it’s a way to buy myself a few seconds to compose myself without making it obvious. (Handy tip for potential conflict situations – lets you think a few moves ahead of the conversation).

 

“What’s up?”

 

“It’s just that when they originally sent me the concepts they hadn’t mentioned the scene and I’m a little bit nervous. I’m sorry to cause any trouble but would it be alright with you if I asked Matthew to clear the set? It is your video and I didn’t want to ask without discussing it with you.”

 

Okay, now I really don’t understand why Felicity has such a beef with her. The human being I’m speaking to and the human being she describes cannot be the same person. She has a perfectly reasonable request. Yet instead of just making it like she’s perfectly entitled to do, she’s made a point to come talk to me first.

 

This is all very considerate and respectful and not even a little bit evil personified.

 

“Sure, of course. Whatever you need to make you more comfortable, alright?”

 

“Thanks, you’re a legend.” She gives me a relieved smile.

 

“I’m sorry if we didn’t brief you properly before.”

 

“Oh no, these things are always evolving. You have to expect changes on the day.” She shakes her head, messy waves falling prettily around her face as she does so. “I just get a bit nervous with these fight scenes.”

 

Fight scenes? Oh. That’s interesting… I assumed she meant the love scene.

 

The concept of the video is Phantom of the Opera meets broken down fairytale. She’s the heroine running away from this dark guy (me) in her tattered white gown before coming across this mysterious stranger (also me). In the scenes we’re shooting next there will be one where she’s struggling to get away from the bad me and another where she’s getting hot and heavy with the good me. They’re going to filter the colours to make it all dark and gothic to go with the song (which is about a character who’s wrestling with his inner demon). It should look awesome once it’s done, though the challenge is making sure it stays edgy rather than slipping into cheesy.

 

Still, I would’ve assumed it was making out with me that made her uncomfortable. Obviously when acting is part of your job you get on with it, but love scenes are awkward to shoot. You have to get up close and intimate with somebody you barely know. You have to do it in front of a bored audience with people yelling at you about how to move your body. I don’t know how the result ever winds up looking hot because the process sure as hell isn’t.

 

“Well, is there anything we can watch out for when we block it that’ll make you feel better?” I ask. “It’s important to me that you feel safe and I’m not crossing any of your boundaries.”

 

“Honestly, you even saying that makes me feel ten times better.” It makes me glad to hear her say that, I want her to feel reassured. “Though if we could just… I kind of hate anything constricting my neck.”

 

That surprises me. One of her most famous billboards was her and a guy in an elevator where he kind of holds her against the wall by her neck. It was a sexy thing, they’re clearly in the throes of passion (I guess the idea is that the perfume made her irresistible?) but if she’s got a thing about that area I’m guessing that was a pretty shitty day at work.

 

“No problem. I think they choreographed the fight for us anyway but I can make sure there’s never anything like that.”

 

“I repeat, you are a legend. Thanks Justin.”

 

It makes me wonder what she’s had to put up with in the past if a simple act of basic respect qualifies me as a legend. Or maybe it’s just some weird British hyperbole.

“Do you think it’s possible they could make this more awkward if they tried?”

 

“Shh. If they hear you they’ll probably take it as a challenge.”

 

The two stars shared a private chuckle, trying to hold the pose so that the cameras could be positioned properly. They were on an ivy covered set of crumbling brick stairs. They were perfect for the video, in all their grand decay, but they were unstable. The weathered steps made for uneven footing. Millie’s back was pressed into the wall, which helped support her, but it was cold and her feet were awkwardly placed on two different steps. It was making one leg cramp up. Justin’s palms were pressed to the wall on each side of her – the brick was rough and slick with moisture. He was trying to keep his weight off of her and not crush her against it but he too had to balance on different steps. It was lucky he worked out and his arms could take the strain.

 

“Looking great guys, two more minutes!” The producer yelled encouragements.

 

“So… how ‘bout them Yankees?”

 

Justin shook his head. It was amazing how many things sounded ridiculous in her accent. “Really?”

 

“Had to say something to fill the silence.”

 

“Well your small talk sucks. Though I thought you Brits preferred to discuss the weather?”

 

“When in Rome. Maybe there’s a more international topic?”

 

“Okay then,” he said. “Uhh… got any siblings?”

 

“Lizzie, she’s twenty. You?”

 

“Two half brothers.”

 

“Nice.”

 

“You close?”

 

“Yep. Hopefully she’s coming to live with me soon.”

 

“That sounds cool. She looking to come out and follow you in the industry?”

 

“Fuck no. I’m thinking post-graduate degree; we’ll see when she gets here. Mainly she just wants to join me.”

 

Justin’s eyes travelled over her face. The vociferous denial was unexpected. There was a sneer in the curl of her bottom lip. Then again, he supposed he couldn’t blame her. If he ever got around to having kids he might be slow to see them enter such a cut throat industry.

 

“Well I guess she must miss you after…” Oops - he didn’t mean to bring that up. “Umm…”

 

At least the sneer was replaced by a smirk, even if it was a dry one. “After I got chucked out on my arse and designated the black sheep of the family, you mean?”

 

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “Didn’t mean to put my foot in it.”

 

“Oh it’s all public record anyway, darling, I wouldn’t worry.”

 

He couldn’t believe she’d just called him ‘darling’ in that tone. He’d hit on an incredibly personal topic and yet she was batting it off like it was nothing. She made fun of him for it. In a twisted way he kind of liked it.

 

“Yeah, but I know a little something about your private shit being public record. Nobody needs it.”

 

“And yet you’re dating Felicity, who’s never met a camera she doesn’t like.”

 

Justin found himself nearly choking as he tried to suppress a laugh. It wasn’t the kind of joke he should be laughing at, given his relationship with the woman in question, but the swipe was on the nose. She was funny in her acerbic fashion. The initial impression of her being reserved and accommodating shifted every time she cracked a joke. Sure she was nice enough, but she still had some bite.

 

“Wow. You’re not wrong, but wow.”

 

“Sorry, can’t resist. You may have gathered she’s not fond of me.”

 

“Yeah, I gathered.” He mocked her. “Though honestly, ‘dating’ is a loose term. I’d say I keep finding myself with her and then asking how the hell that happened again.”

 

“Yes, she’s a bit of a hurricane our Felicity.”

 

“So what did you do to piss her off?”

 

“Long story. I’ll be honest, I used to be right in the thick of it with her but after a while it just didn’t seem worth the time.”

 

It was one of many things that didn’t seem worth her time any more after she’d been disowned. Petty rivalries paled in comparison to how long she had left before she outstayed her current welcome on a friend’s couch.

 

“One more minute and then we’re good to go!” The yell came from the director.

 

“Okay, so you’re fine with what we agreed before?” Justin asked. “Hips and sides are fine, face but not neck, and if I grab your ass you’ll hit me?”

 

“That’s the gist of it.”

 

Against her expectations Millie found herself liking Justin Timberlake. It wasn’t that she’d thought he’d be unlikable; she simply didn’t tend to make more than bare acquaintances on sets. These things were usually very cordial and professional but that was about it. He had a little more about him, some warmth and sly humour that she appreciated. It surprised her, knowing the types Felicity dated. (She knew those types since once upon a time they’d been her type too. Things changed.)

 

It helped a bit with the shoot. Sexy scenes still made her uncomfortable whether in still or motion. They were part and parcel of her job so she dealt with them, but she did get nervous. She wasn’t the touchy feely type. Being physically demonstrative was an alien thing to her at the best of times. Being forced to do it with a stranger in an unnatural way for show was painful. In this situation he literally had her pinned to a wall, so it was good to get along.

 

“Okay, so we already discussed the movements I need to get from you guys out of this, you both happy with that?”

 

“Yeah!” Justin yelled down to set.

 

Between them they’d loosely choreographed the little interlude, but no doubt people would be barking instructions at them throughout anyway. It was hard to make a moment look natural and like you were into it when you were craning one ear for the next direction. That was the job though.

 

“Roll playback…” The song started blaring out over the speakers. “Three, two, one, action!”

 

Briefly the thought went through Justin’s mind that he was being paid to stand there and run his hands all over a supermodel. Many men would envy him that situation - and yet it was totally wasted on him. All he could think about was the way his palms were starting to sting from pushing against the brick.

 

Millie

 

Well, this is great. There I was thinking I was having a decent day.

 

First torrential rain stops the video shoot for the night. We were supposed to go until one in the morning but were forced to stop at eight, which means we will be extremely rushed tomorrow. I’m also betting it means that the set will be even colder and damper.

 

Then Lizzie calls to tell me that they’ve had yet another argument and our father threatened her. ‘You can reside in the gutter your wretched sister inhabits’ was the quote she gave me. I just pray to bloody God that she can sit tight those few more weeks, because if he delivers it would be ten times worse than the previous occasion. The family’s got an international profile now.

 

More than that, I could not stomach seeing her in the position that I was. I mean, it would be better because at least she’d have me, and I had nobody, but it’s not a substitute for being independent. Lizzie only needs to make it to twenty one and the money’s hers. But if she moves out to America before then he will keep tabs on her and he will find out that she’s with me. He would inflict consequences.

 

Then when I inform Ben that she’ll be moving in with me soon, he decides to tell me that there’s only room for one of them. I don’t know who the hell he thinks he is!  Not only does he make some childish ultimatum against my own flesh and blood, but it’s an even bigger bloody cheek when it’s my house. He’s barely even stayed there since he’s off shooting movies half the time anyway! So I no longer have a boyfriend, if we’d even got far enough to be able to call him that.

 

Do you blame me for deciding that I need a drink?

 

The hotel bar is nice. It’s busy enough for atmosphere but not loud or crowded. The lighting is dimmed but warm, almost like candlelight, and the black leather booths are distressed enough to be casual without being tatty enough to look cheap.

 

It’s comfortable in here. I spend far too much time in hotel rooms so I try to force myself not to hole up like a hermit every night. Even if it’s only an hour in the bar, it’s healthier to get out. Hitting on the right spot is crucial though if I want to escape the evening relatively undisturbed, so this place is a winner. On a night like tonight when I’m alone I can be more of a target but thus far all’s good.

 

When I say that a lot of people bother me when I’m out, people assume that it’s guys hitting on me. That’s not the case. A lot of men are too intimidated to chat me up. (Unfortunately this means the ones who do tend to be the rich and powerful sort who’ve been taught by the world that money buys them everything). I do however get a lot of paparazzi attention, a lot of people wanting pictures and then a lot of general staring and whispering. I wind up very aware of it even if I’m not being approached.

 

Mostly I’m sitting here pondering things while I sip my drink. I’m getting a few text messages from friends but I don’t feel the need for any distractions. I’m comfortable in my own company and I like people watching. I like to dream up back stories for people in my heads, imagine why they’re there. Real life is probably far more mundane than the scenarios I dream up but it keeps me entertained.

 

There’s what you might call a ‘silver fox’ sitting at the marble topped bar, drinking neat scotch while he flicks through an iPad. He’s tall, handsome, in his fifties or so. Despite being on one of those high stools he’s tall enough for one foot to rest on the floor. Not in a suit. Guessing he’s an executive at a tech company. He’s smartly and expensively dressed but more casual than other types in here who look like stockbrokers.

 

I’ve decided he’s here to close an acquisition and waiting for his girlfriend, who will be scandalously younger. His ex-wife will be at home with the kids, getting a new wardrobe and hair cut ready to find her own younger lover to reinvigorate her ego.

 

Wait, no – he’s wearing a wedding ring. There goes that daydream.

 

I probably shouldn’t swap the daydream for the memory of this afternoon but it’s still playing on my mind. Is it very terrible that for the first time shooting an intimate scene I found myself a tad… what’s the right word… affected?

 

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t sexual. I wasn’t swooning or going weak at the knees. It wasn’t the indifference I usually feel though. It’s just that for some reason, when I feigned the lustful look into my co-star’s eyes like I have a hundred times before, for the first time my professional detachment faltered. I wondered who this person I was pretending to be with is and what kind of character I’m dealing with.

 

It wasn’t very much of a feeling, but ‘not very much’ is a big leap from the usual ‘nothing.’

 

God. Felicity would’ve ripped my hair out by the roots if she’d witnessed me snogging her fling, even professionally. Good job he cleared her out.

 

It could’ve been worse. The good thing about being a woman is that you can chalk up almost any moment of discomfort to acting – turn it into something that fits with the role. Whereas sometimes the guys I’ve worked with have got into a situation I had to politely ignore. Felt a bit sorry for them, really, men are at the mercy of their appendages and they can’t win. A lady could get offended if they do get hard and offended if they don’t, depending on her own whims. My personal attitude is it’s a mechanical thing when you’re rubbing up against each other like that. It’s not a sexy environment and you shouldn’t read anything into it either way. Ignore it and speak not of it. (Though for the record, he didn’t).

 

Still, at least all that happened to me was that I breathed a bit heavier. But yes, I had something to hide. I’m never comfortable shooting those scenes. I don’t like having to be up close and personal with any man I’m not dating (I’ve never been flirty or tactile with my male friends either). This was different. I wasn’t only uncomfortable, there were also a few small butterflies in my stomach – not many, but enough to notice. 

 

It doesn’t make much sense, really. Once Felicity left and wasn’t there to stare daggers at him for it Justin was friendly. We chatted a bit between takes and he came off as a pretty good egg, nothing to get cowed by. He’s good looking, but not more extraordinarily so than any other man I’ve met. (In actual fact he’s got a bit of a conk on him. That’s a very large nose).

 

Even so there’s… I don’t know. I think he’s just an intelligent man with a bit of something about him. He’s got an air around him, like he’ll make short work of getting you pegged. Maybe that’s all it is.

 

In fact, now I think of it I reckon that’s it exactly. When you like to think yourself the inscrutable sort it’s unnerving to have anyone too incisive around. Not quite sure what he’s doing with Felicity though.

 

Strike that, it’s the other way around. I’m not quite sure what she’s doing with him. Felicity, for all her mercurial and grudge holding ways, is not a bad character. She’s a highly social creature and sharp as a whip. High maintenance maybe but she’s never been short of friends. She’s got brains and a commanding personality, easily rules the club without trying. She thrives in that scene in a way I never could and used to envy. I felt so out of place.

 

Justin Timberlake, for all his charms, isn’t part of that sphere and would never fit in. Granted I barely know him but I doubt he’d want to. It’s a different world and I don’t know how he keeps up with her. I can say this because I used to be one of them, but in that set people are demanding because they’re brought up to be privileged and entitled. I used to be the same until circumstance taught me a few harsh lessons. He seems too down to earth for that scene. She’s too smart not to know that so I wonder what it’s about from her side.

 

That shouldn’t be taken as an aspersion against her though. It’s easy for Felicity to be perceived as a massive diva, but she’s not. She’s just assertive and used to having everything. (And God only knows assertive women of any background get called a lot of unfair things in this world).

 

People know of our little tiff and think I must hate her, but I don’t. Do you know, if it hadn’t been for our bloody parents I think she and I might have remained pals. Maybe even after my fall from grace.

 

Our fathers were business partners and great friends, once upon a time. We spent many a holiday together and she and I were thick as thieves. I remember her being a wildly fun friend who in her own way could be quite sweet. Dominant, but not malevolently so. When she was in your corner she’d go all guns blazing for you. Sometimes I miss her.

 

Then they had a business bust up and shit hit the fan in spectacular fashion. When it came to the blame game my father got snobby – thereafter they entered a pissing contest which he frequently used the title to win. Her father understandably grew resentful. Unfortunately that bitterness infected Felicity, who always adored her dad (I on the other hand would have adored pissing mine off by remaining in contact). She got an idea into her head that I shared my father’s attitude and felt like I was peering down my nose at her. Clearly the resentment hasn’t faded.  

 

Looking back on it now I’m ashamed that I got as into the animosity as she did. It was so silly, but it just seemed the done thing. If she was angry with me I needed to be angry with her. Instead of diffusing the situation by being there for her and disproving the theory, I started trading bitchy moves. My only excuse is that we were young.

 

So yes, I’d better not mention that I had any moments with her… is he her boyfriend? I was somewhat confused by what he said about it. Anyway, if she gets any idea that I’m after him she’ll have my guts for garters. She certainly wouldn’t stop to hear that I’m not.

 

**

 

Justin

 

I have zero idea why I invited myself into Millie’s suite. Yeah I’m bored, but that doesn’t usually drive me to push myself on people I’ve only known for a day. I have even less idea why she humoured me.

 

I am really friggin’ bored though, since I’m suddenly without my entourage. Trace left to fly back to LA earlier this afternoon. Little did I know when I sent Felicity away from set that I was inadvertently sending her to the south of France.

 

Apparently she got an offer she couldn’t refuse while at the spa. That seems to happen to her a lot. She gets a random phone call inviting her to some exotic place and she’ll ditch everything (including me) without a second’s pause. It serves as my notice that we’re back off again. In my world this is rude, in hers it’s what everyone does. Maybe it should bother me more but… it’s like I said earlier. She and I separate to come back together.

 

So that was me, friendless and pathetic. I walked back into the hotel as Millie was walking out of the bar. We’re on the same floor so we were making small talk in the elevator, she was talking about sitting and watching a movie and… I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea. Pitiful truth is I didn’t feel like being alone tonight. Even a near stranger’s better than nothing.

 

It’s because of the shoot being cut short. You’d think I’d be grateful, with it being such a long day, but mentally you kind of gear yourself up for that. When it gets cancelled that energy has nowhere to go. My first try was the gym but it didn’t help much. Wasn’t in the mood.

 

So instead I’m sitting here with her, eating mini bar peanuts and trying to concentrate. It’s some black and white movie with Lauren Bacall.

 

At least I can take heart from the fact that Millie isn’t concentrating either. Sure, her body and her face are pointed towards the screen. She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, legs crossed under her, slouched in the grey sweatpants and black tank she changed into. I did put some nuts in a bowl for her too (before I ate the whole bag) but she hasn’t touched ‘em. She gives off every appearance of watching the movie, but her eyes are glazed over.

 

“Drink?” That question got asked out of boredom not politeness.

 

“Bottle of water, please, if you were getting up anyway.”

 

“Sure you don’t want something stronger?”

 

“Nah, had my quota in the bar, ta.”

 

You have to chuckle. “You got a quota?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Oh… she’s not kidding. “Seriously?”

 

“I jest you not.”

 

I will ignore the fact that she made fun of me in that sly sarcastic way of hers because I’m reeling. This is just too funny.

 

 “I can’t believe you have a quota for how much you’re allowed to drink. Type A, much?”

 

“Hey, it’s your set I have to be skinny for tomorrow.”

 

She stretches her arms above her head, giving a yawn. She does look kind of worn out. Or at least as worn out as you can ever look when you’re a supermodel who’s just slathered expensive skin care over your million dollar face.

 

“Yeah, because clearly you need to worry about that,” I scoff.

 

“Let me enlighten you Mr Timberlake,” she says, giving me a condescending raise of her eyebrow. “Anybody as tall as I am who claims to naturally be as slim as I am is a dirty great fibber.”

