He turned round, slowing the boat. “I feel you’re not taking this seriously enough.”
“What? My stalker or your threats to end him?”
“Both.”
“Cay, I take my stalker very seriously. I’m selling my home, which I happened to like even if you didn’t. I’m not taking your threats seriously because I wouldn’t want you to do that, which you know. We had a similar conversation when I was dumped by Justin Lively.” I could just about say Justin’s name without vomit stinging my throat. He was another singer and our PR machines had agreed we’d do well to date. Fake dating had turned into a real-life romance because Justin was a silver-tongued serpent and I’d actually believed I was living out a romance novel, until I caught him taking photos of my naked self while I was asleep.
That’d ended the dream and when I eventually told Caleb why I was single again, he’d left whichever port he’d been testing sea water or fish or something and flown straight to me, muttering threats about what he was going to do with Justin, how he was going to end his career and various other interesting possibilities for revenge.
I sorted revenge out for myself because I was that type of independent woman. Justin by name and Justin by penis size. It was amazing what you could post anonymously on a fan forum.
“He was a tool.” Caleb wrapped his arms around me in a big hug, his warmth and size making me feel like I was being cuddled by a mug of hot chocolate, maybe one that was spiked though. “But he wasn’t threatening to hurt you.”
“He did hurt me. Just in a different way.” Justin hadn’t succeeded with doing anything with the photos. Not with me. But it turned out I wasn’t the only girlfriend or lover he’d done this too. There’d been a police investigation and a press injunction, saving me as much embarrassment as him.
Caleb muttered something else, but I didn’t try to make out what.
“If your stalker tries anything while you’re here, I’m going to turn him into fish food. You understand that, don’t you?”
I heard that loud and clear. “Understood. Can we move on with something else now? Are you sure I’m okay to stay with you while I’m here? I can rent somewhere.”
“Yeah, try that and you’ll be fish food too.”
I laughed, trying not to acknowledge how good it still felt to be held by him.
Summer, Fourteen Years Ago
“We think this will be a good place for you to be creative, Zoey. You can have a break and really focus on your song writing without worrying about anything else.” My manager, Carissa, smiled at me, her face barely moving. She was okay, or so I figured. She gave me options and offered advice, explaining what my decisions meant for her, so it felt like she was transparent. I knew not all managers were like that, so I did appreciate it, or at least I tried to.
“Who does the house belong to?” It was obviously someone in the music industry. There was a baby grand piano in a room that faced the sea, artwork that looked expensive and a recording studio.
“Eddie Bayliss. He’s my cousin and he’s living in California now, so he rarely stays here. There’s one locked bedroom where he keeps some personal stuff, but the house is yours to use for as long as you want, maybe until you decide where you want to have a base. That’s something for you to think about. I know you’re spending the winter touring and it’s going to be so exciting, but it’s good to have a home to come back to.” Her smile was gentler this time.
“I didn’t know Eddie Bayliss is your cousin.” I was surprised. Carissa had a master’s degree in name dropping. That fact struck me as something she should’ve mentioned about four months ago when I signed on with her.
Maybe Carissa wasn’t that bad.
“Yep. He’s my cousin. That’s how I ended up working in this industry.” She glanced at her watch. “Shoot, I have to head off. I have a flight from Manchester in five hours. I’m sorry I can’t spend more time helping you settle in. Are you sure you don’t want me to find you a personal assistant?”
“I’m fine on my own. I have Renata anyway.” My security guard was doing something with the perimeter as we spoke. “It’ll be nice to be on my own for a bit.” Away from my mother also sounded great too.
She had another project now I’d found what she defined as success: my sister. Jessica was fourteen, almost fifteen and suffering a diet of salads and low-calorie food in our mother’s hope that she’d be picked up as a future super model. Unlike me, she needed a chaperone and was more in need of moulding, allegedly, although she was almost keener than our mother to become famous. My success had been unsuspected when it came; our mother certain that Jessica would be the one to pay for the lifestyle she thought she deserved. Jess wasn’t really speaking to me, which I’d decided wasn’t too much of a loss. She was envious and annoyed that I had so many followers on social media and an album that had broken a couple of records.
A stay at this house away from them was going to be bliss. I could maybe get my head in order, work out how I wanted my career to be, rather than have my mother tell me how it should be, and do what I loved doing most of all: song writing.
I said goodbye to Carissa and checked in with Renata and set about exploring the place that would be my home for the next few weeks, maybe longer. It was a big house, lots of floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Menai Strait, the property having its own jetty and boathouse, as well as a large garden that was minimal in terms of upkeep.
There was peace here. I could still create content for my social media without giving away where I was, and as the locals were used to a prince and princess living here, I wasn’t going to be big news. Hopefully.
I spent the next couple of days settling in. Carissa had arranged a housekeeper who came to keep the place straight and prepared food, so I didn’t resort to microwaved meals or burning down the kitchen, which was entirely possible. I found the tracks down to the beach and a path that ran between the houses, meandering through bushes and overgrowth, not bad for running on which was how I was keeping fit and a way of hoping to persuade my mother that I didn’t need a personal trainer. I wasn’t suddenly going to balloon in a few weeks, but my mother was paranoid that an extra pound or two would see the end of any career I had and ruin my sister’s chances of success.
My family was definitely a little bit fucked up.
It was mid-afternoon when someone rang the bell on the gates. I checked the security camera, seeing a man there who would probably be a silver fox, and a boy who looked about my age. I guessed they were father and son, the resemblance between them striking. The boy was cute. Tall with a strong jaw and a smile that could possibly even charm my mother. Weirdly, she’d lived on the island when she was a kid, which was one of the only reasons she’d agreed to let her clutch on me loosen for a hot minute.
The boy lost his words when I opened my door, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out and I guessed he’d recognised me, which was fine, I was going to be recognised.
“Apologies, my son appears to be starstruck. We just wanted to give you this.” The man handed me a flyer. “If you want to come along, all the details are there. We’re moving in three houses down, but don’t worry – he won’t knock on your door again.” The man patted the boy on the back.
