“Ah.” Interesting. That explains the flirtatious muscles. I didn’t know he was yet another connection to Hollywood, which knocks him down a few pegs in my book. I want absolutely nothing to do with fame after everything that happened. But it seems like I can’t avoid Hollywood with the people in my life—Adam and Isabelle, Tristan, now Ryder, too. I don’t think Ryder and Adam have crossed paths, otherwise they would have said something to each other on that video call. But does he know Tristan?
“And what are you doing up here exactly?” Ryder asks, interrupting my thoughts. “And what’s…” He gestures at the paper piano.
I press my lips together. “I don’t know how much you know about my situation.”
He shakes his head. “Should I?”
“I mean, it’s pretty common knowledge, especially with people who are in Hollywood.”
His eyes harden a smidge. “I don’t really keep up with all of that anymore.”
“Anymore?” I repeat. “But I thought you were a stuntman.”
“Yeah, well…I’m kind of on a break right now.”
“Ah. Which is why you were on vacation with Peter.”
“Exactly.”
We stare at each other for a moment, me trying to decide exactly how much I need to share. It’s already weird enough that I’m up here in this tower, plus me banging on the paper piano. Should I addseduced by Tristan Jackson and sued for publicizing how he manipulated meto the list?
He’s still waiting for an explanation, so I ask, “Hasn’t Peter said something about…” My voice trails off, waiting for him to say that Peter told him about everything, or at leastsomething. But his silence tells me what I expected—Peter hasn’t said anything. What would Peter have told him when he hardly ever speaks to us?
All right. I’ll just stick to the basics. “Never mind. I’m kind of…hiding out? Until some legal stuff blows over.”
“How long have you been hiding out?”
And there’s the kicker. “Uh…six months?”
His brows shoot up to the hair waving over his forehead. “Six months?!”
“Well, that’s how long I’ve been here. Before that, it was a year in my family’s penthouse in Silver Lake City.”
Ryder shakes his head. “Wait. What exactly does ‘hiding out’ entail?”
“You know, just…” I pause, not sure how this is going to sound to someone who hasn’t been part of our personal family conversations for the last year and a half. “Hanging out…at home. Baking sourdough. Coloring. Attempting cartwheels—that was a disaster. Oh!” I hold up a finger. “I’m taking college classes online.”
Ryder seems wholly unimpressed. “Do you get toleaveyour home?”
I press my lips together and shake my head.
“That’s…completely ridiculous.” He furrows his brow at me. “What do they think is going to happen if you go out in public?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” I say slowly. It’s a great question, and it’s one I’m sure anyone looking at my situation from the outside would ask. I’m nineteen, almost twenty. I’m an adult. Why in the world do I listen to my overprotective father and brothers? “The consultant they hired says keeping me here is important.”
“But if there’s no real threat, why did you go along with it?”
The answer to that is so complicated and layered, and not something I want to explain to an acquaintance. Because it really stems back to my mother’s death five years ago, when my brothers and father took it upon themselves to protect me at all costs. At first, it wasn’t that big of a deal. But once I turned seventeen and met Tristan, I wanted to make my own decisions.
And that one decision, the one time I finally did something on my own, was the most epic failure.
After I came home from Vegas with my tail between my legs, I didn’t want to do ANYTHING that would upset my father and brothers. The look in their eyes was a mixture of pity, anger, disappointment—and not just at Tristan. At me. For being so naive and stupid. Here I was, the little girl who reminded them all of their mother, and I couldn’t do anything right. So if they thought I should stay home, I did. If they wanted to move me to Brookhaven, I did. Sure, I would tell them I was tired of the restrictions and wanted a way out, but I wouldn’t go so far as torebel and leave. Not after the heartache and issues I caused them all for my mistakes.
Now that I’ve been locked away for eighteen months, it’s easier to stay than to make a change. Everyone has gotten used to it, including me.
But I can’t tell all of that to Ryder. When I don’t respond, Ryder runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated.
I feel the need to defend my family. “They just want what’s best for me,” I say softly.