 

It’s amazing how somebody can cut you down to size with one short comment. She’s only teasing me. She’s saying it with a smile. Yet somehow I now feel like an ass for picking on her.

 

I mean… yeah. She works in an industry where somebody five pounds heavier than her would be deemed to have let themselves go. If I have to let my belt out a notch after a real good meal nobody gives a shit – if she did they’d publish a picture circling it and say she’d piled on twenty pounds. She must get that all the friggin’ time, even as people say models are too thin. But she has to look after her appearance or she wouldn’t get work.

 

I never thought about that before. I know about life under a magnifying glass, but not like that. I find myself re-evaluating her in light of it. I’m wondering how she deals with it, how she still manages to be so confident, and whether she ignored those peanuts in front of her because she didn’t want them or to maintain her figure. In the process I’ve totally confused myself. Am I being concerned or am I now another person scrutinising what she puts in her mouth?

 

Maybe I should just mind my own business. That seems like a solid idea.

 

“Ice?” I ask.

 

“No thanks.”

 

It takes a couple of tries to locate the mini bar. The room is hard and modern, all white walls and dark wood furniture, and there are a stupid number of cupboards in this unit. If her suite is anything like mine, the bathroom will be grey slate and white tile and the bedroom more dark wood. Only splashes of colour to be found are red cushions and the odd red flower in a vase. It’s all sharp cornered and sterile.

 

She seems a little too classy for the bottle, even in her sweats, so I decant the water into a glass. I don’t make any pretence at class so I’m happy to drink the beer as it comes.

 

“Madam,” I say as I hold it out to her.

 

Her lips perk up in a tiny smile at my dumb flourish. “Thank you kind sir.”

 

“Are, uhh… are you okay?”

 

Well - managed to make her lose that fast. “Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

 

“No, no, sorry.” I’m bumbling, I can hear myself. “Was just that you seemed a little distracted, is all. Sorry.”

 

“No, I’m sorry.” Where she was hunched forward her body now slumps back against the cushions. “I shouldn’t be defensive.”

 

“Well some nosy bastard you didn’t invite is asking you questions while you’re trying to watch your movie.”

 

“Oh who are you kidding? Neither of us is watching it. You’re bored out of your skull and I’m off with the bloody fairies.”

 

Oops. Guess I wasn’t masking it well. Though she took a shot at herself as much as me so maybe I shouldn’t take it badly?

 

“Anything you want to talk about?”

 

Millie shakes her head. “No. Just a shitty day. Not anything to do with the video,” she hastens to add.

 

“You sure?” I ask. “I know you were uncomfortable with that fight.”

 

“Honestly, I was having a great day until after we all got sent home.”

 

That soothed my ego a little bit. I’m glad she was having a great time. Kind of surprised, since Felicity was trying her hardest to make it otherwise, but glad. She was fun to have around. We talked a little between takes and she seems pretty cool. Hard to work out, but cool. So I’m glad she enjoyed it too. I’d like to think of my sets as good places to be.

 

“If you want to bitch, go ahead,” I offer. “Sometimes it helps to tell it to somebody outside.”

 

“Not much to say.”

 

Even the way she shrugs is delicate. It’s so strange. Physically she’s dainty and birdlike but the attitude is quiet strength. She’s this peculiar mix of sweet and steel. It’s like coming across a quaint little thatched cottage in the woods, something out of Little Red Riding Hood, only to find the walls are two feet of solid stone.

 

“You can do the short version.”

 

Why am I pressing this? She’s a stranger. A fascinating little mystery, but still a stranger and it’s not polite if I pry.

 

“Basically, my father is threatening to chuck my little sister out and disinherit her too, and when I informed my boyfriend her arrival is imminent he threw a fit so I broke up with him.”

 

“Oh. Wow.” There’s nothing else you can say. “That blows, I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not so bothered about Ben.” Her blue eyes flick sideways towards me and she gives me a comic grimace. “That was early days and I’d rather find out he’s a brat now than later. I’m just worried about Lizzie. Impotently so, which is what I don’t deal with well.”

 

I can feel my brow creasing together. “Why impotent?”

 

The question hangs for a moment and I’m not sure whether she’s going to answer. Her hands are entwined by her fingers and you can see them twitching a little bit.

 

“He can’t know that she’s still in contact with me or I’d seal that fate for her. “

 

“Oh. Wow.” Is there an echo in here? “I know you’re not supposed to judge without hearing both sides, but your father kind of sounds like an asshole.”

 

“My father is a controlling bully who doesn’t care about anything except in terms of how it affects or reflects on him,” she says bluntly. “Including his children.”

 

At least I only say it in my head this time – but oh wow. The way she’s so curt and perfunctory lets me know that’s as much as she’ll say, but it was still more than I expected.

 

“But you found a way to stay in touch?”

 

Millie nods, loose waves of hair falling out of her ponytail. Her fingernails are tapping against the side of the glass with a light clink.

 

“She’s got me saved under a false name in her contacts.”

 

“You mean you think he would check it?”

 

“Wouldn’t put it past the wanker.”

 

“That’s crazy. Just crazy.”

 

“Welcome to my world.”

 

“So you have to pretend not to see her? That’s fucked up.”

 

“Only for another few weeks,” she explains. “Our mum’s money was put on trust for us both for when we hit twenty one. After her birthday it’s hers, but until then he could repeat whatever dark arts he used to keep mine. As soon as she hits the magic number he’s got no more way to punish her if she sees me.” 

 

“Dark arts?”

 

“He had every right to disinherit me from his side but I don’t see how he could for my mum’s. I still don’t know what exactly he did and I doubt it was legal, but I was skint so couldn’t afford the lawyer to challenge it.”

 

“Presumably you could now? If you wanted to, I mean,” I add. Don’t want her to take it as if I’m telling her what she should do.

 

“More trouble than it’s worth.”

 

“Damn.” The syllable stretches out on my tongue while I contemplate this. “So pretty much the second the money hits her account she’s moving in with you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

I may not have heard her father’s side of all this, but that’s telling to me. If the sister’s making plans to emigrate as soon as she physically can… Daddy doesn’t sound like he’s too fun to live with.

 

“Well at least that’ll be a nice middle finger at the fucker,” I say.

 

A sad smile pricks at her lips. Her thumb and index finger pick at the bottom one. “I wish I could take satisfaction in that, but it just pisses me off. I don’t want her caught in the crossfire or winding up in my situation.”

 

“Well she wouldn’t, she’s got you to support her,” I point out. “Though if you’ll let me say so, you rocked your situation.”

 

“My situation wasn’t as romantic as the press makes out,” she says. “Even if I’d be here to shield the worst, I’m not having it for her.”

 

Somehow her cheekbones are standing out even more than normal. I then realise it’s because her jaw is clenched. Every word out of her mouth is making me more curious - she clearly has a hell of a story that hasn’t been told - but it would be inappropriate to dig more than I already did. Given the scary expression I doubt she’d entertain it, either.

 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to minimise it or anything. Meant it as a compliment.”

 

Thank God – her face softens a little bit. “I know you did. It’s just a bit of a touchy subject… not really the way I wanted my life to go, you know?”

 

“You don’t like modelling?

 

“It’s fine and it saved my hide, so I’ll forever be grateful,” she says, picking at the hem of her pants now. “But was never what I envisioned.”

 

“Well you got some security behind you now,” I reply, “so what would you want to do?”

 

“For now I’ll settle for being the video girl.”

 

That was a clear sign of the subject being closed. Still, I’m marvelling at how much I did get out of her. It was the bare bones but even that was quite something.

 

“Hint taken,” I say.

 

“I appreciate a man who cottons on quick.”

 

The hint of mischief is back in her voice – so small it’s miniscule, but it’ll do.

 

Again I wonder why she let me in here. Maybe some part of her was looking for someone to vent to? Maybe she didn’t want to be alone with these thoughts and worries? Either way I get a feeling she’s not usually the sharing type. Heck, she still hasn’t even told me that much.

 

It’s kind of funny how things can turn out. I tagged along with her out of pure boredom. If Trace was here I never would’ve considered hanging out with Millie tonight. Yet now, after a surface level conversation, I’ve gone from mildly curious to seriously intrigued. She’s an enigma.

 

Behind closed doors the game face falters a little bit. You start to see that hidden behind her attitude there’s something brittle about her. She came off as so effortlessly cool on set, like she could take anything in stride. Now she’s curled up small into the corner of the couch - putting in that distance and acting warier. It’s not like she’s had a personality transplant or anything. She’s not behaving like a different person or collapsing into some weak mess. But the mask has slipped.

 

It makes you reassess other things as well. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to, but now I think about it… tonight when she excused herself to change, she went into the bathroom. In the wardrobe trailer she was changing in front of both men and women. Don’t get me wrong, I know that was a professional environment and there’s a difference. It’s not like I expect her to strip in front of me. But she didn’t go into the bedroom and shut the door like most people - she picked a room she could lock. This is a person who’s paraded in front of cameras barely dressed and who carries herself with a lot of self-assurance, but there she was putting up more walls. Or maybe I’m reading into it too much?

 

Everything I learn about her begs more questions. I won’t lie; I want the answers. I am determined to work out what makes this woman tick.

“Well here we are again.”

 

Justin gave a soft snort. “I’m starting to think they’re doing this to mess with us.”

 

Millie’s prediction was accurate. The set was both damper and colder. Justin was alright, since he was in his bad guy outfit complete with long black coat. She was still in the distressed white gown with bare arms. Her teeth wanted to chatter and it was an effort to stop them. The small mercy was that whenever her feet weren’t in shot she was allowed to put shoes back on.

 

Once again the two of them were forced to hold an awkward position while camera angles were checked. Justin didn’t understand why it was still necessary after the last half hour with their stand-ins, but it had to be done. He was standing behind her, arms possessively around her waist while she tilted sideways. There was something of the vampire and his soon-to-be victim about the shot. Justin was overly conscious of that given the comment about people touching her neck.

 

The pose wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren’t standing on top of a rock. It was uneven and slippery. The slight burn in his thighs told him how hard his muscles were working to keep them stabilised. Thankfully Millie seemed to have enough core strength to keep her weight off of him; otherwise he’d have been a goner.

 

“Wish the wind would die down,” she commented. “My face is stinging so much.”

 

“You can go get some more of Beth’s magic cream and it’ll be fine.”

 

“Wonder cream,” she corrected with a laugh. “Get it right.”

 

“If it was that wondrous she’d be off making her stack with it, not stuck with the impossible task of making me look pretty.”

 

Justin was only kidding, but he didn’t miss the hint of frustration that passed over her. It was a shadow that moved in the muscles of her face. He thought she was taking the teasing badly, until she spoke and he realised that wasn’t what needled her.

 

“Trust me, I’ve tried.”

 

“To make me look pretty? What, like if I stand next to you I can bask in reflected glory? Thanks for trying but it’s a lost cause.”

 

If their situation wasn’t so precarious she would have elbowed him. “Ha. If I could get that product on the market I would, I really would.”

 

“So do it.” He shrugged.

 

“Uhh, hello? What did I just say?” She joked.

 

“Do you mean really tried, like with a business plan tried, or just mentioned it and she probably thought it was only the small talk people make and don’t mean?”

 

Her expression and her eyes went blank. It was impossible to know whether he’d offended her or if she was simply thinking. It was disconcerting.

 

“I mean… I know you said last night modelling wasn’t your end game, so if working on something like that with Beth would suit you better then why not? You’d have a ton of things you could expand into from that. Or heck, even if she wouldn’t I bet a bunch of companies would be happy to look at a line with your name on it. You should think about it, I bet you’d be good at it.”

 

There was no way to know if she’d ever have responded to him, since the director picked that moment to pronounce them ready to roll. Justin wouldn’t have put money on it.

 

**

 

Millie

 

Oh today has been strange.

 

I felt awkward with Justin. No wonder - last night he heard more about my problems than most people would in a year. I don’t know why. He was there, I suppose. Maybe the human body simply won’t allow you to hold in what needs to come out? My embarrassment manifested itself in more nervousness during the ridiculous amount of love scenes we filmed today. Every time he had to touch me I felt pins and needles. It was excruciating.

 

That was another problem – the ridiculous amount of scenes to film. To make up for lost time we went double speed (especially once we hit the evening where lighting is time sensitive). Now I’m bloody knackered.

 

Then during our between takes chit chat he managed to chastise me for not pressing my suit with Beth. He wasn’t ticking me off or anything. He was trying to be helpful - and he was helpful - but I guess the truth packs a punch. It was irritating how on the money he was. I told him so little yet he had my number. He’s right. I haven’t persevered enough to convince her I’m serious.

 

Though speaking of having my number, how did he? We haven’t spoken about my ambitions but he hit dead on. Telling me to go for it. Telling me I’d be good at it. In a world where people I work with day in and day out quite literally don’t see anything beyond the surface (you wouldn’t believe the conversations people will have about my body like I’m not even in the room), a complete stranger hits the nail right on the head. Even reckons I’ve got the ability to do it. That knocked me for six and again made me more nervous around him.

 

Next there was the phone call. I haven’t heard from anybody who has anything to do with my father for years. Lizzie calls me at breaking point and now his lawyers want to schedule a conference call?

 

The timing makes me suspicious. I told them they could contact my own lawyers to set something up and did my best to sound bored. In reality my heart was going like a bloody 808.

 

Is this another head game? I wouldn’t put it past him. At heart he’s a great big bully and I doubt he’s ever been happy that I removed myself from his control. It probably eats him up that I’ve done well. I bet he expected me to go crawling back with my tail between my legs. Sad that a stranger like Justin has more faith in my ability to handle myself than my own parent...

 

God, I really do hate him. I hate that I do, because I don’t think it’s good for anyone to harbour so much resentment, but I’ve never managed to achieve healthy distance. I actively hate him.

 

He’s impossible to live with. I got chucked out on my ear because I stood up to him one too many times, and Lizzie’s starting to go the same way. You can even see it in the way he forbade her to have any contact. He expects that I should be dead to her because I’m dead to him. That’s all that counts in his eyes. He didn’t give a stuff that I’d practically raised her or that she didn’t need to lose anyone else after Mum. He didn’t stop to think of it in terms of who I was to her and how that would affect her. Then he shipped her off to boarding school where he didn’t have to bother with her except when it suited him to preen and boast. Like I blurted out to Justin in the room last night, he doesn’t care about us except in terms of how we affect him. We aren’t people to him; we’re extensions of his ego. Why should Lizzie need me when he doesn’t?

 

The sad thing was I never used to know any better. I used to think it was me. Far too many of my boyfriends have been like him. It’s something of a miracle that I have anything to do with men at all these days, given my appalling luck with them.

 

(In fact, maybe Felicity has it right. Keep a few around for fun when you want them and feel no compunction about getting rid when you’re bored.)

 

Well, on the bright side we’re wrapped. It’s late as all hell and I am going to flop straight down into bed, but I actually have a whole day off tomorrow and one more night in the hotel until I have to jet off for my next assignment. I’m thinking that I’m going to go into their spa facilities and have a facial and hair treatment. Try and mend some of the damage all that cold and wind did to me today.

 

Then I am going to sit down on my arse and do absolutely nothing, all damn day long. Yes. That’ll be good. Me, myself and I should have some uninterrupted recharge time.

 

**

 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

 

The semi-frown on Millie’s face lifted as she looked through the open door to see Justin waiting to step into the elevator. She didn’t smile, but her forehead relaxed and the lines smoothed out.

 

“This is the place to be apparently.”

 

Though she was on her own, Justin was flanked by a tall bodyguard. She didn’t blame him. Paparazzi and fans were doing their level best to crawl all over the place. The hotel was gamely trying to keep them out but there were too many of them (and some were quite creative). Millie’s peaceful day at the spa was less peaceful than anticipated as it was full to capacity with spontaneous bookings. Maybe people wanted to relax – or maybe they wanted to be able to flash their passes so security couldn’t ask them to stop hanging around. It seemed the price of a facial or a gym pass was a negligible one to gawp at the rich and famous. The owners would be happy; the day’s takings must have been fantastic.

 

The small mercy was that the elevators would not go up to their floor without a key card. At least they would have some privacy up there. She assumed that was why the bodyguard didn’t step in after Justin – he was of more use deterring people downstairs. The doors closed and they began the slow climb up. It was several floors.

 

“So how many selfies have you had to take?” He asked.

 

“None,” she said. “They ban phones in the spa. You?”

 

That explained her attire. She was in loose black pants and a white sports vest, an expanse of porcelain stomach on show. You might expect it to be tanned, but her pale complexion seemed to be her thing.

 

“Dozen at least.” His nose twitched, as if his face was trying not to sneer.

 

It wasn’t that he was unappreciative of his fans. It was a problem when you were trying to get somewhere. Some people weren’t very respectful in the way they asked, either. The delay also forced him to suffer the camera flashes longer; it gave the paparazzi more time to get their pictures. For five straight minutes afterwards he’d been seeing spots. It was amazing that his retinas weren’t shot after all these years.

 

Millie didn’t fail to notice his exasperation. It wasn’t that he was being abrupt or unfriendly to her. It was the way his body language remained closed off, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his bulky black coat and his shoulders hunched.

 

“Oh well. Did you at least have fun while you were out?” That was the best she could manage to try and steer him to a nicer topic.

 

“Not that kind of trip,” he said as he leaned against the mirrored wall. “Had some errands to run before I fly out tomorrow morning.”

 

The original plan was to head out for dinner, maybe hit a bar for a few drinks. It was thwarted by the number of people following him around.

 

“I’m off then as well. Was trying to get some chill time beforehand but people had other ideas.” Her blue eyes couldn’t help rolling. She hated being made to feel like a zoo exhibit. “Home or more work?”

 

“Home for a couple of days. You?”

 

“Assignment in NYC.”

 

“Oh, cool. Sorry they wrecked your spa day; think most of them are here because I was dumb enough to post a picture on Instagram last night.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Didn’t even say where it was. The untapped detective skills on the internet are amazing.”

 

At least that elicited a chuckle. “You’re telling me. I’ve learned not to post until two days after I’ve done something.”

 

“So I can expect to read all about it on Thursday?”

 

There was another one. “My thrilling adventures in yoga and facial scrubs will enthral you.”

 

This time it was his turn to chuckle – though it was so muted it came out as ‘hmm.’ “You’re so English, the way you say shit.”

 

“What else did you expect me to be? Swiss?”

 

“Haha.”

 

“Well hey, at least we’re now safe from the hordes,” she said as the elevator pinged its welcome to their floor. Privacy was expensive but worth it.

 

“Safe but penned in.”

 

Her head tilted sideways to look at him as they stepped out. There was that irritability again. That was interesting. He’d been so laid back in all their previous dealings - focused and professional, but at ease. This was different.

 

“I’m such a hermit anyway makes no matter.”

 

“Nah, I get twitchy if I sit still too long.”

 

On any other occasion Millie would brush this off. This was a bare acquaintance, not a friend, and she’d already had her much needed recharge time derailed. She was a classic introvert; she needed room to uncoil or she would get wound up far too tight. All the same she felt bad for him. He struck her as the kind of person who needed companions as much as she needed space. First there was the way he’d invited himself in last night. Now there was his obvious frustration at being forced to stay in by the crowd.

