I clench my teeth. I’m eager for fresh air and to leave her ghost behind.
I muster a bright tone as I turn back to Lily-Anne. “Why don’t we get going? We could grab breakfast on the way. And perhaps have an early dinner of oysters once we get back? I bake them with breadcrumbs, lemon zest, and parsley.”
She gapes at me. “That’s how my dad used to make them!”
“I know. He taught me the recipe. I thought it might remind you of home.”
“That’s…really nice of you,” she says softly. The kitchen grows quiet, surprise and gratitude flickering in her eyes. Then she laughs it off. “Although I don’t think I’ll be much help in the kitchen.”
“Have no fear—oysters are easy.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I can tell she’s still thinking of her father.
Softly, I say, “I think he only taught me in order to take my mind off things after Natalie died. As absurd as it may sound, making oysters with your father is what pulled me back. It reminded me of home, and of simpler things.” I smile ruefully. “When I told him I was quitting music management, he made a show of pretending to be furious. He’d hoped I would stay in Sydney and join his company. He respected my decision, of course, but he swore he’d never cook for me again.”
“That sounds like him.”
I weigh my next words, aware of her watching me, hoping for some faint echo of the father she misses. “Your father meant a great deal to me. He lifted people up without making a show of it. He saw potential in me when I barely saw it myself. I admired him.”
She draws in a slow breath. “Thank you for telling me that.”
We drink our coffee in silence. I try not to check the time. I don’t want to rush her.
“When do we need to leave?” she eventually asks.
“As soon as you’re ready,” I reply.
She nods, drains her coffee, and pushes back her chair. “I’ll go get changed.”
“Nothing fancy—joggers, if you have them. Trackies,” I clarify.
“I know what you meant.” She gives me a thumbs-up and disappears down the hall.
As I watch her go, phantom nails trace my collarbone.“Remember when I was like her? You fancied yourself my noble protector.”Her voice drops to the faintest whisper.“You always liked the fragile ones.”
I shrug away.That wasn’t why I loved you.
I hate that it’s this version of her I recall the most clearly—unrecognisable under heavy makeup, reshaped by the US label into the pop persona the world demanded. Australian accent gone. Paraded through endless tours, parties, drugs.
A flame that burnt too hot.
I busy myself by throwing together a sandwich, but sadness creeps into my thoughts.
I didn’t want that life for you.
“Then why didn’t you save me?” she shoots back.
“I tried,” I murmur, but she’s gone.
I abandon my half-drunk coffee, grab my keys, and go outside to wait for Lily-Anne.
Natalie was so much more than a celebrity, but after leaving Jeremy’s label, she was stripped away piece by piece.
The world mourned Nova.
But I’d already lost my Natalie.
I failed her—but I wasn’t the only one.
