2. Luna

2

On any other day, I would have had the gifts packed up and delivered to my apartment, but today, I changed into street clothes, removed the heavy make-up I wore on stage, and began sorting through the boxes. Anything to avoid going outside. Anything to avoid the reporters and their questions. There were so many I didn't want to answer.

Why had I fired my mom?

Where was my cousin?

Had my topless dip in the Caribbean Sea been planned, or was it just a dumb, spur-of-the-moment decision that had led to me losing my record deal with Sonic Flare?

Who was the man I'd been caught on camera with in a restaurant looking oh-so cosy?

"Ooh, are those truffles?" Luis asked. "Are you sharing?"

"Help yourself."

I had three boxes of artisan chocolates from people whose names I didn't recognise, plus another of Turkish delight from Kory's assistant, and a bottle of fancy rosé courtesy of my agent. I dropped the wine into the trash. If Julius thought he could ever buy himself back into my good books, he had another think coming. The only reason I hadn't fired him along with my mom was that he had a watertight contract, while she'd been lax with the paperwork. I was stuck with him until renewal in two more years. Until then, he could speak with me via my new lawyer.

Bags contained spa certificates, jewellery, a designer watch, shoes, several purses, beauty products, basically anything people thought I might use so they could get free advertising. I pushed a bunch of goodies toward Venus and Aisha.

"Help yourselves. There's way too much stuff for me."

"Are you sure?" Aisha asked, but Venus was already rooting through the bags.

Someone had collected the fan mail into a folder, drawings of me and a bunch of letters that I would have given to Jubilee to answer if she still worked for me. Maybe I could borrow one of the interns who always seemed to be hanging around? Writing back myself was something I'd never attempted before—my handwriting was no better than a child's, and I didn't have a printer. Hmm… I quickly checked the rest of the packages, but there was no printer, only a new smartphone and some kind of fitness tracker.

"We couldn't light the candles on the cake," a girl I didn't recognise apologised. "Fire hazard."

What cake?

"And the pyrotechnics on the stage aren't?"

I meant it as a joke, but she backed away. "Uh, sorry, I think there's a different fire system or… I'll go ask."

I opened my mouth to tell her not to bother, but she was gone.

There were several cards, and I couldn't help smiling as I recognised the writing on the top one. Caro. We'd started out as sworn enemies before salvaging a friendship from the ashes of our time in San Gallicano, and we'd kept in touch after we both returned to the US, me to Vegas and her to Virginia. She had a new job in accounting at a charity foundation, but she was helping me to unravel my finances in her spare time. I'd offered to pay her, but she refused to take any money.

More pity.

I opened the card and read.

Congrats on surviving opening night! We can't wait to see the show ourselves—you're a born performer.

Caro I always end up dating them."

"It's just someone messing around." Was I trying to convince them or myself? "A weird joke."

Someone messing around… Like my half-sister? Cordelia had tried to scare me with notes once before, and it had worked, the spiteful little witch. Yes, this was exactly the kind of stunt she'd try to pull. She hated my success, hated that I was in the public eye, and even though I'd toned down my act, nothing would ever be good enough for her.

"You know what? Forget the stupid earrings. Forget keeping a low profile. Let's go to the Peppermill."