Chapter One

Ella

"How was the car?"

I smile. Trust my brother Drew to ask about my new car first, rather than me, or my job, or my new apartment.

"The car was fine."

"Remind me again… why did you choose bright red?"

"Because I liked it." I liked having the wind in my hair, too… not that it's long enough to notice.

"And how's the apartment?" Finally… something worth talking about.

"Empty. None of the furniture's getting here until later." I look around the vast space, my voice echoing off the blank walls. I kicked off my shoes almost as soon as I got here, hating the sound they made on the wooden floors.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound it."

How is it he can read me so well… even though he's in New York, and I'm in Boston? Whatever the reason, there's no point in trying to hide anything from him.

"I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"Because I'm due to start my new job on Monday, and I don't have a clue what I'm doing."

"Well… if you'd tell me what the job is, I might be able to help."

"I'd love to, but…"

"I know. You're not allowed." He chuckles. "It seems strange that a chef can't talk about their work."

"That's because I'm not just being employed as a chef."

"Ahh," he says, and I can almost see him nodding his head and grinning. "Does this mean you're gonna be working as a secret agent on the side?"

"Of course not, you idiot."

I'm fed up with hearing my own voice reverberate back at me, so I wander through to the kitchen, hoping it won't have as much of an echo. This room is the main reason I chose my new apartment, although I also like the view from the top floor. My life revolves around cooking, though; it has done ever since I first stood at Pat's side and watched her in the kitchen at home. Pat isn't my mother, but she's the closest thing to a mother I've ever known and it's thanks to her I have such a passion for food, and for cooking it.

I run my fingers along the granite countertop, admiring the shiny gray cabinets and wide six-burner hob. There's a space over by the floor-to-ceiling windows where my new table and chairs will fit, but I'm less interested in that than the cooking area. It's my domain.

It's where I belong.

"Did Hunter tell you about the engagement?" I ask, putting my phone onto speaker, and resting it on the countertop while I sit up next to it.

"Yeah. I saw him on Saturday morning, before I left Newport. He's so pleased with himself."

"I'm not surprised. Considering how close he came to losing Livia, he's a lucky man."

"I don't think he intends to forget it… or to make a mistake like that again."

"No…"

I know we're both remembering how broken our brother was when he and Livia split up a few weeks ago. I've never seen him like that before, and even if the situation was entirely of his own making, I felt sorry for him. Still, they're engaged now, and deliriously happy… thank God.

"Speaking of mistakes…" I say, waiting for Drew to take the bait.

"Yeah?" He doesn't, so I'll have to ask outright…

"How are things going with Lexi?"

"Don't." He sounds pained.

"Don't what?"

"Remind me of the errors of my ways."

"This isn't the error of your ways. Not entirely. It takes two to make a baby, Drew." He doesn't reply. "So? What's happening? I take it you've seen her?"

"Yeah. We met for lunch on Saturday, as planned. She was busy on Sunday, but we still had things to discuss, so I saw her again yesterday."

"And?" God… this is like getting blood from a stone.

"I've told her I'll support her."

"Financially?"

"In any way she wants," he says.

"You're not getting back together, are you?"

"No. Even if I wasn't in love with her sister, the fact that Lexi's having my baby isn't suddenly going to make our failed relationship a successful one… if what we had could even have been called a relationship."

"But you're gonna be there for her?"

"Of course. I'm not shirking my responsibilities."

I'd never say this to his face, but I'm a little surprised by that… and ashamed to admit it. Drew's my brother, and I love him, but his reputation with women is hardly something to be proud of.

Until now, it seems.

"It's not entirely your responsibility, Drew. Like I just said, it takes two…"

"I know. Lexi said the same thing. She told me she was really scared about calling me."

"Scared?"

"Yeah. She was worried I'd think she was trying to trap me, because of me being a multi-millionaire."

"Oh. I hadn't thought about that."

"Surely, when you've dated guys, it's crossed your mind that they might only be interested in your money?"

"Thanks for that. I prefer to think men might be more interested in me than my bank balance." I can't tell him I've never dated anyone. He'd never believe me. Taking offense seems like a far better route.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that to sound like an insult. But, to be honest, it's one of the reasons I've always kept women at arm's length."

"And Hunter? Did he feel the same… before he met Livia?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask him."

"Is that why you both slept around?"

He falls silent for a moment, and I wonder if it's his turn to be insulted… not that I've said anything that isn't true.

"I can't speak for Hunter, but in my case it was simply that I like sex."