 

Normally she wouldn’t view that as her problem. This time her conscience tugged at her. Would it kill her to give him a couple of hours when he’d been so nice and considerate of her during the shoot? Every time someone tried to choreograph anything that got near her neck he deftly directed them the other way. She appreciated his discretion. He’d gone out of his way to safeguard her comfort and even given her some great advice. Maybe this was her opportunity to pay him back.

 

Besides, she’d still have plenty of time for a nice long bubble bath after he left.

 

“Well since we’re stuck in, do you fancy dinner?” She asked. “I don’t think I’ve taken advantage of my expenses enough this trip, room service should fix that. Wouldn’t mind some company.”

 

“Sure, sounds good.” He tried not to sound too pathetic in his gratitude. “I’ll drop by in forty minutes or so?”

 

“Great.”

Justin

 

Some things in life are easy to do without meaning to. It’s easy to get distracted and pour too much milk on your cereal. It’s easy to go into a store and spend more than you intended. It’s easy to say something and not realise it’ll be offensive. That kind of thing. Some shit though is just too big. Some actions are impossible to execute without active choices. How can you say you didn’t mean to climb Everest or to rob a bank?

 

So I can’t sit here and say that I didn’t mean to do what I did. It’s illogical. I must have. I’m just fucked if I can explain because… well… I didn’t mean to!

 

Millie

 

Jesus Christ… this evening has to be, hands down, the most peculiar thing I’ve ever done.

 

That’s saying something coming from a model. We get asked to pose with some really strange crap.

 

Justin

 

I wasn’t drunk. That would be a handy excuse, but I wasn’t. We had a bottle of wine and I did talk her into ignoring her dumb quota. But I was a little buzzed, that’s all, not enough to plead alcohol.

 

Millie

 

The more I think about it the more it seems like a really bizarre turn of events. It seems weird that the conversation ever got around to it to begin with.

 

Then again, I suppose if you boil them down to bare topics all conversations look random. They’re a stream of consciousness and connections get made that aren’t obvious out of context. Don’t think the phone call from the lawyers helped either. Was rather discombobulated after that (and it had already been a less than tranquil day).

 

Which is of course how it started. The whole thing with how hard I find it to relax. Oh God.

 

Justin

 

I’m lying here trying to go to sleep but I know my brain won’t stop trawling over tonight. If nothing else, at least I get to amuse myself knowing it started with Felicity. Not that she’s ever going to find out, but if she did it would really piss her off.

 

We’d been eating and chatting, more small talk stuff. Small talk’s always an interesting one. It’s inane but it can be so indicative. If you know what you’re looking for you can pick up a lot about somebody that way. Millie is infuriatingly opaque so I wasn’t getting much but that was okay. She’s still pretty funny in that kind of quiet and snarky way. She’s intelligent enough that you can talk about most things with her. She’s sweet without being boring - her humour is dry and sometimes downright naughty. We got some banter going back and forth and we just talked a lot of bullshit about a lot of random crap, you know the kind of thing.

 

Both of us took the time between elevator and meeting back up to shower and change, so were both casual. She insisted on no formalities so I just turned up in a t-shirt and jeans (couldn’t bring myself to sweatpants even though she insisted she wouldn’t mind, seemed too schlubby). She was wrapped up in a fuzzy blue sweater that threatened to drop off one shoulder (kind of sexy, actually) and some kind of loose white pants. For once she hadn’t pulled her hair back in that ballerina bun and I was glad. It’s harsh. She’s got such strong features she gets away with it, but I prefer her face when it’s softer - not that my opinion matters a damn.  Her hair was un-styled and still drying. So was mine, but on a guy that makes a lot less difference.

 

It was all pretty civilised. We sat at the table with the wine. I ate pasta and she ate seafood. She apparently likes to bring scented candles with her when she travels, so a couple of those were lit. It was an unusual smell – berries but cut with something sharper, like herbs or something.

 

It was pleasant y’know? Nothing special, but pleasant. I was glad she’d asked, because I was aggravated after dealing with the paparazzi. They had a great time telling me Felicity was spotted on somebody or other’s yacht. They wanted a reaction out of me. They got one, though it wasn’t about her. It was because I knew they were trying to piss me off. Which in turn gave them what they wanted because it pissed me off.

 

For that kind of mood this was the perfect remedy – some low key company to take my mind off things. Millie was saying the same, she finds it hard to relax in general and she was frustrated that her plans got wrecked today. From the sounds of it the woman’s even busier than I am.

 

Then she got the phone call. She didn’t tell me who it was or what it was about, but when she came back to the table her face was all pinched. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look unattractive. I couldn’t tell what the emotion was – whether she was angry or upset.

 

I guess the reason I told her about Felicity then was to kind of commiserate. Or maybe to offer her a change of topic since she clearly didn’t want to share.

 

It turns out Felicity ditched me to answer the summons of some guy named Sébastien Chevalier. From that obnoxiously pretentious name you could guess that he’s French and loaded. You’d be right. Millie recognised the name but didn’t elaborate on how well she knew him. I know she knows more than she’s saying though, due to the lack of surprise she exhibited. The whole thing was obviously a booty call. Either way, I was left here while she went to party it up on the Riviera.

 

My feelings about that are… complex. On the one hand, we’d reached saturation point in our little on/off cycle and I was ready for ‘off’ again. Felicity and I have never been exclusive; I’ve had my fun when we’re apart as much as she has. It’s not a big deal. On the other, this is the first time (at least I know of) she’s specifically ditched me for somebody else. My ego doesn’t like it. In particular my ego doesn’t like being informed by the paparazzi so they could rub my face in it and write some story about it. My thing with her has kept them fed for months.

 

Millie was interested. Not in a gossipy or bitchy way, but I think because she knows Felicity. (Speaking of – she hinted that they used to be pals, which stirred my curiosity again. I’d still like to know what happened there). This became a whole conversation about relationships and friends with benefits and stuff like that.

 

People don’t always realise how many hints they’re letting slip when they speak. Millie kept dropping them and I kept mentally filing them away (I have this little profile that I’m building). Namely, I think she’s got bad history. A lot of her comments seemed jaded and she was downright cynical at points. That’s probably not helped by her last relationship (what kind of idiot tries to tell a woman he’s not even living with that she can’t move in with her sister?), but in general she was distrustful of casual set ups. I think that’s also why the Felicity thing caught her attention. It’s not a scenario she understands.

 

So anyway... we’re having this talk, and I’m trying to explain me and Felicity in terms of this mutual satisfaction. I know that sounds dirty but I don’t only mean sexually. She then made this disparaging comment that she’s never known any men interested in any satisfaction but their own.

 

Of course I had to stand up for my gender. I said that wasn’t true. I said sometimes it was even good to not be mutual and focus completely on the other person, do something nice for them without expecting something back. The noise she made wasn’t just disparaging, it was this contemptuous laugh. It was like ‘who’re you trying to kid.’ She told me that even if it wasn’t immediate men always expect something back eventually, like I was the most naïve little thing she’d ever met.

 

Yeah. That was the flag to the bull. I took it as kind of a challenge.

 

 

Millie

 

Our nice gentle evening took a strange and competitive turn. Combative, even.  said something he took personally and he was determined to prove me wrong. It was my fault I think. I was sitting there slagging off men like he was one of my girlfriends instead of, you know, a man. In a way I was egging it on.

 

I suppose it kept both the conversation and my thoughts away from the phone call. My lawyers did some digging and found out that my father’s under some kind of financial investigation. I don’t know if that’s why he contacted me but it almost doesn’t matter. Whatever he wants out of me can’t be good.

 

So yes, that made me tense. Not only did I drink a bit too much (not a good idea given how little I drink in general, I’m a lightweight) I was looking for a distraction. Heh. I got one.

 

Justin declared that he was going to prove me wrong. He threw out all manner of things he could do that I wouldn’t have to reciprocate. I batted it off and told him he was being ridiculous. It was too late for that though. The bee was well and truly in his bonnet. It didn’t matter how many ideas I shot down; he immediately came back with another. I was starting to see why he’s so successful. He’s tenacious and quick witted, always got a comeback.

 

He’s got quite a square face - when his jaw is set he can look quite forceful. In other circumstances he could use it to frightening effect. But between the blue eyed stare and the pursed lips and the folded arms I was always going to cave. I like to think of myself as a confident woman, not easy to dissuade, but… what can I say? He called my bluff and I blinked first. As I’ve said before he’s got a disturbing habit of appearing to look right through me. It throws me off.

 

I’m still too bewildered about the way the conversation went to remember how we decided on the back rub. Suffice to say Justin’s altruistic gesture was to give me the massage I’d been complaining about missing out on. (Too many bloody people in the spa taking up the slots). He claimed to be good at it. Then he pointed out how unlikely it was I’d ever have to return this particular favour.

 

I cannot explain how I allowed this to happen but I did. I agreed. It’s insane yet true.

 

I don’t understand what I was thinking. All it was in aid of was a silly debate. It’s not normal for me to allow a man I haven’t known for very long so much physical contact (non-professionally, anyway). I was tipsy but not out of it; my brain was in working order. Ben would throw a fit if he knew that less than twenty four hours after breaking up with him I was baring skin to a rock star.  It was stupid to do it purely as a chance to disprove my bitterness.  All in all there was no good reason for me to get this massage. I honestly can’t come up with any better explanation than that I did it to shut him up.

 

Public service announcement: that’s not a good reason to take your shirt off with a guy. 

 

**

 

Justin

 

My intentions weren’t exactly honourable – I was trying to win a dumb argument – but they weren’t dishonourable either. I’m still not sure how we got to that point but I’d accepted the challenge. I was going to see it through.

 

I did the thing right, too. I moved the candles into the bedroom so she’d have a relaxing smell. I did my best to arrange towels and blankets like they would in a spa, so she could lie between them and be covered as needed. I told her to forget I was me and imagine she was there. I faithfully promised no peeking. I assured her that if she got uncomfortable she only needed to say.

 

The entire time she wore this dubious expression, but I never got the feeling she’d back out. Now I think about it, it’s weird she agreed – especially after the bathroom thing I noticed the other night. Maybe she was as determined as I was to see the spat through? Maybe she really did miss getting her massage earlier? I don’t know. Either way she kicked me out of the room so she could get herself into position.

 

Heterosexual men across the planet would shake their heads if they heard me claim I wasn’t thinking about how naked the supermodel was but it’s true.

 

We’d agreed on me sticking to her back and lower legs (neutral areas), so she wasn’t wearing a shirt or pants. Even so I couldn’t see anything you wouldn’t see from a swimsuit. She was covered from waist to knee by blankets anyway so I didn’t know what she had or hadn’t kept on under there. I didn’t wonder because I was focused on the job at hand. I didn’t just have a point to prove I had a moral principle to uphold.

 

I wasn’t merely going to show her I could do something nice and not require payback. Oh no. I was going to make it so damn good she’d have to practically bow in submission.

 

Millie

 

I was about to call the whole thing off. I felt stupid, nervous and uncomfortable. I even wildly wondered if it was all a rouse to get his hands on me.

 

In hindsight what stopped me was how chilled he was. Being a model I’m familiar with all the various gazes that people will direct at me. People are fairly shameless about the way they size me up. I don’t think there’s any possible motive behind somebody checking out my body that I can’t recognise at a hundred paces. Justin didn’t exhibit any of that and it reassured me enough to proceed.

 

In a weird way I think maybe it’s about power? People can pretend to be as enlightened and above interpersonal politics as they like but nobody’s immune. Ultimately a lot of dynamics are about power. You don’t need to be domineering but people do listen more to those they perceive as authoritative.

 

There’s no better (or harder) way to learn that than going from having it all to having none. It’s a tough one to swallow when a world that used to be your oyster suddenly doesn’t care if you’re still breathing.

 

The ways people normally treat me, from awe to jealousy, all give me an advantage. Even when people underestimate me or treat me as a threat it’s a card I can play. Justin doesn’t do any of that. Doesn’t fancy me, doesn’t care about my background, has too much wealth and success himself to be impressed by mine – which just puts his personality up against mine. I think in the balance his wins? I don’t know.

 

I only know that when he starts talking somehow he’s more persuasive than the voice in the back of my head. Hence the massage.

 

I can be a grown up and admit that once the initial apprehension wore off I was semi-glad. He was no professional but I’ll allow him his boast that he’s good at it. For all my reticence, it was nice to be touched. His fingers stroked up and down my back at a leisurely pace, in smooth motions that nonetheless kneaded into my muscles. When he ran a flat palm down the length of my spine it was like I could feel the tension sinking out of my body and disappearing down into the mattress somewhere.

 

It was that point I started to think… well, maybe Justin was right. The men in my life haven’t been stellar but maybe I was being too harsh. Couldn’t admit that though.

 

“This okay?”

 

I was almost cross with him for breaking me out of my reverie. I’d been happy to focus on his hands. I could feel the calluses on his fingers – I imagine from playing guitar – but they weren’t unpleasant. The slight roughness made for an agreeable friction.

 

“Mmmhmm.”

 

My eyes were shut but I thought I heard a grin in his next words. “I’ll take that as a yes. You ready to admit I’m right yet?”

 

“No. I might allow you to stand as an exception but the rest of your species are still arseholes.”

 

“Heh.” His chuckle was lower pitched than usual. “You might not believe it, but honestly some of my favourite moments in relationships have been stuff like this.”

 

“I bet they ended up with you getting yours too, though,” I said.

 

“Plenty, but not always. I mean, I’ll be honest, in the friends with benefits kind of thing we were talking about then I probably wouldn’t, but when you’re with somebody you really like… it’s like a closeness thing, I guess.”

 

Damn him it made sense. I definitely started to feel like I was onto a loser. True to his word, when he told me to turn over so he could work the other side of my legs he even held the sheet up like a real masseuse. Couldn’t see me flash anything (I was still wearing shorts so quite covered, but he wasn’t even trying it). Thus far there was not a single sign of personal gain from his side. Then again, I was getting a nice massage so maybe losing was winning.

 

At the same time though a nagging voice in the back of my head asked why I’ve never had that. Neither what he was doing physically nor what he was describing emotionally.

 

Even though it was a platonic favour it was slow and all about me. It was sensual yet not about sex. I haven’t experienced that before. I’ve had good sex and bad sex, but the kind of connection Justin’s talking about wasn’t a feature. What they did was done to get the favour returned. There was nothing like this, touching me to soothe me and without an agenda.

 

In fact the more I’ve been thinking about that over the past few days the more I’m starting to feel like every arena of my life is like that. Family, men, work, I’m a bloody status symbol not a person with needs.

 

Hmm. Now starting to wonder if that explains what followed…

 

**

Justin

 

My victory was assured. She’d relaxed under my hands, like her flesh was melting beneath my fingertips. I was pretty smug.

 

In a way I was enjoying it too. There was the sense of self-satisfaction you get when somebody’s appreciating what you’re doing. I also liked the rhythmic motion of it. It’s hypnotic and mind-clearing. All my bruised ego over Felicity and my annoyance at the paparazzi was disappearing along with the tension in her body (she had a ton of knots in her shoulders). My arm muscles were working it out like they would be if I’d hit the weights.

 

It’s not like giving a good looking woman a rub down would ever be the worst thing, is it? Her skin was inhumanly smooth to touch, like she spends a lot of time looking after it. I guess she would. Her body is her livelihood like mine is my voice; you look after your asset.

 

Next I had her flip over to finish up on the front side of her legs. That was when things got weird.

 

Her foot was in my lap. I was lazily running my hands up and down her shin, and my mind drifted. All extraneous thought dropped away. Nothing left but the working of my fingers. Whatever I was doing she liked it though. Every so often she’d let out these quiet little happy noises.

 

In fact I blame her because they totally sounded like sex noises.

 

No I can’t. It wasn’t her. I’m just dirty.

 

The problem was that by then my head was blank. Making that association with no other distractions got me locked onto the topic. My brain made this jump and suddenly things were now about sex. I’m a red blooded American male. I had a partially nude very attractive woman lying out in front of me. I totally started envisioning naughty stuff.

 

And what do you think is gonna happen if a red blooded American male starts having protracted thoughts about moving the massage to other places? Especially one who just got ditched and is probably about to have a sexual drought? An embarrassing situation, that’s what.

 

Thank God her eyes were closed but it was a problem.  It wouldn’t be a big deal any other time – I’m not thirteen for fuck’s sake, and this shit happens – but her foot was in my lap. She only had to move slightly and she would’ve found it without looking. On set when we were being made to grind all over each other I’d have an excuse but this was different. In this situation it’s more personal and you can’t blame it on the mechanics. Millie’s the kind of woman who’d get uncomfortable with you after something like that.

 

I was locked in that awkward mental cycle where the desperate attempts to think about something else were only making me think about it more. Things were not dying down. So as a suave sophisticated man of the world how do you think I dealt with this?  Smoothly? Discreetly? Calmly?

 

Fuck no. I dropped her foot, muttered some shit about leaving her alone to get dressed and high-tailed it. Real slick.

 

Then I stood out in the living room of the suite, torn about what to do. I didn’t want her to see but it would look too weird if I left completely. She’d question that. But I would’ve felt way too creepy about going anywhere to take care of it. I already felt like a little bit of a sleaze for even thinking all that, but doing something about it (even by myself) would’ve solidified it. It would’ve been taking advantage of her trust. Seemed like there was nothing left to do but arrange myself on the couch to disguise it as best I could. Small consolation – at least I wore jeans. It was less obvious in those.

 

**

 

Millie

 

I’m still lying awake unable to sleep because I am so effing embarrassed. I hadn’t properly registered the noises I was starting to let out but I think Justin must have twigged, because he swiftly legged it out of the room.

 

He didn’t stick around for very long after that. There was a bare minimum of a quick coffee to mask the fact that he was running, but he made his excuses at the first polite opportunity. I went and had my bath then went to bed but it’s no good.

 

For all my talk about guys and their self-interest, in the end I was the one lying there imagining using him for my own ends. It wasn’t his fault. He remained within bounds and true to his word requested nothing in return. In a messed up way, I think that was what let me go there. He proved himself trustworthy and I was tipsy enough to let down my defences.

 

It wasn’t really about him, even, my fantasy was kind of faceless. Doesn’t matter - Justin was still the one in the room with me so it’s him who’s copped the awkwardness. It’s my own fault. I’d taken my thoughts into that vulnerable place and after the earlier discussion it was all being filtered through a prism of sex. Even though Justin was platonic, no different than if I’d got my originally planned massage in the spa, I suppose he was unwittingly hitting a nerve. It was only too easy to start fantasising about, shall we say, upgrading the experience.

 

I very much doubt I’m the only woman to ever imagine the great Justin Timberlake putting his hands in all the right places. He’s got a few million fans who’ve probably thought about it. Even so I doubt many have managed it in a less appropriate scenario. I let my mind wander too far away from me, started showing signs of it and made him uncomfortable in the process. In a way I feel like I’ve taken advantage of him. That sounds insane, like I could be taking advantage of someone in his position, but somehow I just feel like I did wrong.

 

Honestly. That massage was such a bloody stupid idea. I wish somebody could explain to me why the hell I agreed to it.

