‘You shouldn’t have run off on us like that! I’d have been here sooner, but my dads were struggling to get the twins to bed.’ Savannah scans the room. ‘Where’s Nate?’
‘I… er…’ My eyes fall to the floor. ‘The press had his house surrounded. I’m pretty sure he didn’t want my presence embarrassing him further.’
‘What utter nonsense,’ Savannah splutters, accepting the drink my mother hands her. ‘The man is mad about you. Anyone can see it.’
‘Even if he is mad about me, being associated with me will make him a laughingstock. I won’t do that to him. He deserves so much better. Someone he’s proud to have with him at his red carpet events, not someone who he has to firefight the media over.’
Savannah grabs my arm. ‘Holly, we’re all firefighting every damn day. I’m constantly getting abused online. Do you have any idea how many people think unmarried women with illegitimate children should burn in hell?’ Savannah sniffs and my mother suddenly becomes engrossed in her glass. ‘The fact I’m making a good living out of my situation incenses some people. If the media weren’t slagging Nate off about who he was dating, they’d be slagging off his hair, his body, or his acting skills. It’s the way of the world when you’re in the public eye. You do know his first girlfriend dumped him because she couldn’t handle the media attention? It was all over the news. She ended up marrying his best friend.’
‘Of course I know. And today, I’m beginning to see why she couldn’t handle the attention. In Ballybowen, we were living in our own little bubble. Thriving in it. But it wasn’t real life.’
‘But itwasreal life, Holly. When you go to the States with Nate, you’ll close the front door on his Hollywood mansion and that will be your new bubble. What the media print or say isn’t real. Don’t let them get in here.’ She taps the side of my temple with her index finger.
‘We can’t just stay holed up in the house the entire time.’ Even if it does sound idyllic.
‘But the time you do spend at home is what counts. Wouldn’t it be far worse if the media printed wonderful things about the two of you, portrayed you as the perfect couple, but behind closed doors, you couldn’t stand each other?’
Savannah’s words remind me of what Nate said about his relationship with Celeste.
‘The States?’ my mother interjects, staring at me, but it’s Savannah who answers her.
‘Yes, the States. For the first time in her life, Holly has the chance to do something she’s always wanted to do. Don’t you agree she should grab it with two hands?’
‘But what about her house? My mother fingers the pearls surrounding her neck.
‘She’s going out with a multi-millionaire movie star.’ Savannah arches a defiant eyebrow at my mother. ‘I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need to worry about her house.’
‘I’m not sure if I am going out with a movie star…’ I wince. ‘I think I messed it up when I fled like a scaredy cat.’
‘It’s a wobble. Call him now and apologise,’ Clarissa suggests, snatching my phone from the table and pushing it against my chest.
I glance around at my family. Six sets of eyes stare back at me, all of them seemingly willing me to make this right. Swallowing the emotion forming in my throat, I take the phone, along with a deep breath.
‘A little privacy, perhaps?’ I gaze around hopefully.
‘Not a chance!’ Savannah screeches. ‘We’re all dying to hear how this goes.’
No one disagrees with her. Or moves from the kitchen.
‘Fine.’ It’s not like Nate and I argued. It was just a wobble. I panicked. It’s not a big deal. I’ll call him. He’ll understand. We’ll work through this.
I hold the phone to my ear and listen as it rings and rings with no answer.
I catch my lower lips between my teeth. ‘What if he’s annoyed with me for being flaky?’
‘No daughter of mine is flaky. You were merely in shock.’ My mother comes to my defence haughtily.
‘He’s probably just struggling to deal with the chaos outside of his house,’ Richard suggests. ‘Want me to send some patrol cars?’
‘No, Nate has his own security. I’m sure they’re…’
The familiar bars of Mariah Carey’s iconic Christmas song blare out from the street, growing louder with every passing second.
I rush to the front door to peep out, with seven adults tight on my tail.
‘What the…’ I open the front door. A fire engine decorated in tinsel and fairy lights swings into the street, bulldozing through the flimsy tape cordoning off the perimeter. Two of the uniformed officers step forwards and raise hands, signalling the driver to stop. The engine comes to an abrupt halt just as the song begins, but it’s not Mariah Carey’s voice booming out the first line.
It’s Nate’s deep, gravelly one. Holy fucking shit. The man is only half-dressed. He’s wearing the same Santa outfit as that memorable afternoon at the castle. Red velvet pants hang from his hips as he descends the ladder on the side of the truck, clutching a microphone in one hand. A white-rimmed crimson hat balances on his head and his expression is one of total mischief.