I can feel myself blush, and I'm grateful he can't see me. "Oh… I see." I need to change the subject, to cover my embarrassment. "Did you put Lexi's mind at rest?"

"About what?"

"About the fact that you didn't think she was trying to trap you."

"Yeah, I did. She said she still felt responsible, though… because she knew she'd been sick, and I didn't."

"Had she realized her birth control wouldn't work?"

"No."

"Then I don't see how she can feel responsible."

"That's what I said to her. This is on me, Ella."

"I don't think either of you should take the blame. It feels wrong when there's a new life involved."

"I know. But the circumstances are hardly ideal."

"Have you spoken to Lexi's sister?" I ask, guessing that's the ‘circumstance' he's referring to. Falling for her certainly wasn't ideal, although we all know you can't help who you fall in love with… or when.

"Not since Lexi told me she's pregnant, no."

"So you don't know if she's aware of what's going on?"

"On the contrary. I know she is."

"How?"

"Because Lexi told me it was her sister who persuaded her to tell me. She convinced Lexi I had a right to know I'm gonna be a father… and I guess that tells me everything I need to know."

"In what way?"

"I suppose I'd kinda hoped it might not be too late for us. We were getting along really well. She even seemed a little disappointed that I was going away to Hawaii, and we couldn't make any definite plans to meet up again. I stupidly let myself believe that meant something."

"Maybe it did."

"How can it have done? How can she have wanted to be with me, and then have been so keen for Lexi to tell me about the baby? She must have realized that Lexi's news was gonna mean the end for us."

"Maybe she decided to put Lexi's feelings first… and those of her unborn nephew or niece."

He sighs. "Nobody's that selfless, Ella."

I can hear the despondency in his voice.

"Are you okay, Drew?"

"No."

I have no experience of romance, so I can't imagine how he must be feeling. All I know is he felt guilty about wanting Lexi's sister so much. If he hadn't, he'd never have asked for advice. The thing is, he did, and Hunter and I told him, the only thing he could hope to do was to befriend Lexi's sister, and see where it took them.

It seems that's what he's been doing over the last few weeks, and it sounds as though it was going well, which makes it even more difficult to have it snatched away.

"How long are you staying in New York?" I ask, sensing a need to change the subject.

"Just a couple more days. I've got to be back in Boston before the weekend. I've got a new client, and they've lined up my first job for next week." He sounds a little more cheerful already, but talking about work does that for Drew. He loves being a photographer and always has.

"If you're not starting with them until next week, why don't you spend a few days in Newport first?"

"Because I've got some paperwork to do."

"So? You could work on your laptop, couldn't you?"

"I will. But if I take it down to Newport, I'll just end up sitting by the pool and thinking. Being in the city makes me more inclined to work."

I can understand that. Our house in Newport is the most relaxing place in the world. I always feel like I can breathe more easily when I'm there. Hunter and Drew feel the same way, I think.

"I have to admit, I'm dreading living here," I say.

"Why?" he asks, sounding surprised. "You've lived in big cities before."

"You're talking about London, and Madrid, and Paris. They're different."

"They're still cities, and you went to each of them all by yourself. Why does being in Boston make you so nervous?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's not the city itself, but what I'm going to be doing here."

"The job, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Then why did you take it? You didn't have to. Not having to work for a living is one of the advantages of being a multi-millionaire, in case you haven't noticed. Just because Hunter and I work doesn't mean you have to. Not if it's making you this anxious."

"I suppose I feel like I have a point to prove."

"To whom? Not us, I hope."

"To myself." And to them, and everyone else, I guess, although I'm not about to say that. "I've always been a bit of a flake, Drew… drifting from one thing to another. But I can cook, and I guess I want to prove I can make something of that."

"You don't have to prove anything, Ella. Hunter and I will always love you, whatever you do."

Oh… I wish he hadn't said that. I'm not normally a tearful person, but my eyes are stinging, and I cough away the lump in my throat.

"I guess I can go back to Newport on the weekends, if I get time." I doubt I will, especially not at the start of my contract, while I'm getting used to my new role.

"I'm not sure I would, if I were you. Not if you're looking for peace and quiet, anyway."

"Why's that?" What's he saying?

"I was talking to Hunter the morning before I left…"

"Oh," I interrupt. "I suppose he and Livia want the place to themselves for a while, do they?"

"No. It's nothing to do with that. You've got your own apartment down there, and believe me, if Hunter wants privacy, he'll find it."

