Greta tentatively sniffed her glass. She tried the champagne again, but this time it tasted delicious, crisp and citrusy. She frowned and shook her head. Were her taste buds at fault, or was it something else?
She’d spent the last ten years dreaming of moments like this, yearning for recognition or simply to be noticed. So why did it feel so peculiar? So empty?
All she wanted to do now was go home, pull on her com- fiest sweatshirt, and curl up on the sofa under a blanket. She wanted to wipe off her make-up, take off the tiara, and tie her hair back with a scrunchie. They were the little things that didn’t feel possible in Mapleville.
Had she spent all this time gilding the past, carefully selecting the best moments from her career and family life to dwell on, like choosing photos to display in an album? The ones that didn’t measure up were shoved in a box under the bed.
Greta swirled the champagne, watching the bubbles rise and pop. Everything around her now felt like an echo, a shadow of the life she used to have. It was a fading projection of the one she’dthoughtshe wanted.
Then, out of nowhere, a thought struck her, sharp and unexpected, like a crash of thunder on a summer day.
I don’t want the spotlight any longer.
Greta let the revelation sink in, solid and true. The limelight wasn’t for her.
So, what did she want?
Chapter 21
THERE WERE ONLYso many times Greta could hear ‘you’re brilliant’ before it got over-fazing, like eating too many mince pies on Christmas Day.
‘My, you look wonderful.’
‘What a beautiful dress.’
‘I’m so excited to meet you.’
All the while Greta felt like a curated veneer of herself rather than the actual living, breathing woman. Beneath her fine clothes and glossy make-up, she didn’t feel like a superstar at all.
The sound of laughter and chatter in the town hall ballroom hummed like a swarm of bees, reaching a crescendo in her head. She forced smiles and murmured polite responses to a seemingly never-ending stream of admirers. All the while, her eyes swept the room for Jim, Lottie, or Millie. When she spotted her husband and daughter standing together on the far side of the room, she felt a primal pull toward them.
Greta had only managed to take a couple of steps in their direction when yet another glass of champagne was pressed into her hand. A stranger launched into a speech about how Maple Gold was the perfect beverage, and had Greta ever drunk it chilled?
She nodded and tried to edge away. By the time she broke free, Jim and Lottie had moved closer to the exit. Greta wove her way through the crowd toward them, only to be stopped again, this time by Desdemona.
‘I didn’t realise you were such a star,’ Desdemona said. ‘It’s very strange where pretending can get you. I actually attempted a little improvisation after your drama class. I imagined I was a daring explorer in the Antarctic, though it proved a tricky place to brew coffee. I improvised by boiling water in a can, suspended over a small fire, as I was observed by Emperor penguins . . .’
‘That’s sounds amazing,’ Greta said, stealing a glance over Desdemona’s shoulder. ‘I’d love to hear more about it . . . at the next coffee morning.’
‘It was interesting, but no substitute for real life,’ Desdemona stated with a sniff. ‘Well-done, anyway.’
By the time Greta reached the place Jim and Lottie had been standing, her anxiety levels were spiking. She just wanted to be alone with her family.
When Nora stepped back into her eyeline, she flinched.
‘I’ve got a message for you,’ her agent said, waving a note. ‘Lottie’s had enough for the evening. Too many cameras. She’s gone back to the hotel with Jim.’
The news felt like a kick to Greta’s shin. ‘What? They’ve left without me?’
‘They tried to reach you, but couldn’t get through the hordes.’ Nora puffed her chest as if this was a good thing.
Greta shook her head. ‘But why go to a hotel? We’ve got a perfectly lovely house here,’ she said. She’d been looking forward to rubbing feet with Jim in bed, with his body next to hers rather than a line of pillows.
Then she remembered the many times she’d chosen the luxury and convenience of plush hotel suites in the past rather than home comforts.
‘You’re the star, darling. Revel in these things,’ Nora said.
Greta didn’t reply. She’d had enough of being the star attraction. Finally, she understood Lottie’s plea that she just wanted to be herself.