“There room for one more?”

 

Millie recognised the voice even before she looked up, but she had to see his face to believe it. Justin left with so much haste the previous evening she’d doubted she’d ever hear from him again. Joining her at the breakfast table was a departure from expectation.

 

“Course.” She gestured to the seat opposite.

 

Some eyebrows might have raised themselves at the sight of them having breakfast together, but at this time of the morning the restaurant was near deserted. The only other diners were at the opposite end of the room. Normally she wouldn’t even be down here; she’d have breakfast in her room. The only reason she was diverging from routine was insomnia driven resentment. Staring at the walls made her hate them. (This was only partially down to Justin. The angst was about other things).

 

Justin slid into the seat opposite, giving her a small smile. It didn’t seem unfriendly so she relaxed a little. He was more casual than she’d ever seen him, in jeans and a faded t-shirt. The obligatory baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes to mask his face from onlookers.

 

“Coffee’s on its way if you’d like some.”

 

“Need is more like it,” he said as he pulled his napkin off the plate. “Got to leave after this to get my flight and I didn’t sleep.” He too was downstairs trying to gather some energy, hadn’t expected to find her there. “I’ll be a zombie by the time I get home.”

 

“You and me both,” she grimaced.

 

“I, umm…” A pink tinge rose in his cheeks and he lowered his voice. There weren’t many people in the room but you could never be too careful. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night. In hindsight it was kind of dumb for me to go off like that over a stupid debate.”

 

His directness was disarming. When he sat down she’d assumed that they would pretend it hadn’t happened. She could only be thankful; if he was worrying about making her uncomfortable she must have misinterpreted his rapid departure.

 

“Hey, you didn’t do anything I didn’t agree to,” she replied. “Don’t worry.”

 

It was as if you could see the tide of relief across his face. His muscles relaxed one after the other like waves breaking on sand. When he leaned back in his chair his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding them too tightly.

 

The waiter’s return with the coffee and her orange juice interrupted anything further he might say on the subject. If the guy was at all surprised by her new companion he was too well trained to show it. He simply asked if they were ready to order – one grapefruit and an omelette later they were alone again.

 

“So what was keeping you up?” Justin asked.

 

“Worrying about things, mostly,” she replied. It wasn’t a lie if she didn’t elaborate on the parts ‘mostly’ didn’t cover. “On the bright side, at least it meant they didn’t wake me up when they called. They’re forever forgetting the time difference.”

 

“They?”

 

Oops. She’d forgotten she hadn’t told him who was on the other end of the phone when it interrupted dinner. “My London lawyers.”

 

“Oh.” How far did he dare pry? “Bad news?”

 

There was a moment’s hesitation before she answered. It wasn’t normally something she’d advertise, but then she’d already told him more than she’d ever intended about the whole saga. Even with the bare details she wouldn’t be giving much more away at this point. Maybe she could do with the vent?

 

“My father’s lawyers got in touch with them. It was all very dressed up in finance speak I don’t understand, but it sounds like he’s been under some kind of HMRC investigation and they’re about to find my money.”  Her mouth set into a neat scowl.

 

“Shit.” Justin’s gaze flickered over her, taking in the way rigidity set into her limbs. It was in marked contrast to the sweet and girlish pink cardigan she was wearing. Hardness had fallen over her face. “What’s the HMRC, is it like the IRS?”

 

“Yes. They were going on about ‘oversights’ and ‘errors’ and all kinds of bullshit that make it sound like he didn’t do the whole thing on purpose. Long and short of it is he was only allowed to cut me off from his money not my mum’s.”

 

“Gee. And aren’t we surprised?”

 

“Astounded.” His sarcasm was matched by her caustic sneer. “So there you go. He’s forced to hand her portion back to me with interest.”

 

“Nice to know that sometimes there’s justice in the world.” Justin picked up the sugar shaker and poured some into his coffee.

 

“Oh that’s not even the best bit. Only way he can save his hide is to claim that this was an agreed arrangement and the investment was on my behalf.”

 

“So after all that he’s got the fucking nerve to ask you to cover for him?”

 

Somehow the swearing was a validation. She was glad somebody else saw it her way.

 

“Yes. There was talk about ‘due compensation for expenses,’ which I took as code for he’s willing to bribe me to play along.”

 

Justin’s chuckles sounded diabolical. “So basically you get to decide whether to drop him in the shit or to have him pay you to save his ass? That’s fantastic. That’s just fucking karma in action.”

 

Millie hadn’t thought about it like that. You might think it would make her smile. Instead it brought gnawing to the pit of her stomach.

 

“I need to talk to Lizzie, see what she says. I’ll get the inheritance I should have either way but I’m not sure what’s for the best.”

 

That caught his interest. What stopped her from telling him to go to hell? Nothing she said about the man suggested he deserved any consideration from her. Perjuring herself to Her Majesty’s Government was sizeable consideration. He wasn’t even sure he’d lie to the IRS for people who loved him and had his back – forget anybody who’d been an asshole to him. Not for the first time he wished he knew what was ticking away inside her head. What would be the best in those crystal eyes?

 

“You owe him nothing, Millie. You just do right by you and your sister.”

 

She sat back in her chair, fiddling with her teaspoon. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

 

“If you’re sitting there feeling nostalgic for family summers or something, don’t let that buy him any sympathy. What he did to you was fucked up.”

 

“Rarely spent summers with him.” The way she said it sounded more like an aside than an answer. “He carted us around with him when he had to but with an au pair. I spent more summers with Felicity.”

 

That was a dilemma for his curiosity. On the one hand Felicity was a touchy subject for him right now. On the other he wouldn’t mind finding out about their past. Listening to Felicity’s diatribes in the here and now made it hard to imagine them spending halcyon childhood days together.

 

“Oh really? Like you went on vacations with them?” 

 

“They’ve got this estate in the Hamptons, did she ever take you?”

 

“No.” He shook his head.

 

“It’s beautiful. Huge garden, backs onto the beach, pool, a game room… kids’ paradise.” Her eyes grew out of focus and she seemed far away, back at the house she was describing.

 

“Sounds nice.” Justin refrained from jokes about wishing he’d been invited.

 

“It is. Her parents were working most of the time so we had to amuse ourselves, but they always used to insist on this one week where it was family time only.”

 

“And you were family?” That was one from left field. The more he heard about her past with Felicity the less he understood their present estrangement.

 

“Not until after my mum died.” She was matter of fact. “Her mum started making an exception for me and Lizzie if my dad still needed somebody to watch us. I used to pray to be there that week because it was brilliant.”

 

“How so?”

 

“They just used to indulge us in everything, spoiled the hell out of us.” A smile played at her lower lip. “Like, her brother Max got really into reptiles for a while, so her dad took us to some friend who kept snakes and we got to hold them. Once they were talking about baseball and Lizzie and I didn’t know what it was, but the next time we went to visit they hired the local place and her dad taught us to pitch. I was dreadful but it was so much fun.”

 

“Really?” This tallied with what little Felicity said about her parents – people who came off as well meaning but absent.

 

“Yeah. And that was just really nice, you know, to feel like he wanted to do something nice for me and Lizzie. Even if it was probably out of pity.  My dad used to do precisely bugger all and now the bastard wants me to bail him out.”

 

It took a few moments of silence before Justin realised the speech was over. Millie didn’t seem to expect comment from him either. She was drinking her juice like they’d been chatting about the weather.

 

He couldn’t help his astonishment - not at what she’d said but the way she cut things off. All the while he’d been thinking the chat about Felicity was a tangent, a way to move the conversation away from her father. Then along came that sentence at the end to let him know that she wasn’t really talking about how she used to spend vacations. So why grind things to a screeching halt? It was like he had all the facts and yet none of the meaning.

 

“Why do you always do that?” he asked.

 

“Do what?”

 

“It’s like you start to tell me things, but then you stop right before you get down to it.”

 

“Think maybe it’s a bit soon in our acquaintance to say I always do anything.” 

 

“Sure,” Justin said. He paused for another sip of coffee. “Go ahead. Deflect.”

 

Her lips pursed, and she briefly nodded her head. “You’re very nosy, you know.”

 

“Just trying to figure you out.”

 

“Ha.” She gave a snort. “If you manage let me know. It’s been vexing me for years.”

 

The kick he continued to get from her turns of phrase defused his annoyance. He found himself laughing at her again.

 

“I could tell. Are you aware of how many knots you got in your back?”

 

He was skating close to the edge, bringing that back up. Millie suspected it was on purpose.

 

“Well credit where it’s due you didn’t do a bad job. Bit of training, if the pop star gig ever falls through you could do it as a back up.”

 

Justin silently admitted defeat. She would continue to swerve him and pushing it head on would yield nothing. He had no plans to give up however. They’d swapped numbers to talk further about the possible William Rast gig and he’d bet he could get a more friendly conversation going at the same time. Besides enjoying her sneakily backhanded humour, he was determined he was going to work this woman out.

 

Preferably without any more stupid ideas like the massage this time.

 

“I take back everything I ever said about wanting to look like you. Between this and the wheatgrass crap it’s just not worth it.”

 

“You already do look like me. Genetics and all that.”

 

“Yeah, stick a mirror between us and we could be twins. So long as it was a funhouse mirror.”

 

The joke fell flat. Millie gave her a tight smile, eyebrows lifting. She looked unsure whether she was meant to laugh or deny it. Lizzie forced back a sigh and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt.

 

As a matter of fact the Adair-Hamilton siblings did look alike. Elizabeth was shorter and curvier, nose and cheekbones more blunted than Emilia’s, but the family resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same colouring and their jaws set in identical lines when they were annoyed. The main difference was that Lizzie had more of both parents in her face. Millie tended towards their mother.

 

Today Lizzie made the mistake of attending a yoga class with her at the hotel gym. It was out of boredom rather than any desire to start exercising properly. Millie was always working or prepping for work (namely beautification or gym sessions) so this was the only chance she actually got to hang out with the woman. It was a mistake because now her muscles were protesting.

 

“Everybody always said how alike we look. You know, in between the digging for how long it’d been since we spoke.”

 

So that was the tack she’d take – subtly disagreeing without directly confronting it. Lizzie was starting to notice that about her. Every approach was at an angle.

 

“Nosy bitches. But hey, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. I could have your abs if only I wasn’t tragically afflicted with the lazy genes.”

 

Put next to anybody but a supermodel Lizzie would have been considered a beauty. The trouble was she was usually put next to a taller, slimmer, idealised version of herself. Despite being forced apart for several years, people still knew who her sister was. They still compared. It proved to be both curse and blessing. Some people unfairly called her the fat or ugly one (she was neither). Others viewed her as the same but better, a more approachable version.

 

It was strange to live under the shadow of someone so far away but Lizzie adored her big sister. Moments of resentment did exist but were short-lived.

 

The yoga however was not a good idea. She never exercised (never saw the need when she could remain slim without, even if not as slim as her sister). While Millie could gracefully bend her limbs in all directions she was straining and going red in the face. She’d done it but she’d pay for it tomorrow.

 

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely not worth it.”

 

“Says she who doesn’t have to get out of bed for less than fifteen grand.”

 

“In my defence that’s dollars not sterling.”

 

“Haha!”

 

Lizzie stole a glance sideways, wondering what she was thinking. After so much time apart she needed to learn her all over again, learn her expressions and moods. It was strange to think but she had never known her sister as an adult. She wasn’t a stranger yet wasn’t the person she remembered either.

 

The big conclusion so far was that Millie’s comments frequently had an undertone. She needed to get better at reading them.

 

“So now we’ve been good for the day, what’s the plan for tonight?” Lizzie asked. “Better get it in now before they spend tomorrow trussing you up.”

 

Millie stifled a groan. Tomorrow evening she was due at the Met Ball, which meant the entire day would be spent in wardrobe and make up. The process took so long she was usually fed up and desperate to get out of her outfit before she’d even arrived.

 

“I have to take some calls from LA.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Guilt jabbed at her solar plexus. “I’m sorry darling. I know how boring this is for you.”

 

“I understand, don’t worry.”

 

Millie wasn’t so sure she did understand. She was trying to. Did that really matter though when you were desperately trying to make up for several years of missed time?

 

In the weeks since she’d got her sister back things were hard. The Lizzie who arrived on her doorstep the very day after her twenty first birthday was somehow both a young woman yet still the traumatised pre-teen. There was insecurity and clinginess in the way she hovered at her side. The responsibility weighed heavy on her. It was strange – she’d been so much younger when taking care of Lizzie the first time around. And yet it came easier then than now. Now she felt continually wide of the mark. Her work schedule didn’t help.

 

In the bigger picture she felt Lizzie needed a career and life of her own. It was too soon to push her to that though. She needed time to settle and adjust. She needed some stability and some TLC. All things Millie felt she was failing to give her.   

 

When they rounded the corner and saw who was standing outside the opposite suite to theirs, however, Lizzie’s mood immediately picked up.

 

“Oh my god! Lissy!”

 

Millie’s neck and shoulders stiffened. She forced a smile onto her face as Lizzie ran down the corridor to throw herself at Felicity Jameson. A bemused looking Justin Timberlake was standing next to her.

 

“As I live and breathe!” Felicity exclaimed. “What are you doing here, kiddo?”

 

“I can’t believe it; it’s been for-ev-er!”

 

“I know, I know, haven’t been in London for months or I’d have stopped by. Hear you finally ditched the old man, how does it feel?”

 

“Fan-bloody-tastic.”

 

Millie approached them cautiously, aware of Felicity’s wary eyes on her. She didn’t know where to look. Her mind was still ticking over on the London comment. Had they still been in touch?

 

“Hi.” Millie wasn’t sure if she was addressing Felicity or Justin, but he was the one that answered.

 

“Hey. So I guess this is the sister you told me about?”

 

“Yes. Lizzie, Justin - Justin, Lizzie.”

 

“Oh yeah, forgot you said you’d done a video.” Lizzie stuck out her hand to him. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“And you.” He shook it firmly. “So who’s this ‘Lissy,’ exactly?” He elbowed Felicity.

 

“When she was little that was as much as she could say of my name,” she said, flicking a glossy sheet of dark hair back behind her shoulder. “It was so cute.”

 

“You in town for the Met Ball?” Lizzie asked. “Millie’s going.”

 

“I’m not, he is,” Felicity replied. “We were just catching up.”

 

“Oh, are you busy then? If we’re both stuck on our own we should have dinner.”

 

“Oh Lizzie you are so perfect sweetie, I had this God awful thing and no excuse to ditch. I’ll get us a table somewhere.”

 

“Just so long as it’s somewhere with dessert. Can never get her to eat one.”

 

There was not a single part of this conversation that Millie didn’t hate. The woman who detested her had apparently been seeing her sister while she couldn’t. Currently had an arm wrapped around her in the same easy affection she wished she could muster. Her knuckles clenched around the strap of her gym bag. All the while Justin (who last she heard was on the outs with Felicity) was peering at her like a lab specimen.

 

“I’m sorry but I need to keep going, got some calls later.” She turned to Lizzie. “Though if you want to stay and catch up don’t mind me, darling.”

 

“Okay.” She waved a hand. Apparently she didn’t mind at all.

 

Justin

 

Sometimes I’m really psyched to go to these big events. It’s a cool opportunity that a lot of people don’t get.

 

Sometimes I’d prefer to be in a bar with a beer and a basket of hot wings.

 

Tonight I wish I was in a t-shirt not a tuxedo but that’s the breaks. I think the problem is that right now I don’t have a lot to promote. I never feel like there’s a point in me being at this kind of thing when I don’t need the exposure. It’s not related to any of my side projects - William Rast isn’t the kind of label this shindig celebrates. That wouldn’t matter if I was in the party mood but tonight I’m not.

 

That isn’t the point though. I’m not here to party; I owe people favours. I promised I would be here and show off this Tom Ford tuxedo so here I am like a good little boy. I guess it’s not so bad. There are plenty of people I know hanging around. Most of them are in the same hotel if we feel like a drink later… it’s always possible I could get more into the spirit if the night goes well. That happens sometimes, you start out not into it but events surprise you. Think positive, right?

 

I took a moment’s breather from the mingling to wander around a couple of the open exhibits. There are other people around but they’re too busy looking at whatever to bother me. That’s an upside to these events right there - everybody else is famous too. You don’t get gawped at so much, got to appreciate that. It makes it easier to float around and not be interrupted. Sometimes you need those five minutes to yourself. I’m a social guy and I like being around people, but too much small talk leaves me needing a quick break. (It’s really not so terrible as I like to make out but a breather’s not a bad thing.)

 

And hey, it could always be worse. I could be Millie. She looks like she wants somebody to take her out back and put her out of her misery.

 

I turned a corner into the next room of the exhibit and there she is. Sitting ramrod straight on a bench and staring at a bust of somebody’s head - I have no idea whose. Her arms are jutting out straight at either side, her fingers pressed into the bench like she’s stopping herself from toppling sideways.

 

As stances go it’s uncomfortable but would make an incredible picture. Also makes her seem unapproachable, like you’d live to regret disturbing her (not that I’ll let that stop me). Though the expression is grim she looks regal and fierce.

 

Fierce, but spectacular. Her hair is slicked back and pinned up, leaving her all cheekbones. The dress is a blue so dark it’s almost black, and it makes her already intense eyes jump out of her face. The skirt is ball gown huge and her torso almost lost in the folds of material. I don’t know what texture it’s supposed to be but the way it gleams and ripples is like feathers.

 

In fact, that’s exactly what she looks like – a bird. A raven poised to take flight.

 

“Hey. What you looking at?”

 

“Oh, hey.” She starts, hadn’t seen me. I didn’t exactly sneak up on her, the entrance I’m standing in is really obvious from where she sits, but I guess she was concentrating. “Didn’t spot you there.”

 

“Looked like you were focused on whoever that is.” I nod towards the marble head.

 

“Oh, umm… Athena, I think? I don’t know. Was staring off into space.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Oh yeah.” There goes that hand wave again. The one she does every time I ask her something she wants to divert me from. “This dress is just killing me. So effing heavy.”

 

“Well you look amazing, if it helps.”

 

Look, hey, she can smile. Who knew? “Thanks. I’m just desperate to relax my back but the corset’s got me locked upright. Came out here so I could take off my game face for a second and express my anguish.”

 

So that explains her strange pose, she’s trying to relieve the pressure on her back… huh. I thought she was being all uptight as usual.

 

I’ve talked to her a lot over text in the weeks since the video shoot so I feel like I can say what’s usual. I like her a lot, but she would benefit from chilling the fuck out. It’s not that she’s hysterical or always making a big deal about stuff. It’s actually the opposite; she pretends she’s fine in this breezy way.

 

If you’re paying attention though you can tell she’s not. Millie’s your classic avoider. Any time you get near something difficult she hides it by being more interested in you and what you’re doing. Most people probably don’t notice… but most people don’t spend as much time being interviewed as I do so they’re less bored of yammering about themselves. They aren’t as nosy or expecting it like I am.

