‘Cabin fever, you know.’ Pierce gestures out the window to the vast expanse of countryside.
Other than in this penthouse suite, it’s not something I suffer with here.
Cabin fever feels way worse in LA. Cooped up, hiding from paparazzi in a hot crowded city. I know it’s quiet here, but it’s tranquil. I’ve taken to early morning running through the woodlands again. The crisp crunching of twigs underfoot and the sight of my own breath clouding the space in front of my face is fucking liberating.
‘Don’t rush back on my account.’ With the gates closed and extra security, there hasn’t been an issue. Well, apart from the obvious stares at breakfast. I’ve posed for a few photos but haven’t been mobbed again, thankfully. Mind you, I’ve been so busy working, nobody’s had a chance to mob me.
Pierce nods and closes the door behind him.
I shower, change into a pair of jeans and a navy fitted pullover. My hair could do with a cut but I don’t care enough to go out for one. I squirt my favourite aftershave onto my neck, the same one I’ve worn since forever, and slip out the door into the corridor.
Frank and Archie spring to attention, but I motion for them to relax, nodding at Sasha’s door, across the hallway.
‘Is she in there?’
Archie nods and Frank wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. These two are Jayden’s guys. They probably think I’m the same as him. Hell, until I got back here, I wasn’t much better. But Sasha’s different. I might be desperate to get into her knickers, but I’m also desperate to get in her good favour again. I can’t bear the idea of unresolved conflict between us. We were everything to each other before, the least I’d like is for us to be friends again. And after I offered to perform at the Christmas ball, I think she’s beginning to feel the same.
Knocking on the navy doors, my ears prick at the sound of a scuffle from behind it. It sounds like something heavy’s being dragged across the floor.
‘Not like that. I like it the other way.’ Sasha’s voice is as clear as day.
She wouldn’t have to tell me which way she likes it.
Who the fuck is she talking to? If it’s Conor, I might actually die.
Turning back towards Frank and Archie, I raise my eyebrows and thumb the door questioningly.
Archie shakes his head and Frank sniggers. ‘Go on. I think they might need your help in there.’
I don’t need telling twice. Pushing the door open, I let myself into the Sexton’s private quarters. The scent of cinnamon, cloves and the tang of fresh oranges lingers enticingly in the air. The source isn’t hard to locate. A pot of mulled wine’s simmering on the cooker, two goblet glasses adjacent at the ready.
In the corner of the room, Victoria and Sasha are just about done struggling to erect a seven-foot Christmas tree, a trail of pine needles lining the floor in its wake.
‘There, it’s much better that way.’ Sasha nods, eyeing its final resting place. She dusts her hands together, brushing off a couple of stray needles.
‘Hi.’ Once again, I feel like the eighteen-year-old boy who doesn’t really deserve to be here. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Sasha’s head whips round and I catch her grin a second before she manages to straighten it into her polished, distant ice-queen routine.
Victoria bounds across the open-plan living space to greet me with a bear hug. As a child she was overflowing with affection. As a teenager, she hasn’t changed. She carries an air of innocence about her. One that Sasha certainly didn’t have at her age.
‘Ryan!’ Genuine enthusiasm resonates in her excited squeal. ‘Do you know that every single girl in my class wants to be me right now?’ She flicks her hair from her face and beams.
‘Because you’re amazing and talented and you’re going to ace your final exams next year?’
‘Duh. No. because I have this mega-famous superstar staying in my family home and they all want to run off and marry you.’ She wiggles her eyebrows at me and Sasha rolls her eyes. ‘I told them you were just as goofy as you were ten years ago, but they don’t seem to believe it.’
‘Goofy? Me?’ I don’t know whether to laugh or be outraged. I’ve been called many things in Hollywood – arrogant, eligible but aloof, talented. Even a has-been lately. Goofy was definitely never mentioned.
‘Yeah. Do you remember you guys used to play dress-up with me, and you’d always pretend you wanted to be the princess? You used to parade around with my favourite tiara until I laughed so much my stomach hurt.’
I’m surprised Victoria remembers because until this very second, I’d forgotten.
‘It’s a hard mental image to get rid of, especially when it was imprinted at such a formative age in my development. You could sell a billion records and be half-naked on the front of every magazine cover in the world, but to me, you’ll always be my big sister’s goofy boyfriend – sorry.’ She shrugs as a giggle slips from her lips.
My eyes dart to Sasha at the boyfriend remark, but she’s suddenly become engrossed in something outside the window, even though it’s pitch-black out there now.
‘Now, if you happen to know Adam Draker’s phone number and you wanted to hook me up with him, then I might be impressed.’
