Jessica reached for two slices of cucumber and positioned them over her eyes. ‘I’ve got a bit more work to do here first.’
Los Angeles
A week after the Romans’ wedding, Nate Reid rolled over in bed, a sour taste in his mouth. His eyelids felt like they were stuck together.
Last night must have been a big one–he couldn’t remember a thing about it. He lay quietly for a moment, eyes closed, sunlight breaking through in an assaulting shade of orange–what idiot prick had opened the blinds? Bits and pieces of the previous evening swam into focus. They’d been out with Felix and the record label. He vaguely recalled a basement club in Hollywood. There were girls and groupies and tequila and who knew what else.
Bringing his fingers to his temples and applying a little pressure, Nate let out a pitiful whimper.
‘Hey, honey,’ said a twangy American voice, ‘time to get your lazy ass outta bed. It’s one o’clock. I made brunch.’
Nate allowed his eyes to open a crack and frowned at the woman before him. She was pouring orange juice into two glasses. He didn’t recognise her.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘Rafaella,’ the woman said, unoffended. She was dark-skinned and tall like a man.
‘Did we …?’ he enquired warily.
‘What didn’t we?’ she responded with a snort, drizzling maple syrup on to a stack of pancakes and bringing them over. ‘Hope you don’t mind, I helped myself to food. Looks like you could do with something to eat.’
At the smell of the pancakes Nate bolted to the bathroom, where he promptly threw up. Fuck, this was bad.
He was glad when, an hour later, Rafaella finally departed, after stuffing her face with just about everything in the fridge and watching a slew of headache-crunching cartoons. It was unnerving to hang out with a stranger who only hours ago you were doing God knows what to, or who–as Nate suspected as he observed Rafaella out the corner of his eye–was doing God knows what to you. Especially when she was sprawled across most of his sofa.
Nate took a shower and started to feel a little better. His thoughts turned to Chloe–reassuring, sweet, harmless Chloe-as they always did with a hangover in need of some TLC. His girlfriend was mixing with some pretty important people these days. As of the wedding, he’d made a vow to stay faithful. As of today, he conceded, remembering Rafaella.
He threw on some jeans and dialled Chloe’s number.
Pleasingly she picked up straight away. ‘Hi!’
‘Hiya, babe. How’s things?’
‘I’m great.’ It sounded like she was in a car. ‘How was last night?’
Nate was confused. ‘Did we talk?’
Chloe laughed. ‘I knew you were out of it. You called at, like, two o’clock and completely woke me up.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘Can you meet later?’ he asked.
There was a crackle on the line. ‘Sorry, I’m busy later. Maybe tomorrow?’
Had he heard right? It wasn’t like Chloe to blow him out.
‘Whatever,’ he said, acting like he didn’t care.
The line kept cutting out. ‘—bad connection—call you—I miss—’
Nate hung up and tossed the phone on to his bed. He was annoyed. Chloe hadn’t even told him where she was.
He contemplated his options for a moment before throwing on an ill-conceived outfit and heading out for some air. He slammed the apartment door loudly behind him.
Chloe closed her phone quietly. Nate had sounded pissed off.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Lana.
The women were cruising through Hollywood in one of Cole’s silver Mercedes, heading back to the Steel mansion–they had just wrapped their scene and Lana had invited Chloe to spend the afternoon.
‘Yeah, sorry.’ Chloe put the phone back in her bag. She looked puzzled. ‘I think he hung up on me, that’s all.’
Lana waved a hand. ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’
Chloe bit her lip. She decided not to let it ruin the rest of her day. This morning on-set had been amazing. Nate could wait.
Minutes later the car arrived at the foot of the drive. It sat purring gently while Cole’s cast-iron gates eased open, before slipping through and beginning its ascent up to the house.
Chloe was agape. ‘You live here?’
Lana nodded as they pulled to a stop next to Cole’s collection of vintage cars. ‘Yes, I live here.’
After giving Chloe a brief, edited tour, Lana fixed some cordial and they sat out on the terrace loungers, enjoying the winter sun.
‘You did a good job today,’ she said, impressed with Chloe’s performance. ‘You’re right for this.’
‘You think?’
‘I think.’
Chloe smiled. ‘Thanks. I had a lucky escape with Sam … he was kind of all over me when I arrived.’
Lana smirked. ‘Join the club. Wait till he sees you with your clothes off.’
‘Oh, I’d never do nudity.’
Lana looked at her sideways. She decided not to comment.
‘You’re so fortunate,’ said Chloe after a while.
Her words seemed a non sequitur and for a moment Lana was confused. She looked around her. ‘It’s a lovely house,’ she said carefully.
‘It’s a stunning house.’ Chloe picked up her glass. ‘It must be nice to have a proper home. A husband you love.’
Lana raised an eyebrow.
‘My parents,’ she went on, ‘well, my dad, actually… he lives in London, the same place I grew up in. I used to love it. But recently it doesn’t feel like home any more.’
There was a moment’s pause before Lana said, ‘Things don’t when you grow up. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’
‘It isn’t, not really. It’s just sad that all that’s … gone.’ She looked at Lana. ‘My parents are divorced,’ she explained.
Lana’s eyes were kind. ‘That must have been hard.’
Chloe