 

I am fucking nosy. Those are the exact two words Felicity used yesterday after we said goodbye to Lizzie (nice kid, looks a lot like her sister). I couldn’t resist asking about it, especially after Millie fled the scene so fast, but she wasn’t biting. I knew from our texts that we’d be in the same hotel but wasn’t expecting them to be in the opposite room.

 

On the bright side, at least I know where to find a drinking buddy if I need it later. She looks like she could use one.

 

“Anguish? Drama queen,” I say with a tease.

 

“Hey, I defy you to wear this shit for longer than an hour without bitching and I’ve been in it for five so far. Marines would break before I have.”

 

“I’ll recommend you for the medal.” I might’ve been a tiny bit sarcastic when I said that. Though five hours is a lot and it’s still early.

 

“Stoicism in the line of fire. We Brits are masters of the stiff upper lip.”  

 

That’s the part of her I do like. Whatever you dish out to her she’ll dish right back. Even though I complain about her evasiveness, it’s easy to keep a conversation going with her.  You can trade jokes or even a few insults; you can talk business or pontificate on random crap. It doesn’t matter where the talk goes she’s got a response. So far we’ve only been able to meet in person at work stuff (the video, the William Rast shoot she did, tonight) but I’d love to see her in a totally casual setting. I bet she’d really loosen up.

 

I ease myself onto the bench next to her, looking at Athena. No, I wouldn’t be staring at that either if I was her. It’s this old white marble thing with funny lips and what looks like a few yellowed cracks running along the surface. Nothing to write home about.

 

“So besides the dress of pain are you having fun?”

 

She shrugs. “It’s been alright.”

 

“Huh. Figured you model types would be in your element,” I say. “We lowly rock stars have to stand at the side pretending to know jack about designers.”

 

“Says the man who co-owns a fashion label.”

 

There it is again - deflection. At least this time there was the condescending glint back in her eye and her sardonic voice. Usually I don’t enjoy being made fun of unless I’m the one doing it (Trace is always giving me shit about it, says I take myself too seriously) but her sense of humour’s different than I’m used to. In a way I think it’s her seal of approval – like she trusts you to be cool.

 

“Touché.” I tug at my bow tie. She’s not the only one being tortured by clothing tonight.

 

“Is it bad that I would rather be out at some bar with my sister having cocktails?”

 

“Only if it’s bad that I’d rather be out at some bar with a beer and the game.”

 

She smiles, leaning sideways into me to nudge with her shoulder. She wasn’t kidding about that corset though; her upper body remains solid and unbending the entire time.

 

“Look at us. Posh frocks, fancy food and the glitterati and we’d rather be in a pub somewhere. Ungrateful gits we are.”

 

“I don’t know what a git is but I prefer bastard, thanks.”

 

“Nah. You’re not a bastard.”

 

I raise my arms in triumph, pumping my fists to the ceiling. “Yes! Finally I get her to admit not all men are bastards! I feel like I should make a victory speech or something.”

 

Her blue eyes flick up and down my torso, lips pulled sideways into an unimpressed smirk. “You’re still full of it though. But speaking of being out at more enjoyable events, how is Felicity out with my sister rather than here with you?”

 

Now that’s interesting. Those words came out spiky.

 

“You mean you’d rather be hanging with them than me?” I press my fist to my mouth and try to look choked up, straining my voice. “I’m so hurt.”

 

“And again, full of shit.” That one got an actual laugh. A high pitched, ringing laugh that bounces off the walls and the high ceiling.

 

“Hey, not like I blame you. Awesome as I am, wherever they are the food’s probably better and the clothes way more comfortable.”

 

“I’m just surprised; Felicity usually lives for this sort of thing.”

 

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “Guess she should have scored herself an invite then.”

 

“Wow.” There’s another laugh. She’s slapped my arm and rocked backwards with the force of it. “Some boyfriend you are.”

 

“Oh, we’re not…” Why am I going red? This shouldn’t be embarrassing. “Yesterday was a hang out as friends; we’re not back on or anything. She’s still hung up on that French douche.”

 

“Oh.” If I had expected her to look affected by that news I’d be disappointed. “Well, I wouldn’t take it personally. That man's had some kind of supernatural hold on her since we were thirteen. Even she admits it.”

 

Well. Good to know… though I’m not actually as pissed as I maybe made it sound. After she ditched me it only took two or three days to stop holding any grudge (which is probably a hint that I’m not so into her. Normally I’m a serious grudge holder). When Felicity heard I was in New York and called me to catch up I didn’t hesitate.

 

I wondered if we were about to start round number five hundred and ten, but the vibe was different this time. I don’t know what’s going on with her but I’m not sure she'll be back for another. That’s cool. I always predicted it’d happen at some point.

 

I was surprised though at how friendly she was with Millie’s sister. It was abnormally sweet for her; she genuinely seems fond of the kid. They exchanged a couple of brief sentences about their dad (told me nothing new, just further confirmation he’s an asshole) and I could almost swear she growled at one point. There was protectiveness there. Then again, I guess Millie did say they spent a lot of time together when they were growing up. And at that age I bet she would idolise her big sister’s friends as much as the sister.

 

“You’re not alone though,” I say. “I kind of wish we were hanging with them instead of here.”

 

“Trust me you do not wish that. Felicity and me in a room would be painful, she’d probably melt me with her heat vision.”

 

Oh… does that mean the tone earlier was resenting them being out together? That surprises me. I didn’t think she let Felicity’s sniping get to her that much.

 

“Then I guess it’s good you’re here after all.”

 

“I just…” Her clasped hands drop to her lap. There’s a dazzling sapphire and diamond cocktail ring on one, must cost a bomb. “I know it ought to be me taking her out and it’s now come to my sworn enemy picking up my slack. And for what, so I can sit here moaning about my haute couture? It’s sort of silly, really.”

 

Or maybe it’s not about Felicity. I… don’t have an answer to that. I pick up her hand and give it a squeeze because I don’t know what I could say. She doesn’t squeeze back but doesn’t stop me either.

 

“We should probably get back; they’ll call us to dinner soon. Want to go find the bar and I’ll buy you a drink?”

 

She rolls her eyes at me, but at least there’s a little hint of a smile. “It’s a free bar.”

 

“I like to splash out.”

 

“I’m actually keener to find my bag. Think I left it on my seat and I stashed some M&M’s in there.”

 

“That should have been the first thing you told me, woman, don’t hold out on me like that.” I stand and then offer my hands to her. She takes them so I can help pull her up. It looks like a strain – she really is locked into the dress.

 

“I’m sorry to have withheld such crucial info. If it’s important I also have lip gloss, TicTacs and a tampon you can share.”

 

I narrow my eyes at her for a second before deciding that she’s only trying to embarrass me. Nice try, lady, but you don’t kid a kidder. Instead of reacting I just thread her arm through my elbow and start to escort her out. It’s probably risking a few gossip column pieces but what the hell.

Millie

 

I’m dying. I don’t care if that’s overdramatic. I feel like I’m dying.

 

Thankfully there’s padding around my hips where the skirt sits. The weight shouldn’t leave any scarring. (I can’t believe I live in a world where I have to worry about my clothes doing permanent damage). But this thing weighs a ton and my back is killing me. I can’t take any deep breaths.

 

The good news is we’re finally in a limo on the way back to the hotel. A bunch of the event guests are staying there so I’m in the car with Justin and other people he knows. The only one I know is Natalie, a model I’ve walked in shows with. She’s a sweetie. We’ve been quietly commiserating over our evil dresses. I thought I had it bad – she’s covered in spikes. The undersides of her arms are all scratched.

 

I posed, smiled, preened and did my best modelling this evening. I’m exhausted. The guys however are talking about a few final drinks in the bar. Natalie took it for granted that I’ll join her. Think it should be relatively easy to slip away after a couple though; I’m not up for an all-nighter in this outfit.

 

As we pull up outside there are paparazzi and fans waiting outside the hotel. The fans will want the musicians; the photographers will want me and Natalie. Since it’s the end of the night we can breeze past without having to stop. In the morning when I’m more comfortable I’d be more inclined to sign or pose if people want that, but I am not staying in these shoes a moment longer than I have to. As soon as we get inside they’re coming off. I don’t care how unladylike bare feet are.

 

The boys pile out. Natalie and I stay strategically behind so we have more room for our dresses. Trying to get out of cars gracefully in these things is a challenge. The threat of an up-skirt shot is real. One of the band guys is her boyfriend so he reaches in to help her. I was all prepared to wriggle out myself but Justin kindly does the same for me.

 

He’s been a good egg this evening. After we ran into each other in the exhibit he offered me his arm so I could lean on him a bit as I walked. I desperately needed the help (like I haven’t complained enough about that already). We weren’t on the same table so didn’t get to talk much once we were seated but we chatted while we were mingling. He’s entertaining and we’re at a point where he knows my humour. Some people don’t and mistake it for me being arch.

 

When we walk through the door, my sister is in the lobby saying goodnight to Felicity. I start to move over to her, to invite her to the bar, but I’m halted by the look on her face.

 

She looks grumpy… what happened while they were out? Felicity’s arm is around her shoulders and she gives her a squeeze, but when Lizzie meets my gaze this strange expression passes through her eyes. It stops me going over there. Lizzie gives me this tight forced smile and then heads over to the elevators.

 

I start to move after her, but I don’t get any further than Felicity. She’s gently grasped my wrist and is shaking her head at me.

 

“Talk to her in the morning. She’s a little emotional right now.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Hazily I take in the fact that Felicity looks stunning. She’s in these tight jeans, a white blouse and a killer pair of boots. It oozes sophistication without trying. I used to envy that about her, she always seems so effortless. I’m also pissed because she a) looks comfortable and b) is currently the authority on my baby sister. My fingertips burn with a jealousy that’s not green but white hot.

 

“She…” She hesitates. “I’m not sure how much I’m under Girl Code here, but she was talking about some emotional shit and she went a little heavy on the wine, that’s all. It was just the wrong moment for you to walk in looking like a supermodel.”

 

“I walked in like what?”

 

“Like Emilia Adair-Hamilton,” Felicity says to me. Her lips twist my name into a wry parody. “Seeing you with it turned up to full volume is weird for her. You do look ridiculously hot, by the way.”

 

“Thanks,” I say dully.

 

Before I can say anything else, I feel a hand on my back. When I turn I see that it’s Justin trying to grab my attention.

 

“Hey, you coming?”

 

“Umm, yes, sorry, just give me a minute.”

 

“How about you Felicity? Feel like a drink?” He reaches over to drop a kiss on her cheek. She turns it up to him in anticipation of his lips.

 

“No, I need to get going JT. Thanks though.”

 

“Alright.” With a wave of his hand he’s already left us alone again.

 

“I, umm… thank you for looking after her.”

 

“It was only too much vino, we’ve all been there.”

 

“I don’t mean tonight.”

 

Silence reigns for a moment, and she shifts between feet. Neither of us quite knows what to say. Or at least I don’t - I couldn’t claim any expertise on how she thinks these days. It’s been so long.

 

“I should, uhh…”

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

I bite my lip. “I, umm…”

 

“What?”

 

The impatience is so very her that I want to smile. She always got like that when nervous. I get stoic, she gets defiant.

 

“I never said I was sorry,” I blurt out. Not sure where this has come from. “For all that stupid crap that happened between us.”

 

“It…” Whatever she was going to say, she seemingly thinks better of it. Instead she rolls her eyes. “I’m long over the past; don’t worry your head about it.”

 

“It was a stupid thing to lose a friend for. I’m sorry.”

 

“Buy me a drink some time and we’ll call it even.” The smile is tight, ill at ease, but not harsh or insincere. The crinkles at her eyes have softened a little bit. “Look, I need to go but seriously, don’t get tempted to bug her about it tonight. She’ll be better in the morning.”

 

I nod. I hate the fact that I have to be told this. I ought to know. “Thanks.”

 

It’s a half wave half salute she gives me as she strides out. With a sigh, I turn on my heel and march towards the bar. Let’s see if I can get out of here after the first round… though if Lizzie’s not awake I’m going to have to find somebody else to release me from this bondage. It’s not the fun kind of bondage either.

 

For the millionth time I wish I could cut back on the modelling. Then I wouldn’t have to wear avant garde killer crap like this. I could wear the cute dresses that don’t constrict your internal organs.

Justin

 

Somewhere in the last two days, Millie’s sister decided she doesn’t like me.

 

I have no idea when or why. She’s barely met me. We talked when she saw Felicity and me in the hall. We saw each other last night but didn’t interact, so that doesn’t count. We’ve seen each other this morning after I knocked on the door to check Millie was still alive. Two mundane encounters later and I honestly have no clue why the fuck Lizzie’s giving me the evil eye.

 

Maybe she blames me for the dishevelled mess I dropped back into their suite last night? Like that was my fault! I don’t know what was going on with the women when I interrupted them but it must have been heavy. Millie marched back into the bar after (or as much as she could under the weight of her skirt) and what she previously said would be ‘strictly one last drink’ became several rounds of shots. The band guys loved it and I’m pretty sure there’ll be pictures all over Instagram this morning.

 

I… didn’t dislike it, but a nagging voice in the back of my brain asked if I should let her. It got overruled by the one saying I’m her friend not her keeper.

 

But yeah, she was wasted. I was forced to haul her upstairs. It killed any last jokes about her being whiny because that dress really did weigh a friggin’ ton. I know this because she tripped. She tripped over, I tried to pick her up off the floor and I couldn’t. I can bench press a decent amount but she was a total dead weight by that point. It took me and Kent (the bass player) to do it.

 

We were pretty loud though and I think we woke Lizzie up. She said we didn’t; the death glare said otherwise. At least it saved me having to help Millie out of her dress. Aside from it being a bad idea because she looked a little too hot and being a gentleman would’ve been mandatory but tough, all those corset ties looked complicated. (Alright, yes, I wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping with the supermodel. I’m a cliché and I’m sorry.)

 

But I still don’t see why Lizzie would blame me. Millie got drunk all by herself. Well not literally, I was there, but you know what I mean.

 

Whatever. So this morning I thought I should check in to make sure she’s alright. She is. She’s tinged a little green but nothing some make up couldn’t cover. She’s sitting in a chair at the table and Lizzie’s doing her hair for her. Something to do with a stylist who didn’t show up, I don’t know. I don’t envy her because she still has to go attend a product launch later while I get to nurse my own regrets some more. No puking but my head was pounding when I woke up.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Millie’s on the phone. She’s been monosyllabic and grimacing. Not sure if that’s due to the conversation or the hangover. Lizzie’s not saying anything, only pinning.

 

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.”

 

She tosses the phone aside. I can’t help but be curious what the conversation was. She frowned the whole way through but it’s deepened now. Her eyebrows have drawn together and she’s folded her arms close across her chest.

 

“Who was that?”

 

Thank God for curious little sisters. The question gets asked without me needing to snoop.

 

“Beth. Another no go.”

 

“Well that’s rubbish.”

 

I guess that means something to Lizzie because she doesn’t ask for clarification. I spoke too soon, time to be nosy.

 

“No go for what?”

 

If she thinks I’m going to acknowledge the way she’s glaring at me the kid’s got another one coming. Wasn’t even talking to her anyway.

 

“Oh, we’ve been speaking to a few companies about setting up this line but it’s im-bloody-possible. If they don’t say no out of the gate they get bought out.” Millie doesn’t sigh. Instead she lets out this huff of air that lifts the strands of hair from around her face.

 

It’s great that she took my advice but sucks it’s not working out. “That’s some pretty shitty luck.”

 

“Tell me about it.” The frown becomes more of a glower. “We’ve been purposely going for some of the more niche brands, but there’s this conglomerate that’s on a bit of a buying binge and they’re sucking them all up.”

 

“And you couldn’t just approach them?” I ask

 

“We don’t want to go with somebody that big, otherwise I could have gone to L’Oreal or somebody I had more contacts with in the first place. Doesn’t make sense for how we want to position the brand, it needs to be more boutique. We’d never get the level of control we need either.”

 

The corners of my mouth curl up. Check her out: ‘position the brand,’ ‘boutique.’ It’s nice to hear her talking about it like they’ve actually made some headway with the plans. When she first started talking about it to me… I don’t want to be harsh but she was whiny. There was this defeatist attitude before she’d really even tried.

 

“It is abso-frigging-lutely ridiculous though,” Lizzie says as she picks up a comb and starts pulling Millie’s hair into a small quiff at the front. “What are the odds?”

 

It wouldn’t win me any favour from her if I snorted right now, so I choke it back. It’s hilarious that inserting random cussing into the middle of words is a thing with the Adair-Hamiltons. Even when they keep it clean they’ve still got this way of dragging out every syllable. It’s weird the shit that’s genetic.

 

“As Beth rightly said, we’re not the only ones who can see they’re good,” Millie says with a morose exhalation of breath. “Suppose if nothing else it means we’re targeting the right people.”

 

“If only they’d stop being bought up.” Lizzie drops the comb, picks up the hairspray and gives Millie’s head a liberal covering. “There you go.”

 

She passes her sister a hand mirror and Millie inspects it from various angles. “Looks brilliant, thank you darling.”

 

“It is pretty good. Where’d you learn?” I ask.

 

“Been to a lot of parties, needed a lot of hairdos.”

 

Wow. I guess even a compliment isn’t enough to ingratiate myself. There was no need to be snippy. I was going to ask if she ever considered doing it professionally, but screw her. Her attitude’s kind of pissing me off. Instead I turn my attention back to Millie.

 

“So there’s no chance you can fund the brand yourself now you’re getting your inheritance?”

 

“I need the expertise as much as the money,” Millie said.

 

“You told him?”

 

Outwardly I remain cool but inside I’m bristling.

 

“We were on set together when it all came up and I vented,” she says with a shrug as she gets up from the chair. The hangover is most evident in the way she moves. The sluggishness is dulling the edges of her usual grace.

 

Again Lizzie looks pissed. Fortunately – or unfortunately – Millie picks her moment to go into the bedroom, so I get a chance to call her out.

 

“Why shouldn’t she tell me?” I ask when she’s safely behind the door.

 

She’s bustling around the table, picking up her hair products and tossing them back in her wash bag. More than their looks this is where I see the most difference between them. Lizzie’s energy crackles with static. Where the older sister is behind layers of wrapping, everything is leaking and seeping out of the younger. When she’s upbeat like the first time I met her that’s a good thing; right now it means she can’t hide her shit.

 

“Our personal business? Gee, wonder why I’m not so keen on strangers knowing.”

 

“Her personal business,” I correct. “She can confide in who she wants.”

 

“I bet you were the idiot who talked her out of nailing the bastard to the wall,” she mutters.

“Funny - I assumed that was you.” I’m not totally sure if I was meant to hear that or not. “She said she didn’t want to choose until she spoke to you. Seriously, somewhere in the last couple-a days you suddenly got this problem with me and I’d like to know why.”

 

“You know,” she says as she starts aggressively pulling loose hairs out of her brush, “even when I wasn’t with her I watched what was going on. Even from where I was I could see every guy in her life treating her like a trophy.”

 

“What, and you think I am? We’re not even dating! And fuck you, you know shit about me.”

 

“Oh no, you don’t treat her like a trophy. You treat her like she’s a puzzle you’re trying to work out, and anybody with half a brain cell would know exactly what’s going to happen once she’s solved.”

