to hide her cringe in the steaming drink.
‘You know what I think?’ Jessica went on. ‘I think if it ever came down to it he wouldn’t even be able to get it up. His dick’s been left cold for so long, it’s probably haunted!’
It certainly isn’t, thought Elisabeth, dismayed at the idea that her sister–who was scarcely discerning about who she jumped into bed with–had turned down Alberto’s advances. It was too mortifying for words.
‘So what did you do?’ asked Jessica, sitting up. ‘Did you tell him where to go?’
Oh, he didn’t need to be told that. He knew precisely where he was going.
‘Well, of course I did,’ Elisabeth said, quickly backtracking. ‘I mean, it’s insulting. It’s not as if I’m not having fabulous sex with Robert.’
Jessica was disappointed. ‘So it is only Robert. How fucking boring. Honestly, Elisabeth, just when I think you’re about to surprise me and do something exciting.’
If you only knew.
Shaken, Elisabeth put down her tea carefully and looked at her sister. It wasn’t just the insult of Alberto trying to get lucky with Jessica, it was more a feeling of … God, she hated to admit it … jealousy. Much as it pained her, and much as his advances had likely been born out of alcohol–Jessica was hardly the kind of sophisticated woman he was attracted to-she acknowledged that fatal stab. How much had Alberto wanted her? Had he told her how beautiful she was, that she was the most exquisite woman in the world, the very things he’d told Elisabeth? It was too dreadful to contemplate.
‘It’s so unfair,’ whined Jessica, tying her fine hair in a knot.
‘What is?’ Elisabeth was still thinking about Alberto and wondered if Jessica might be about to confess to actually finding him devastatingly attractive, and how she wished, just between the two of them, that she’d accepted his advances and then Elisabeth could explain that, in fact, she herself had—
‘I wish I could get an invite to the fight tonight. I bet I could if Daddy were here.’ Bernstein was away on business.
Elisabeth forced herself to focus on the evening ahead. She would be on Robert’s arm, his fiancée, the two of them showcasing Vegas together. He could never find out–it simply was not an option.
‘I’ve got things to do,’ said Elisabeth, gathering her stuff. Tempting as it had been, she was glad Jessica was none the wiser: her sister was a leaky bucket when it came to gossip–what had she been thinking? No, this was something she was keeping strictly to herself. A crazy mistake, that was all. One night of weakness. She would forget it, pretend like it never happened.
‘Catch you up.’ 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
