“I think I envy your life a little.”
He laughed. “You’re the daughter of a billionaire. What about my life makes you even remotely jealous?”
She gave him a meaningful look. “Do you honestly think I could be at a party in Ibiza at four in the morning without several of my father’s men watching me from some corner? Reporting back to him about what guy I might be dancing with or which friends I might be around?”
At the mention of her father again, Winter watched her, looking for ways to dig out more information. “What’s wrong with a little protection? You’re not exactly an average girl.”
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes going to the windows that looked out upon the Thames. From their position on the couch, Winter could see the lights of ships lazing up and down the black water.
Finally, she turned back to him. “What was it like for you,” she asked, “when you first became famous?”
Her question took him by surprise, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. A memory flashed through him of the chaotic weeks after the video of him first went viral, when an avalanche of reporters had clogged his phone. Terrified, he’d hung up on all of them—including Claire, until he saw her same number popping up over and over along with increasingly persuasive text messages.
Please. Just let me have a single conversation with you.
Just learned your full name is Winter Young. Is that true?
Just one convo, Mr. Young. And I promise I’ll never bother you again.
He finally relented. And she’d pitched herself so hard that he’d agreed reluctantly to a coffee date.
“It was… a little overwhelming,” he now said to Penelope with a rueful smile. “I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without a good guide.”
She smiled. “You mean your manager, don’t you? Claire?”
He nodded. Claire had been a whirlwind, even back then, and she was about the same age that Artie would have been if he were still alive, which he found comforting. There was a nervous optimism about her that reminded him of himself, like something inside her was restless to get out into the world, like she had something to prove. He found himself wanting to be near her because of it, as if some of it might rub off on him if he stuck around long enough.
What I do,Claire had told him during their first in-person meeting,is discover new talent. And I can tell you that no one I’ve ever seen has given off the kind of raw potential I saw you give off in that video.
So?he’d said warily to her.What’s that supposed to mean?
It means we’re going to discover you.She’d smiled gently at him.Picture who you are when no one else is around. Picture the version of yourself that makes you the happiest. That’s who we’re going to find.
The memory faded, and Winter regarded Penelope again. “Why do you ask?”
Penelope looked toward the window as she nursed her mug. “It must be nice,” she said after a while, “to remember a time before and a time after. To know you built something, from the ground.” She looked quickly at him. “I don’t mean to complain about my life. I know I grew up with a silver spoon.” Then she floundered a bit, as if trying to find the right words. “But sometimes I wonder… what it’s like to have lived purposefully, you know? If there’s any meaning to me being here. If I—anyone—deserve all this, just born to spend my life shuffling from one party to the next.”
Meaning.And he understood her, knew that she must have spent her whole life thus far searching for purpose, what the point of everything was if she already had it all, why she deserved to live like this when so many others didn’t. Whether she had anything to give in return. They were the same thoughts that haunted him.
“Maybe you just need to do a thankless good deed,” he said.
She stared into her mug of cooling tea. “Maybe,” she echoed.
Suddenly, it occurred to Winter that she hadn’t wanted to bring him back here for a fling or a casual chat. She thought he was a kindred spirit. She needed to talk to him because she felt alone, because she needed to commiserate with someone who she thought might understand her.
A part of him felt annoyed at that. Poor little rich girl and her rich problems. He remembered hating people like this before he hit it big, that the only things that grieved them were things that the rest of the world could only wish they had.
But this wasn’t all that grieved her. He could sense there was more, things she wasn’t telling him. He weighed for a moment the risk of bringing it up, then leaned slightly toward her.Gain her trust. Let her believe that her act has you fooled.
“Is that why you’re seeing your accountant behind your father’s back?” he asked.
Penelope blinked at him, as if caught like a deer in headlights. “I’m not seeing him,” she whispered. “Who told you that?”
Winter laughed and held a hand up. “It’s okay. I’ve kept so many relationship secrets for friends that I don’t even register them anymore. So you’re safe with me.”
She seemed to let out a breath, even though her eyes still looked startled. Then she laughed a little, too, and blushed into her mug. “Are we really that obvious?” she asked him ruefully.
“Like a neon sign,” Winter replied with a smile. “I’m kidding—you were subtle. If I wasn’t so used to analyzing other celebrity couples, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