 

“Bullshit.” Not my best reasoned argument ever but screw her and her dumb psychoanalysis. “I know you love her and nobody’s ever going to be good enough in your eyes, but you can get the fuck out with telling me I treat her like a trophy or puzzle or what the hell ever. I’m her friend and I don’t need your damn approval.”

 

“Trophy, goddess, puzzle, just once I’d like to see somebody treat her like a human being. That guy can have all my approval. Lashings of my bloody approval.”

 

Think that ‘goddess’ was a Freudian slip there, but for a moment I’m too stunned to keep telling her where she can stick her assumptions. By the time I’m recovered Millie’s back and probably wondering why we look ready to kill each other.

 

“You’re quiet.”

 

Millie looked up from her lap to meet Lizzie’s gaze. She forced a smile. It didn’t make any difference. The way she plucked at her lower lip still gave away her anxiety.

 

“Sorry darling. Just thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

The tone wouldn’t brook being ignored or fobbed off. They’d argued before they left for the event and clearly she wasn’t forgiven yet.

 

Millie stifled a sigh and tried not to drift back into that mindset. There was no point getting defensive again. The fight was her fault. She shouldn’t have been so abrupt. It came off like she was dictating and it was little wonder Lizzie took umbrage. But she couldn’t stand the idea of her sister getting anywhere near the modelling industry and it was hard to make her understand why. Frustration got the better of her. For so long she’d shielded her from the nasty details – telling them to her now might have the desired effect of putting her off, but would open a whole other can of worms in the bargain. So she was stuck and she’d handled it wrong.

 

It was less than ideal - yet another disagreement on top of the strange incident after the Ball. Millie still wasn’t sure what that episode was about. Felicity’s prediction that she’d open up in the morning had been off base. Her best bet was that Lizzie had been offloading about their family situation. She feared her shortcomings as a sister might have been part of it. Insight into her thinking was sorely lacking at the moment.

 

After a tense, snippy conversation over breakfast where Lizzie clammed up she gave up trying – maybe too easily. They both seemed to mutually agree to drop the subject (and then Justin turned up, preventing any further raise of it). That plan wasn’t working so great, she thought ruefully. Tension simmered.

 

The city rolled past the windows of the town car, and her eyes drifted out. The crowds couldn’t see her through the tinted windows but she could see them. Sometimes that felt like a metaphor for life.

 

“About?” Lizzie repeated.

 

Another sigh swallowed, Millie shifted in her seat to face her. “I’m still not sure this was a good idea. If our sperm donor didn’t realise you were with me before he will now.”

 

Although they’d been back together for a few weeks, she purposely kept her sister away from the paparazzi. They couldn’t hide her forever; a short while to get her bearings was as much as they could ask. Today, however, Lizzie insisted on attending a Prada event with her. They were dressed similarly and she suspected that wasn’t an accident. The two sisters looking so alike and co-ordinated made a statement. Millie couldn’t believe it would go unnoticed. As much as she tried to tell herself they were out of reach, she found it hard to trust that it would go unpunished.

 

She hated herself for that. She hated herself for still being afraid.

 

“So? Fuck him. We both have what’s ours and he can’t hurt us any more.”

 

“It’s just… I worry about you burning bridges, that’s all.”

 

“With that wanker?”

 

“With everybody he can influence,” Millie said. “I mean I know he was going to find out at some point but I think maybe we should have planned and done it a bit more carefully, that’s all.”

 

“You’re such a worry wart. Chill out and just enjoy flipping him the V.”

 

She bit her tongue, trying to curb exasperation. “Darling, you have no idea how hard the bastard can make life. You’re better off than I was because at least you have money and choices…”

 

“And you didn’t?”

 

She snorted. “I had a name and a body.”

 

“And look at you now.”

 

“Yes, look at me now,” she snapped. “Still in that corner and struggling to get out before I’m yesterday’s news. This is why I keep telling you to think first.”

 

“You mean to sit and hesitate until I decide to play it safe with you. God, you need a damn backbone. You wouldn’t let him hang himself even though he so richly deserved it, you won’t take any risks with Beth, and now you don’t want to be seen in public with your own sister because you’re sitting around obsessing about what his irrelevant arse thinks. I say this with love, but you need to grow a pair.”

 

“Lizzie…” Millie breathed heavily, struggling to keep some measure of calm. “You don’t know the half of what went on and if you did you’d understand.”

 

“Then tell me.”

 

“That’s not the point.”

 

“You mean it’s one of the umpteen secrets you don’t want to tell me. That’s fine, you just keep sitting there blaming me for not understanding when you won’t sodding clue me in.”

 

 “God, you’re so bloody bull-headed,” Millie said. Her hands smoothed her hair back from her forehead, nails scraping a touch too hard along her scalp. “You get it from him.”

 

“Fuck you,” she snarled.

 

That was a cardinal error. Suggesting any similarity with their father was the lowest blow possible.

 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

 

She pushed strands of hair out of her eyes. Funnily enough the do was yet another Lizzie masterpiece - the very bone of contention.

 

It wasn’t that she thought her sister would make a bad stylist. On the contrary, she seemed to have a knack for hair. That didn’t make it a good idea. Millie knew that industry. She knew how hard it was to get to the level where catwalk shows and celebrity clients were on the books. Her sister had money and options. She didn’t need to get sucked into her world where the whispers would be of nepotism and of not being pretty enough to follow in big sister’s path. It wouldn’t be true but that wouldn’t stop them.

 

Ruefully she realised that she was attempting to wrap the girl in cotton wool. It would never work. Could she be blamed for trying?

 

“Look, darling, I don’t want to fight.” Weariness crept into her voice. “I worry about you, that’s all. You’ve been through enough and I want from now on to be more secure for you.”

 

“Mill…” Lizzie still looked steamed, but her visage was softening and the voice becoming gentler. “You need to accept that you weren’t there, alright? I know it wasn’t your fault, but being extra overprotective and stifling now isn’t going to make up for the past. It’s done. You can’t change it, so get over it. I’ll be fine; you don’t need to smother me.”

 

This time it was her lip she bit. Tears wanted to well up but she wouldn’t allow them. That one cut to the bone.

 

“Are we fighting about this launch still or is this really all about the stylist thing?”

 

“I’m multi-tasking.”

 

She shouldn’t laugh. Kind of wanted to even in the midst of their angst, but this was not the time. She couldn’t help the urge though – if nothing else, Lizzie was a wit.

 

“Are you really that determined?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“What if…” Ideas were ticking over in her mind. “How about I do you a deal?”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“I make a call, see if I can get you an internship at a salon – somewhere static where you can have a routine and actually make some friends and some roots. Make us both happy. Then if after a while you haven’t been completely put off I’ll put my hands up and you can go into the industry if you want.”

 

“As if it’s your call to decide if I do or not?”

 

“You know that’s not what I meant. I meant with my blessing.”

 

Lizzie mulled this over. It wasn’t what she wanted – which was to keep travelling with her sister, who stubbornly refused. She didn’t understand why she thought fashion was such a terrible thing. Obviously the beginning was difficult – but things clearly worked out (and Lizzie would have a leg up that Millie hadn’t, so likely wouldn’t face the same trouble). Now it was a life that brought her fame, fortune and the chance to play with the cosmetics she loved so much on a daily basis. Chances to travel, to see the world, to finally be with the family she’d been deprived of… it sounded like heaven to Lizzie. She wasn’t bothered about the fame but as for the rest of it? She wanted in. And seeing as hair was the only talent she seemed to have, why not make her living out of it?

 

Screw her sister’s ideas of yet more school and being stuck in one place. Lizzie was tired of being shipped off to school. That was her father’s favourite trick.

 

For all those yearnings, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew to pick her battles. Millie was overbearingly protective and troubled about her career prospects. The lecture about needing stability and to find a life in her new country was so familiar she could recite it verbatim. This was the best concession she was likely to get – and Emilia the supermodel had connections. If she played along she’d probably get a better job out of it than she would on her own, even with the Adair-Hamilton name.

 

Her big sister was acting out of love, she knew that. It was still frustrating. A few words of caution weren’t a bad thing, but Millie made even the most avoidable pitfalls sound like insurmountable obstacles of doom. It was maddening. It also wasn’t helped by the fact that she was still used to acting like a substitute parent. Lizzie would need to hold her ground a few more times before Millie realised she was an adult with opinions and not an impetuous child. 

 

“Aright, deal… but only if you agree to let me cut your hair.”

 

“What? Where did that come from? No!”

 

“You’re the one who keeps complaining about it. And if I need to score a job, what better advert than doing your hair? You said you’ve loved my work.”

 

Unconsciously Millie’s hand went to her long hair, which was currently swept up in an intricate mess of braids. “I do, but an up do is way different than letting you hack at my hair with scissors when you’re untrained! Besides, I can’t, I’m contractually bound.”

 

“Only for another eight weeks.”

 

“During which I have to shoot an ad campaign!”

 

“And what better ad for their overrated hair spray than a stylish new do? Besides what could they do with eight weeks to go, fire you?”

 

“Umm, they could sue me. A lot.”

 

How on Earth had this gone from Millie setting the terms to Lizzie steamrolling over her with something unrelated? This wasn’t even what they were fighting about!

 

“Come on, sis. Quid pro quo. You show me you’ve still got some rebellion in you and I will bow down to your incessant lecturing about security.”

 

“Lizzie, stop messing around.”

 

“I’m dead serious. It’ll give me a calling card to get into a decent salon, like you want me to. And it’ll help you remember that the sky won’t fall in if you do what you want instead of what everybody else does for a change. You were the one complaining that you didn’t own your own image any more.”

 

There was nothing more annoying than knowing the person you disagreed with had a point.

Millie

 

Felicity is practically howling. Actual tears are running down her face, and she’s waving her hand in front of it like a fan.

 

“Oh my God I love that kid. That’s amazing.”

 

“If you like the idea so much she can do you instead of me.”

 

“Hey, evidence is she’s pretty good.” She reaches out and tugs one of the loose strands around my face. “And if she isn’t your stylist will fix it. You’ll be fine.”

 

I don’t know what moment of madness made me call Felicity, but I’m so glad I did. I asked to meet for a quick drink and some advice about Lizzie. It was one large lump of pride to swallow, but worth it. We’ve moved from a bar to dinner to another bar and we’re still going. We’re only now getting onto the actual purpose of meeting because we were so busy catching up. I can’t believe I forgot how much fun she is.

 

It hurts to admit I don’t know how to handle Lizzie, but I don’t. We’re the archetypal eldest versus youngest. I’m Miss Play-it-Safe and she’s gung ho to rush in where angels fear to tread. Our mindsets are so opposite it gets obstructive; we talk at cross-purposes. It’s so aggravating and… grr. Felicity seemed like my only option. They’ve been in touch all this time and she knows a portion of the gory details. She’s the only person who could give advice.

 

It was awkward at first. I tried to go straight onto the topic but we were too stilted. We needed to clear the air so we talked about what happened between us. It’s amazing that for how much animosity Felicity had towards me she got it so quickly. There might as well have been a light bulb over her head - when I told her my side it was like you could see the eureka moment. She squeezed my hand and told me it was alright.

 

And that was it, forgiven and over with. Some things never change; she’s always been like that. Some people get confused, think the way she can go from volcanic rage to being your best friend again is moody or irrational, but to me it’s one of her best qualities. She’s not precious about re-evaluating her standpoint. If she’s wrong she’ll admit it. The grudge wasn’t for the hell of it or out of habit; it was because she was still offended. 

 

It’s not that I’ve forgotten how petty she could be or how mean some of her comments were. She can be petty and bitchy – and bratty and demanding and all manner of things. She’s a diva. But when all’s said and done… under there is a loving person. She stuck by Lizzie all this time. Despite our issues, she didn’t hesitate to put them aside and come see me for her. All she needed to forgive me for my part in things was to know I was sorry. That’s a friend worth having, in my book. 

 

We didn’t stop after that. She told me her side, we hugged it out, and then we gossiped for several hours. As it turns out we’re making a night of it so it’s a good job I came almost straight from the Prada launch. I’m still dressed up with little sis’s styling magic. We are now at the latest and greatest nightspot (New York has a new one every week), sitting on stools at the bar and drinking cocktails.

 

“They’re going to kill me,” I moan.

 

“Oh please, worst they’ll do is have a little bitch fit. So who cares?” She picks up her mojito and takes a sip. “Go on - be the renegade. Besides, they’ll calm down as soon as the media outlets start lapping it up.”

 

“That assumes they will.”

 

“Of course they will.” She snorts. It’s easy for her to say as she’s flicking that glossy curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. The one that isn’t under threat from my sister.

 

“I’m not so sure.”

 

“You could walk out wearing burlap and they’d call you cutting edge. Until about three pm this afternoon that was a source of industrial grade irritation for me.”

 

I drop my head to her shoulder for a moment, cackling loudly. “God I missed you.”

 

She rubs my arm. “So you should. I’m incredible. Seriously though, this has been an eye opener for me. I mean I’ve been papped before just on my own and then with Justin, but with you tonight it’s something else. Like, worse than with him.”

 

“Really? Worse?”

 

That’s depressing. I would’ve thought he was more famous than me. Then again, I suppose media tends to like reporting on what women are wearing more than men? I don’t know.

 

“Lucky for me, I was so determined to one up you earlier I dressed up.” She winks and I laugh again.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you always look well put together. Which, by the way, until three this afternoon pissed me off too.”

 

That was the right thing to say. She grins, puckers her nude painted lips and makes a kissing noise at me. She’s looking very Audrey Hepburn in comparison to the boho-meets-biker-chick Lizzie put me in earlier. It’s all flower child hair but the lips are fire engine red and the outfit’s black leather and lace. I hate to admit it given our fight but she did a bang up job.

 

“You know, I almost feel bad. I gave JT so much shit about working with you and now we’re all made up.”

 

“Well it must’ve been weird to have me professionally make out with your boyfriend.” 

 

“Eh.” She waves her hand again, but this time it’s flippant. “I’m sure he’s told you we were casual.”

 

“Yeah. I don’t get that.”

 

“Oh, he and I would never work.” Felicity’s nose wrinkles and she pulls a face. “Everything we like about each other would drive us insane long term but it was fun. I needed something to pass the time until Sébastien stops fucking around.”

 

I can’t help it; the snark spills out unbidden. “Figuratively or literally?”

 

“Both,” she snorts.

 

“Why the hell do you put up with that useless frog?” I know the frog remark is below the belt but I’m English. We’re genetically coded to resent the French, Agincourt and all that. “You’d never stand for anybody else continually buggering off to screw other women!”

 

“Oh it’s what he does – like, he knows he’s going to end up with me eventually, but every once in a while his mom gets in his head and makes him think he needs to go find a nice European girl. But he can never live without me too long, especially if he gets word that I’m looking happy elsewhere.” A self-satisfied smile spreads over her lips. “He haaaates Justin. Funny enough these little flits of his got a hell of a lot shorter since he’s been on the scene.”

 

I shake my head. “I will never get it.”

 

“That’s because you’re a typical British prude. It’s so cute!”

 

I playfully slap her wrists at her condescending tone.

 

“Seriously though, he’s starting to talk more long term which is why I gave it up. I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him but if he’s finally getting his act together… though speaking of getting their act together, you know I’m waiting for JT to ask you out right?”

 

“What?” That was not a turn of conversation I expected. I swing my leg against the stool. “No, it’s not like that.”

 

“Like hell it’s not.” Felicity gives me this evil smirk. I can’t believe she’s talking like that about the possibility of me and her ex. And this after she’s admitted she was pissed about me even working with him.

 

“It’s not!”

 

“Hey, it may not be true love forever but it’s a spark and you know it.”

 

“I do not know that!” Okay, maybe I’m lying on my side, remembering that massage, but I know Justin isn’t interested. He’s never been anything but friendly. “Besides, Lizzie hates him for some reason.”

 

“You’re so clueless!” She exclaims. “Lizzie hates him because she sees it.”

 

“What? That makes no sense!”

 

“Sure it does.” She sips her drink again. “You got to remember sweetie that your sister’s been dealing for years with the way other people look at you. She’s had your dick father in one ear treating you like a she-devil and the rest of the world treating you like Helen of fricking Troy. Both comparing her to you. It’s a head fuck.”

 

You always know when Felicity’s starting to turn tipsy because she starts swearing more than usual. It’s her tell. Now we’re twenty seven that’s fine but when we were underage drinking at fourteen it was a problem.

 

This however has brought us back to our original topic, so I’m listening intently.

 

“She’s hypersensitive to this stuff. She can see Justin trying to work you out and she’s territorial, that’s all. She wants you to herself for a while.”

 

I can’t help sighing. I stir the little straw around my drink, giving the melting ice a forlorn stare. “I know, that’s why I worry about her. I know why she’s so desperate to spend all her time with me but it’s not good for her.”

 

“Well that’s why letting her do this internship would be good for her,” she says. “Give her some independence and a direction. And leave you free to go have a little fun with the boy.”

 

I nearly spit out my drink. “Did you just tell me to go shag your ex?”

 

“Yep. I can vouch for him, he’s good. Dancer’s hips ya know.”

 

“Oh my God…”

 

“Seriously, babe, you need to loosen up and have some fun. I can’t see you two waltzing off into the sunset together but he’s a good guy and he’ll get you out of that stuffy English shell of yours. Now I don’t hate you any more I totally approve, he’d be a very healthy fling for you. Way better than all these self-obsessed actors you’ve been dating.”

 

“Oh, so you kept up with my love life?” She gets a pointed glare.

 

“Hey, I read Tatler. And then once you’ve had a little fun I need to introduce you to Sébastien’s friend Alessandro who is tall and rich and Italian enough to be your happy ever after. But you definitely need to work out a few kinks first.”

 

“You know, we’ve only been friends again for…” I check my watch. “About seven and a half hours. I think it’s a bit early for you to be passing me your cast offs. Which by the way is supremely weird.”  

 

“Why? Everybody’s got an ex in the background. At least you know his is fabulous, clean and non-psycho.”

 

“I’m not convinced about that last one.”

 

With manicured finger nails she pinches the back of my hand. “Bitch!”

 

“Besides, we’re friends. He’s not interested.”

 

I see from her feline smile Felicity took that as an admission I am. I don’t care enough to argue that toss.

 

“Oh sweetie, you’re a complete fox and he’s a man. You’d only have to crook your finger and he’d try it. Or heck, don’t wait for him to try - just jump him. I bet he’d like that even better.”

 

You know what? I am not drunk enough for this conversation. I need another drink and given how much she’s grossing me out I think it’s only fair that Felicity buys.

I know I should probably feel guilty about this, but I don’t.

 

“Alright, I’m out JT.”

 

Or maybe now I do.

 

“You sure man?” I lift my head up from the guitar and look at Trace. “It’s only eleven; we could go grab some drinks if you want.”

 

“And have you sit there not paying attention and tapping out beats on your fingers? Been there, done that, and it was way too fuckin’ boring to buy the t-shirt.”

 

Trace claps his hands against his thighs like he’s putting a non-negotiable period on the end of that sentence. I won’t press him. Not least because he’s probably right. It’s the musician’s curse, when a song hits it’s hard to step away from it. I felt no shame until he said that and I realised I’d driven him out.

 

“We still on for Thursday or will I still be boring?”

 

“You’re always kinda boring but I graciously hang out with you anyway,” he says as he stands up and grabs his room key from the coffee table. “I’ll drop by around twelve.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“You better have it out of your system by then or I’m not gonna be so nice about it.”

 

“This was you being nice?”

 

I grin at him. He flips me the finger before turning and heading out the door. Before I’ve even drawn my next breath my gaze is back on the guitar and my fingers are strumming again. The melody is coming together but it won’t fully click in until the words do. Odd lines run through my head but nothing’s sticking yet. I don’t write down lyrics for that reason. Putting them on paper makes them stick harder; my theory is it’s a better test if they stick mentally first.

 

The tune is shaping up soft and wistful. That’s funny because the other day I said to Tim that I was ready to rock out on the next one. Sometimes my muse decides to pull a left turn on me. I love that though, keeps life interesting. The way my hands instinctively start to pick the thing out before I’m aware of what it is, the way I can turn some imagining in my head into an actual piece of my art - I live for it.

 

“Think you can disguise…”

 

This is a huge room. I’m alone. It’s real unlikely my neighbours can hear me. Yet I’m still more mumbling than singing. It’s weird; I do that even in my soundproof studio at home.

 

“But I see through the lies, behind those Elvis eyes…”

 

Oh I like that rhythm, that image too. I think it’s coming.

 

I sit and sing those lines over and over again, and all the while I start to build a picture in my mind about the story I want to tell. I’m building a girl, giving her a back story. In my head she has a name, a face, a job - even the scent she wears, I’ve got it logged. From all of these things I’ll start to pull out what I need to make the song. Half of the stuff I dream up will never make it in; it’s way more than I could fit into four minutes (or even seven or eight). It’s necessary though to understand what I need to say.

 

Once that’s done, all that’s left is to give me a character and decide what he’s trying to say to her. How long that takes depends on how fast my brain is working. Sometimes I can get a song in an hour because it’s coming that fast. Other times I can spend an entire morning doing what I’m doing now, building the basics.

 

Unless of course there’s a knock on the door. Guess Trace changed his mind. Is it bad that I resent the interruption? Maybe I should care more about people and time interacting with actual human beings, but when the lightning starts to hit I need to be in the zone.

 

When I get to the door though it’s not Trace. It’s Millie. I thought she was going back to LA today, guess I misheard. I’m headed back myself tomorrow.

 

“Hey,” I say.

 

“Sorry, I know it’s late, but can I be really cheeky and hang out here for a bit?”

 

She’s wide-eyed and slightly dishevelled. Red lipstick has faded from her mouth, staining her lips. Little pieces of blonde hair are falling out of her style and she looks really pretty in this lace thing, a leather jacket slung over her arm. Is she maybe tipsy? She’s not full on drunk, not wobbling or slurring her words, but she’s definitely showing some wear around her edges.

 

So much for that drink quota of hers. Between the ball and tonight she obliterated it.

 

“Umm, sure…”

 

I step back and gesture her in with my arm. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to give but I give it without hesitation. This isn’t a great time, but if she’s asking there’s a reason. Felicity’s the type to do this on a whim but Millie isn’t. I don’t want to be the dick who says no.

 

“Thanks.”

 

She walks on in, gets a few steps past me and stops. That’s unfortunate because she’s blocking the door and I can’t get back in the room. Instead I’m forced to wait as she bends over to unbuckle the straps on her sandals. A lesser man would stare at her ass in those tight pants, but I don’t. If only because unlike lesser men I still have a song distracting me.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“Oh.” I can only see part of her face from her angle but I think she rolled her eyes. “Getting away from sibling drama. I’d forgotten what it’s like.”

 

“Sorry, only child. Can’t relate.”

 

Millie stands up and unceremoniously kicks off her shoes. For a moment I think she’s going to leave them there, which would bug the crap out of me, but she picks them up and tucks them neatly off to one side. Thank God. People always look at me weird when I pick up after them but I can’t help it. I hate having shit lying around like that.

 

“You’d think she’d be happy, I mean, she’s been pestering me to make up with Liss for ages. But no, apparently it’s a bad thing unless she knows before I do. Just couldn’t be bothered listening to any more of it.”

 

Oh Lord. Am I going to have to give up song writing to listen to girl drama instead? Please no.

 

Wait…

 

“Liss? As in Felicity?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You two made up?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Wow. I would’ve put money on that never happening. Hell, if I repeated some of the stuff Felicity’s said to Millie I could have guaranteed it never happening. But hey, good for them being all adult and shit.

 

“So Lizzie for whatever reason is pissed you went out without her and now you’re hiding in here?”

 

“Excellent summary,” she says as she plants herself on the back of the sofa and slides down over it, falling onto the cushions. Walking around to the front and sitting down in the traditional way is not a thing tonight, I guess.

 

“Well that’s weird… why?”

 

The answer I get is rambling and incoherent. The more she talks, the more it sounds like Lizzie had every right to be pissed. It sounds like they had plans but instead Millie went missing for several hours without so much as a ‘don’t wait up’ and worried the crap out of her. There’s no point at which I can interject with this perspective because she hasn’t taken a breath. She’s still going.

 

“There are also some ongoing arguments about what she’s planning to do with her life and why I’m going anywhere without her and her forcing me to cut my hair, but you don’t give a shit.”

 

“Uhh…” I didn’t follow much of that but I don’t think that last part was good. No clue how to answer it though.

 

“It’s alright; no sane person would give a shit.” It’s weird how perky her tone is right now – incongruous with her words. Time to double down on that ‘tipsy’ bet. “It’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid if it’s bugging you.”

 

“It can be both.”

 

Her shoulders give an exaggerated shrug. Her nose and mouth twist together and she crosses her eyes. As annoyed as I was at the interruption, I can’t help laughing at her. I knew she was a few years younger than me but tonight she looks it. This is abnormally loose for her and she’s entertaining like this. She had better be if it’s going to put the kibosh on my work.

 

“Anything you want to talk about?”

 

“No. Think I just need to accept that sometimes the gods don’t wanna let you get your way.”

 

I choose to sit down in the armchair like a normal human being instead of falling over the back. I prop my feet up and settle in, trying not to look like I’m scrutinising her. I totally am (pretty much always) but it’s better not to stare at people like they’re test subjects.

 

“Universe picking on ya?”

 

“Lizzie’s planning my schedule, Liss is now planning my love life, I was hoping I could at least plan my business but apparently that’s not happening either. I can either let it drive me crazy or I can say fuck it. So fuck it. I’ll accept my lot and hang out with you instead.”

 

I’m trying to take that as a compliment. It’s hard to be flattered in that context.

 

“Not that I’m not honoured to be your back up plan and all, but what’s up with the business if it’s got you waving the white flag?”

 

“Oh just the fun and games of being an entrepreneur, sure you have plenty of experience. Hey, were you playing that?”

 

Her index finger is pointing at my guitar.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Why else does she think I’d have it out? And if she thinks I didn’t notice that was a classic Emilia dodge she’s dead wrong.

 

“Can you play it again?”

 

“It’s a song I’m working on; I barely even got a few lines yet.”

 

“Is that a hint you don’t do sneak peeks?”

 

“Not usually.”

 

“If I bat my eyelashes and look pitiful would you do it to cheer me up?”

 

One look at her and I give in. Not because she looks pitiful but because she looks absurd. She’s blinking so fast at me it’s like somebody’s shining a strobe light in her eyes. I reach out and grab the instrument, settling it back on my lap.

 

“I’ll do it just to stop whatever the hell you’re doing with your face.”

 

Since there’s so little of it I have to play the same part two or three times to even make it worth the while. It’s not familiar enough yet to play without looking, but my eyes steal upwards a couple of times to sneak a look at her reaction. It’s funny how serious her expression’s gone all of a sudden - not in a frowning way but she’s listening hard. I enjoy people who listen hard, as a musician it’s gratifying.

 

“That’s really pretty,” she says when I’m done, “but why are you singing about sex eyes?”

 

A soft chuckle escapes from the base of my throat. “Elvis eyes aren’t sex eyes.”

 

“You kidding me? That stare of his was like liquid sex.”

 

“Yeah, he could look sexy and all, but that’s not what it is.” Reflexively I keep plucking at the strings. “Elvis eyes is when somebody’s gaze is real intense, like they could look at you only to ask the time and you’d still feel like they’re burning holes through you.”

 

“Oh, I get you. Naturally piercing or smouldering or whatever.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Her lips purse together and up, as if she’s musing over a thought. The lipstick is so faded that it looks like somebody had her up against a wall for a serious make out session. She narrows her eyes at me, studying my face.

 

“You kind of have Elvis eyes.”

 

“Aww shucks.” She’s gon’ make me blush. That kind of comment will make you bashful.

 

“You do though. It’s actually quite unnerving.”

 

Umm… okay. Now I’m less pleased.

 

“I unnerve you?”

 

“Not you in general, you’re groovy.” Millie reaches out and pats my arm while I shake my head at the adjective. “The stare.”

 

I fail to see the distinction. “Okay…”

 

“It’s like you said, that whole looking through you thing. Like you’ve got everyone all worked out and at any given moment we could be schooled on our BS.”

 

You got to figure that for ‘we’ and ‘our’ I should hear ‘I’ and ‘my.’ It would make sense. Not out of any idea that I’m some super perceptive mind reader who has everyone clocked (though I like to think I’m a good judge of people). More because she would get unnerved any time she gets a notion her walls are being breached.

 

We’re all screwed up in our own ways. As seemingly perfect as Millie is (and as fixated as I’ve been on unravelling the mystery) I never expected her to be any different. Even so, her way is weird. She’s so calm and slick and confident all the time, like the definition of having it together, but only because she’s holding in so much. I have this image of her in a kitchen; she’s standing at the stove putting every ounce of body weight into keeping a lid on this humungous pot. Like she’s pressing down with all her might to keep a lid on this boiling cauldron of crap.

 

Or maybe that’s not so strange and would describe most people on the planet.

 

“Well you definitely have Elvis eyes,” I say. “No kind of about it.”

 

Time to turn the tables - the pink that goes to her cheeks makes me feel better. Call it a little friendly revenge.

 

“Amazing what good eyeliner can do.”

 

“Of course according to you that means you have sex face…” I tease.

 

It’s the wrong move; such a blatant tease reminds her that this back and forth is a game we’re playing. She knows how to play as well as I do. Now I’ve clued her in I can’t embarrass her any more this way.

 

“Difference being I get paid obscene amounts of money for mine.”

 

“And I’m stuck schilling songs instead.” I add another quick burst on the guitar to underline. “Sucks to be me.”

 

Millie doesn’t respond to that, but the look on her face seems to say ‘me too.’ Her finger goes to her bottom lip. She’s tracing it back and forth with her nail.

 

“I expected some kind of withering British retort. Did leave myself wide open.”

 

More silence. I refrain from sighing. Instead my fingers scratch at the back of my head. This is one of those moments when I don’t know how to coax it out of her. Maybe I should be blunt instead?

 

“Obviously something’s bugging you.”

 

Her jaw juts out, like she’s clenching her mouth too tight. “Why do I feel like every conversation we have turns into some kind of therapy session?”

 

I shrug, my thumb drifting over the strings again. The noise is so soft it’s almost inaudible. “That’s what you get for repressing everything instead venting like a normal person. Might be easier if you just talked.”

 

“What, as though you’re my closest confidant? I’ve barely known you a few months.”

 

“How about as though I’m your friend who’s interested and could maybe try to help? Or is there some kind of minimum service period before I’m allowed to give a rat’s ass?”

 

If I’m being fair she did come in here wanting to get away from it. Trouble is I’m not inclined to be fair. I know I border on obsessive about these blocks she puts up but it’s because they bug the living daylights out of me. What is she hiding all the time? What could be so bad? We’ve all got our baggage. What does she think I’ll do, turn away in disgust? I like her, she’s a friend. That’s not how I work.

 

Her neat nails (a soft peach shade) pluck at a loose thread on the lace.

 

“What do you want me to say, Justin? Yeah I could sit here and whine at you about how it’s hard to communicate with Lizzie, or my dad messing with the business or how pissed she is about me leaving again or how I’m going to get her this internship I promised or any of it. But how’s it going to help?”

 

“Back up…” It was thrown in the middle of the list like it was nothing, but it’s the first I heard of it. “Your dad’s on the scene?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“Kind of?” Do I look as stupid as I sound right now? That’s confusing as all hell. “Either he is or he isn’t, there’s not a lot of grey there.”

 

It is weird how clearly different emotions and feelings can come through the same gestures. You could narrow your eyes for all kinds of reasons. Right now she’s doing it and yet somehow you can see the resentment. Maybe at me for pushing or maybe at her dad, who knows?

 

“Through subsidiaries and blah blah he has a major stake in the conglomerate that keeps buying out our prospects. It could be a coincidence.”

 

“Do you believe that?”

 

“I don’t know what I think.” She slumps further down in her seat. The expression softens, but I think I preferred the scowl to the defeat now setting in. “He’s always had some beauty companies in his portfolio and acquiring is what he does, so it’s plausible. I just know that if Lizzie finds out she’ll assume the worst and hit the roof and have another go at me for not declaring war on him when I had the chance.”

 

“You are way more reasonable about him than he deserves.” That hurt to say; agreeing with Lizzie is painful right now. I’m still pissed at her.

 

“I don’t see what it would gain me. Besides, if you want to play tit for tat he’ll win every time. It doesn’t even matter, really, the effect’s the same. I’m still stuck.”

 

Her fingers start busying themselves pulling out hair pins and yanking down her hair do. It’s not a short task, whatever her sister did was intricate. As distractions go I don’t think it’s a very good one.

 

“You know…” My thumb keeps twitching back and forth, but it doesn’t make contact with the strings this time. “I find it weird how somebody as confident and smart as you are is so ready to give up all the time.”

 

Millie’s eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

 

“Purposely or not, he’s closed off these avenues? So go find some he can’t, even if you have to adjust some plans. Find some investors he won’t target. Heck, invest yourself, whatever, you’ve got the smarts to work something out. But it’s like when you wouldn’t talk to Beth or you’re letting Lizzie dictate to you about your own freakin’ head… it’s like you think you have no control over anything or that if it doesn’t work first time that’s it. It’s not that the gods don’t want you to have your way; it’s that you act like you’re powerless.”

 

She is way too silent right now. That’s not good.

 

“Please don’t take offence to that.” I’m tripping over my own tongue trying to mitigate this. “I’m saying it totally out of respect for you as a friend, because I know what you’re capable of.”

 

There are many things about Millie that can be intimidating. On the shallow level she is stunningly beautiful. There’s also the upper crust accent that somehow makes everything she says sound ten times smarter. I’ve talked before about the confidence she walks into a room with and the way she’s so seemingly insouciant.

 

One thing that gets me though is the way she can be so silent. Most people will rush to fill a pause that’s too long. It’s human nature. People get uncomfortable and they’ll start babbling. If you know how to play it, it’s a great way to get them making concessions or trying to placate you. I’d hate to see Millie in a negotiation for that reason. If she hasn’t got anything to say, or she wants the time to consider, she’s fine to sit there without a word. You have no idea what she’s thinking and it doesn’t bother her in the slightest that you’re squirming.

 

When she finally opens her mouth to speak again, the words drag in an agonising trail. “Like I said. Schooled at any given moment. Anyway, I’ve kept you up long enough so I’ll say goodnight.”

 

My protests and faltering apologies fall on a deaf ear as she gets up and strides towards the exit like a gazelle. None of my stuttering attempts to ask her to wait are heeded. There isn’t even a pause to get her shoes, in one fluid motion she scoops them up from the floor without missing a step. She pulls the door open and leaves while I stand here gaping.

 

And you know what the worst thing is? She’s so calm and silent and gives so few fucks about my discomfort that I have no idea whether she’s mad at me or not.

 

In Millie’s judgment, whoever came up with the recipe for humble pie was a terrible cook. It tasted like sawdust.

 

Justin was right.

 

She hated that he was right.

 

The fact remained… the bastard was right.

 

What irritated her was that she couldn’t even be angry with him for being so excruciatingly on the money. It was exactly what she’d been so wary of – his sharp mind and ability to take agonising chunks of ego out with it – but he was so nice in the process. How did anybody manage that? How could you be so cutting and yet complimentary all at once?

 

He’d been at great pains to apologise. The texts and missed calls were non-stop. She felt bad for not answering but she wasn’t intentionally avoiding him. She was rushed off her feet. First there was the travel to LA and then there was an endless parade of meetings. Every time she picked up her phone to reply she was interrupted by an incoming call.

 

“Emilia, over here!”

 

“How you liking the new look?”

 

“What made you do it?”

 

“Over here!”

 

The phone calls originated from the same source as the renewed paparazzi attention – she was the hot topic in the media at the moment. She was only walking down the street to drop her borrowed gems back to the store and it was a circus. Her faithful shadows were right behind her, snapping away. Thankfully a pair of oversized glasses was enough to hide her face.

 

She’d brought it all on herself by capitulating to Lizzie before she left. Even after what Justin said about letting her sister dictate, she felt she had a point. She’d wanted to cut her hair for months. Her final decision was ‘bugger the contract.’ It was an angular bob, still longish in front but short and choppy in the back. As it turned out her sister did have prior experience – the enterprising little madam cut and styled everybody’s hair in the school dormitories and charged them for the privilege. Lizzie was lucky she was good; if it went wrong and somebody complained it probably would’ve got her suspended.

 

It almost got Millie suspended, figuratively speaking. The media mess and the behind the scenes flapping of her team was time consuming but L’Oreal calmed down after Felicity’s prediction came true. The magazines seemed to like it, so the bigwigs decided it was good publicity. They stopped blowing up her agent’s phone so he stopped blowing up hers.

 

Instead her phone was blowing up about her latest investment pitch… to Felicity’s father. Felicity wasn’t very impressed but that was Millie’s fault. She should have pre-warned her. She was in such a fever to follow through and get it going (Justin was to blame for lighting the fire under her) she didn’t stop to realise he’d probably quiz his daughter. So his daughter got blindsided with twenty questions.

 

If that happened before they made up she’d have been plotting her demise. Thankfully in their newly reformed friendship Felicity appreciated the method in her madness. Her dad’s business had nothing to do with cosmetics, which was a downside, but he’d been known to act as an angel investor before. Crucially it’d be a cold day in hell before any Adair-Hamilton company managed to acquire him. Once Felicity got the rant out of her system she was supportive.

 

“Emilia!”

 

It was a blessed relief to get inside. She was out of the literal and metaphorical heat. A wave of air conditioning hit her face and she breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Hi Ms Adair-Hamilton.”

 

The speaker was a neatly dressed lady with dark skin and a pleasant smile. Immediately she felt more at ease; she’d dealt with her before.

 

“Hi. It’s Patricia, yes?”

 

“That’s me.” That was another nice smile. “Are you bringing back or picking up?”

 

“Bringing back,” Millie said as she swung her over heavy shoulder bag onto the glass countertop. She needed to stop carrying her life around.

 

Digging inside, she picked up a black box which contained the sapphire cocktail ring she’d worn to the ball. It looked more expensive than it was – the really special stuff came with its own bodyguards and was yanked back off of her almost before she’d unclasped it. Nobody would trust her to take or bring anything back herself unless it was on the lower end of the price scale. She preferred that. Wearing the expensive pieces was less fun than you thought it would be. It was sheer nerves; one lost earring could be tens of thousands. It was supposed to be a perk of the job but she found it more stressful than anything.

 

“Okay, let me just call this up for you…” Accepting the box back, Patricia opened it up and pulled out the insert to check a serial number. Tapping it into her computer, she peered at the screen. “So it was only the ring this time, that’s great. Any problems, any knocks or wear and tear you noticed after you wore it?”

 

“No, that’s… oh, excuse me, I really have to take this.”

 

“No problem.”

 

While Patricia busied herself inspecting the ring, Millie dug in her bag for her ringing phone. She knew who it would be even without looking. He’d said he’d call around lunchtime. The boutique was too small to get out of earshot so she lowered her voice.

 

“Hello Mr Jameson.”

 

“People who’ve known me since they were tiny are not allowed to call me that.”

 

“Sorry, Robert.”

 

“That’s better. How you doing, kid?”

 

“Great, thank you. You?”

 

He sounded jovial and friendly. That was a good sign, right? She couldn’t tell. Trying to read the tone was doubly complicated by having a personal history with him.

 

“Can’t complain. Before I get started, Cath will kill me if I don’t ask if Felicity mentioned the Hamptons to you. She’s chomping at the bit to get you girls along; she’s desperate to see you both.”

 

“She did, yeah,” she said. She was too nervous to smile, but the corners of her mouth pricked up. Catherine was Felicity’s mother and she hadn’t seen her in years. “Lizzie is definitely in; I’m just waiting on my agent to confirm I’m not obliged elsewhere.”

 

“Perfect, let my girl know and she’ll fix everything with her mom. Anyway, I’m sure you know that’s not why I called and I’m killing you in suspense.”

 

“Now you mention it.” The light laugh disguised her discomfort.

 

“So first off, I want to repeat that I was really impressed with you and Beth. Like I said to you after, the plan needs some polish but it was pretty solid for first timers.”

 

“Thank you.” Inside her stomach was sinking. This sounded like he was easing in.

 

“That said… as much as I’d love to help you, and I’d particularly love to help you stick it to your old man, it’s not really my area. With the plans and other investments I’ve got in the works it doesn’t fit. I think you got the right idea but I’m the wrong investor so I’m going to have to say no. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“No, I completely understand.” Millie forced brightness into her voice. “You were doing me a huge favour even entertaining the idea, especially when it had been so long since we’d last spoken.”

 

“I’ve got other calls to make now, but when I’ve got some more time I’m more than happy to give you a call back and help you smooth out the edges.”

 

“Thank you Robert. That would be great.”

 

“Great, I’ll have my secretary set something up with you when I got some calendar space. But don’t be disheartened by this, kid, you got something there.”

 

“I won’t. Thank you, again, I really appreciate your help. And I’ll let Liss know about August.”

 

“Fantastic. Great to speak to you again and hopefully we’ll see you and Lizzie soon.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Her thumb hit the disconnect button and finally she allowed her face to fall. It wasn’t a total loss – his input would be invaluable and it was good to reconnect with Felicity’s family. Her dad was as good-humoured and accommodating as she remembered (though with plenty of grey peppered in his hair and more of a paunch). Still, she couldn’t help feeling like her options were swiftly draining away. Even if he helped her get a great pitch together who else was there to take it to?

 

Then she remembered herself. She pasted a more amiable expression back on before turning back to Patricia.

 

“So sorry about that. Is there anything else you need from me?”

 

“Just your signature on the sign in papers.”

 

Millie accepted the proffered pen and scribbled on the form. Picking it up, Patricia tore a carbon copy from the back and handed it to her.

 

“And this one’s yours. Anything else I can help you with today?”

 

“No thanks. Thank you so much for your help.”

 

“No problem, have a great day.”

 

“And you.”

 

Millie pulled her sunglasses back over her eyes and braced herself. Miraculously when she got outside the horde seemed to have disappeared. They must have got a better tip and decided they had enough pictures of her already. At least that gave her a bit of breathing room to mope in. Lord, she needed some more fun in her life. It seemed to be nothing but stress and headaches at the moment.

 

With that thought an idea popped into her head. For a moment she hesitated, but it didn’t take long to make the decision and dig her phone back out. Scrolling through her contacts she hit the name before she could change her mind.

 

“Hi, this is Justin. I can’t take your call right now so leave me a message.”

 

“Hi, it’s Millie. Guess what, I didn’t actually drop off the face of the Earth.” Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious that her joke was a masquerade. “Sorry I haven’t replied to your messages but things are ridiculous at the moment. I’m looking for a distraction so if you’re around do you fancy a drink and we can catch up? Give me a ring and let me know, I’ll speak to you later. Bye.”

Millie

 

Maybe my sister’s right. Maybe I need more backbone. I’ve been at Justin’s house for several hours now. There’s been plenty of social lubrication (i.e. alcohol). The going is as good as it’ll ever be. This would be the time to follow through and do what I came here to do. The trouble is I feel stupid. That in itself is stupid. It’s the twenty first century. I am a successful woman who should have no problem initiating a conversation. The guy won’t bite. It’s not that big a deal.

 

I’m an over-thinker; that’s my weakness. I’m one of those people who don’t like doing things unless sure it’s going to go the right way. That’s all well and good but how many things in life come with that kind of guarantee? Sometimes you have to have some guts and take the risk. She’s right on that score.

 

My inner fusspot is raising several objections. It’s giving a monologue about why I’m doing it and how embarrassing it’ll be if it goes wrong. It’s telling me that I’m vulnerable after my professional knockback. I’m still discombobulated after the cutesy photo Felicity sent to reassure me she’s keeping an eye on Lizzie. They’re both curled up on a big white couch together in the brownstone, glasses of wine in hand, looking like the real siblings. Relaxed and snuggled in together. Being pals again hasn’t assuaged my jealousy on that score.

 

Who am I kidding? It’s not about Felicity. My problem is my inability to build relationships. For so long it’s been me against the world and all of a sudden I’m two. I have someone to let back in and no clue how to start. I never expected it would be easy or overnight, but who would think someone you love could be such a stranger?

 

So yes, I suppose an armchair psychologist could question my motives. They could make some comment about scrambling for assurances and not acting with forethought. But hell, didn’t Justin himself tell me to find another way? He has investments and contacts. He likes business ventures. I don’t want him to put his face on mine but he’s got to know somebody…

 

Or maybe I’m being dishonest with myself. Maybe I’m not saying anything because that’s not why I came. I’ve been overwrought lately and I’m boring myself as much as anybody else with it. Maybe I’m here for a plain old uncomplicated diversion.

 

And anyway, it’d be a shame to kill the mood. Justin invited me over for what he calls a ‘fuck the world’ day. Strictly casual wear, strictly beer and pretzels (lucky I have no more jobs this week – this guy is terrible for my health regime). We’ve made use of every childish rich boy toy he has in his house. He has a lot. He has a pool table and a putting green and quad bikes and all sorts. He ordered pizza, which we ate out on the deck, and now we’re drinking more beer in his home cinema. The chairs are really squishy; I’m curled up in a ball. My clothing is for once an unrestrictive t-shirt and pair of jean shorts.

 

Honestly, I haven’t been this comfortable in weeks. Business would only spoil the vibe.

 

“You know what I still don’t understand…” He pauses to munch on M&Ms. “If you were going to all that trouble to hide the kid, why the hell wouldn’t you change his name? Or was Skywalker their version of Smith or something?”

 

I give him a sideways glance and a mock scowl. “Don’t pick plot holes in my childhood.”

 

“Hey, there’s no hate here.”

 

It was sweet that he put it on for me. We were talking about the movies he’s done, which turned into movies we love. I mentioned that the Star Wars trilogy was my mother’s favourite and she used to show them to me when I was little. It was an odd choice for an aristocratic woman of her generation, but she was offbeat. It’s comical that she birthed such a straight laced daughter.

 

I take the final swig of my beer and shake my head. “Let’s keep it that way.”

 

“So now the galaxy’s saved and all, what do you want to do?”

 

I can’t believe he asked. It’s much too late to start anything else. I ought to go home - if only I wanted to. Here’s more fun.

 

“Well if we do much else I’ll have to intrude on your hospitality overnight,” I say.

 

“Does it look like I’m short on guest rooms?”

 

“Fair point well made.”

 

“So then,” he says, slouching back into his seat and giving me a lazy smile. “What do you want to do?”

 

Guess that’s settled. Hope he’s got some spare toiletries. I can do without my moisturising routine for one night but a good cleanser and a toothbrush are non-negotiable.

 

“Can we hide in here for a week or so?”

 

Justin chuckles, white teeth flashing at me. “What’s in the week you want to avoid?”

 

“Nothing in particular but seems a good length of time. If I could hide here and switch off my phone, maybe order in a massage therapist. That would suit me fine.”

 

“You could do that in your own house, ya know.”

 

“But people know where I live. Nobody’s looking for me here.”

 

“Ah, I get you.” Justin reaches over my armrest and makes a playful tweak of my toes. The magenta polish is starting to chip. “You’re an outlaw.”

 

“Busted.”

 

“If I turn you in is there a reward?”

 

“I’m sure my agent would arrange something.” I try not to scowl. My agent is a perfectly nice, competent man. It’s not his fault I’m fed up of travelling.

 

“Nah. I always liked me a bad girl.”

 

Justin winks a lascivious eye and I burst out laughing. The line’s not funny but me as a bad girl is. As evidenced by how easily scandalised I am, I’m a bit of a fuddy-duddy.

 

“Oh yeah. I’m a veritable Mata Hari.”

 

“Yeah yeah, play innocent.” The lighting is dim in here, so his eyes appear more of an inky blue than their usual cerulean. Even so you can’t miss the mischievous gleam. “You can pretend you’re all proper and shit but you respectable types are the biggest freaks.”

 

I will never totally understand why he and Liss were together, but occasionally I see glimmers. That was such a Felicity comment. If only he knew she holds the same opinion and told me to exercise said urges on his person. Then again, he’s kind of a pervert. He’d probably get a kick out of it.

 

“You’re pulling my leg.”

 

“True.” Ugh, he’s put on that mock accent again. “You’re about as bad as tea and crumpets.”

 

For that he gets a jab to the ribs. “Excuse you, I may be a nice young lady but that doesn’t mean I’m not a bad ass when the occasion calls.”

 

“Please – I ain’t seen you do one bad thing since we met. Not even with a ton of tequila shots down your throat.”

 

“Ten seconds ago weren’t you saying it was always the respectable ones who were freaks?”

 

He shrugs. “Like you said – pulling your leg. Assuming that’s weird Brit talk for yanking your chain.”

 

There’s something about his smug face that makes me want to show him up. I stretch my legs out, get up from my seat and move to stand in front of him.

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“Pretty confident, yep.”

 

He even looks confident. He’s slouched down in his chair with his legs splayed out in that way men do (why do they?). His hands are settled in a relaxed pose in his lap. No doubt my behaviour is a bit beer fuelled, but whatever. I stare him down, stepping slowly forward until my knees hit the edge of his seat.

 

“Then it might surprise you to know…”

 

Jutting my leg out I reach for the hem of my t-shirt and start to inch it up, hips swivelling slowly. Hah, got him now. His eyes are bugging out and his expression is pure gormless shock. The shirt comes over my head and I nonchalantly allow it to drop before coming in to kneel on the small bit of chair left free. Picking up his hands, I put them on my hips and lean in to whisper in his ear.

 

“I used to be a stripper.”

 

If I thought his eyes were bugged out before, that was nothing. They’re open wide and his pupils are dilated. This was the last thing he’d expect from me and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. That’s exactly why I did it. My bra’s conservative anyway.

 

“Now it’s you yanking my chain,” Justin says. He’s trying to keep cool but bewilderment in his voice gives him away.

 

“Nope.”

 

Because I’m evil and want to make him sweat I lean in further, exaggerating for effect. Justin mumbles so quietly it’s difficult to hear, but I think he said ‘holy shit.’ Then he clears his throat and puts on a more normal voice.

 

“Are you actually serious or is this pay back for the tea and crumpets joke?”

 

The laugh I let out is low and throaty. That piece of my past isn’t particularly funny to me, but the way I’ve shocked him is. It’d shock anybody because it’s so antithetical to my image. I wind my fingers into the back of his hair (which isn’t as gel covered as I thought) and slide a foot around his ankle. I’m labouring the point now, but only because I’m enjoying his disquiet. May as well get some mileage out of a good joke.

 

“Both.”

 

His mouth gapes open. “You’re shitting me.”

 

I shake my head and shift forward so that I’m practically lying over him. His face is about diaphragm height. He’s steadfastly keeping his eyes locked on my belly button rather than dare to look up.

 

“It was a long few months between getting kicked out and getting paid a living wage. And by the way, if you tell anybody you’re a dead man.”

 

The bombshell effect seems to be wearing off. Maybe he’s thinking it through and realising how predictable it is, a young woman with no money and no prospects? His upper lip twitches in an ironic smirk.

 

“Huh. I stand corrected. Going from stripper to millionaire business woman without it making the tabloids is pretty bad ass.”

 

My eyebrow arches. “Thank you.”

 

“Hey, when I’m wrong I’m wrong.”

 

It takes a few moments before I realise two things. The first is that I’ve never been this close to him before (even during the massage). The second is neither of us has moved. His hands are a warm presence on my hips and his gaze steady on my navel. My own fingers are still in his hair, not encouraging him forward but not tugging his head back either. His face is so near that his nose brushes me. It’s impossible to assess what thoughts are going through his head. If not for his previous comment I’d worry they were judgmental (many people would judge me for that).

 

What’s funny is the way my limbs loosen. Before this I was doing the whole faux sexy thing as a joke, sticking out my arse and arching my back. Now as I kneel here it’s like my mind has dissolved and we’re just chilling. The only thing holding my attention is the light touch of his breath on my skin. It’s as though there was a snake in my stomach that’s slowly uncoiled itself and slithered away, leaving my body lighter. I’m at ease – I could flop down into his lap and we could keep chatting, sitting here like this. It’s strange that I don’t find it awkward.

 

Of all people, Felicity flashes through my brain again. There’s that evil wink of hers in my mind’s eye, the memory of her telling me to jump him. I’m half undressed and he near got a lap dance - does this qualify? Either way she’ll love this story.

 

“Hmm.” It’s a gruff, deep pitched sound with humour in the tone. “You planning to let me up any time soon?”

 

“I don’t know. I could keep you trapped as punishment for doubting me.”

 

This time he laughs loud. “If this little peep show of yours is punishment, you could single-handedly raise the crime rate.”

 

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s recovered and reverted to his usual cool self. Yes I got the way his eyes shot out like he was a cartoon. Yes, I got the stutter. But all in all he’s not scrambling to get out of here or going red. Hmm. Thought I’d won this round but maybe it was a draw.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

“You do that.”

 

He squeezes my hips, a prompt to let him go. I relent, standing up so that he can push himself out of the seat. I didn’t step back far enough, because when he gets to his feet he’s still close to me. That’s the tipping point.

 

When I put my hands to his shoulders and press my lips to his I feel a fleeting run of shock through him. Saying I had no intention doesn’t sound credible – not after I was shedding clothes - but I truly didn’t until I went ahead. Not even when I was pulling my shirt off. Now I understand what people mean when they say the devil got into them. There’s no rhyme or reason, only a feeling of blood surging in a hot wave through my veins. It’s an unstoppable force that sprung itself on me.

 

His torso stiffens for a second before relaxing again, like an exhalation of breath. His hands move to my back and flatten themselves, pressing me further into him. He’s going with it and it emboldens me. The light feeling is back in my body, pushing all else away. In this moment all I want is to keep feeding it.

 

“Take me upstairs,” I whisper into his mouth. He’s close enough that I can feel the movement of his face as it stretches into a filthy grin.

 

“If this is punishment I don’t know why the hell I’m such a nice guy.”

 

Doing as he’s told, he grasps my hand and leads me out of the room. Any idea that this is hasty or might compromise our friendship has no hope of breaking through the hum in my skin. Little zips of electricity run down the back of my neck.

 

Rather than acting as caution the knowledge that it’s reckless is fuelling the fire. I don’t do this. I don’t go around seducing men. I tend to be the seduced (or more like the acquiescing). Tonight it doesn’t matter. The only thing I can concentrate on is the way this new proximity banishes everything else.

 

Things pass me by in a blur until we’re in Justin’s bedroom and he’s shut the door behind us. I realise I left my t-shirt in the cinema, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. He still holds my hand, staring at me. His eyes are heavy lidded and glazed with lust but he’s not making any moves. Maybe this is his way of leaving it to me? He’s giving me my opportunity to back out if I want it?

 

I don’t, so I grab his t-shirt and yank it over his head.

 

It all happens from there in a dizzy frenzy of impatience. We hit the mattress fast. His hands are much like I remember them from the massage. More insistent this time, but warm and the pads of his fingers just rough enough. They go everywhere I’d previously fantasised. The weight of him on top of me feels like I’m being enveloped whole, his hips pinning down mine, and the strange thing is I don’t mind.

 

Normally I get self-conscious being naked with a man (work is different, everybody’s used to changing in front of each other). This time I’ve barely noticed. It feels too good. Not so much the sex, though that’s pretty damn decent for a first time. The good part is the blissful clarity in my head. Something’s been un-tethered and I’m floating away from myself. You could probably set the house on fire and so long as he was still pushing into me this way I’d be none the wiser. The oblivion is heaven.

 

“Oh, sorry…” Justin mutters.

 

“What?” I ask in a breathless rush, almost winded from being brought back to Earth. Why the hell did he stop? I know my fingers dug into him but it was good clenching, not the ‘stop’ kind.

 

“Your neck, right?”

 

“What...” Wow. His face was in my neck, lips attacking it, and far from being bothered I was thoroughly enjoying myself. That’s a turn up. It’s nice that he remembered. “I don’t care, shut up and keep doing what you were doing.”

 

I’ve decided that he needs to just walk around with his face attached to my skin. The tickle when he laughs against it is my new favourite thing.

 

“Yes your Ladyship.”

 

This time the digging in is a warning. It’s hard to get words out since he’s resumed as instructed.

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

Now the laugh is an irksome combination of annoying and sexy. I hate that almost as much as I hate the bloody title. 

 

“Well you are, right?” Justin says.

 

“It’s over-fucking-rated.”

 

“True. Nobody wants a Lady in the bedroom anyway. Oww!”

 

He says something about making me pay but I’m beyond caring. He can decide for himself whether I scratched him in passion or retribution. My mind’s too busy. There’s a rush of blood to my head and my heartbeat’s in my ears. I can kiss goodbye to my already tenuous grip on reality.