I'm sure that's true enough. "In that case, why should I avoid going home?"

"Because he's having some construction work done."

"He is?" He didn't mention anything to me before he left to come back to Boston on Sunday evening. "How many kids are he and Livia thinking of having? There are six guest bedrooms already, so…"

"It's got nothing to do with them having kids," he says, interrupting me this time. "It's about Livia's parents."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Do you remember Hunter telling us about Livia's dad having a stroke?"

In reality, the man we're talking about is Livia's step-father, but to her he's ‘dad', and always has been. Her natural father was a stranger to her until very recently. But the least said about him, the better…

"Yeah. What about it?"

"It's left him with mobility problems, and he can't work anymore. Hunter was explaining that Livia's mom's doing an amazing job, but that he wanted to help them out, and Livia wants to be able to see more of them. So, he's building them a house."

"At our place?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure exactly where in the grounds it's going to be. We didn't go into that much detail."

"I don't care where it is. I think it's a fabulous idea."

"I told him the same thing, but he said he'd talk it through with us… once Livia's parents have agreed."

"You mean, he hasn't discussed it with them yet?"

"No, he and Livia are going up to Maine next weekend to tell them about the engagement and see what they say about the house. To be honest, I think he's kinda nervous about it."

"Which part? The engagement, or the house?"

"Both. From what he was saying, Livia doesn't think her mom will be too happy about the house."

"Why not?"

"She thinks her mom will see it as charity."

"Hmm… I suppose that makes sense. And I guess he's worried about the engagement because it's all happened so quickly. Let's face it, they only got back together again a few weeks ago."

"I know, but they're so in love…" His voice fades again, and I know he's got to be thinking about his situation with Lexi's sister. Even if she wasn't in love with him, that doesn't change how he feels about her.

I wonder for a moment what it must be like to be in love. Based on my brothers' experiences, I'm not sure I want to be. I may have fantasized about it often enough, in the privacy of my own bedroom, but it sounds horrendous in reality. Okay, so Hunter's happy now, but he went through hell to get here, and although he might say it was worth it, I'm not so sure. I mean… how can that level of pain be worth anything?

***

Mac

We take our third bow, the applause ringing in our ears, and as the curtain falls, the leading man looks along at the rest of us and gives a nod of his head. We're done. The audience might still be clapping and cheering, but there is such a thing as milking it, and three curtain calls are more than enough. It's enough for me, anyway, and I feel my shoulders sag, the fake smile falling from my lips.

"Don't look so relieved," Calvin whispers in my ear.

"Why not? I am relieved."

He smiles. "I don't know why. It's straight into rehearsals again next week."

I pat him on the shoulder. "Not for me, my friend."

He rolls his eyes. "You don't have to remind me…"

We head off stage, a ripple of gentle applause still echoing through the corridors of the theatre as we make our way back to our shared dressing room. It's only a tiny theatre, but I like it here and I'm going to miss it. I love the atmosphere of the place, the smell of the greasepaint, the heat from the lights. Still… it's time to move on, and I open the door, letting Calvin pass through ahead of me.

"We'd better change quickly," he says, pulling off his jacket. "Everyone will be along soon."

"They will?"

"Of course. You didn't think you were going to get away without a party, did you?"

I'm not sure I'm in the mood for a party, but I smile anyway, and step out of my costume, throwing it into the wicker basket in the corner. When Calvin and I first met about eighteen months ago, we were a little more shy and would take it in turns to change behind the screen in the corner. Now we just use it to hang things over, stripping down to our underwear without a care in the world. Having done that, I pull on my jeans and t-shirt before sitting down to remove my make-up. At least if someone comes in now, I'll be decent.

"You will stay in touch, won't you?" Calvin says, sitting beside me and rubbing a cleansing wipe over his face, although he's looking at my reflection, rather than his own.

"Of course."

"Even though you've made the big time?"

"You don't know what I've made. I haven't told you."

I haven't told anyone yet. I'm under strict, contractual instructions not to breathe a word about my new job to a living soul. It feels a little melodramatic to me, but I suppose if it's what they want, who am I to argue?

"No, you haven't. But it's gotta be something spectacular to take you away from all this." He waves his arm around the slightly shabby dressing room, a broad grin settling on his lips. He celebrated his thirtieth birthday a couple of months ago, which is how I know he's three years younger than me, and is continually complaining about the fact that his red hair limits the roles he gets offered. I always remind him that it never stood in the way of countless other red-headed actors, but he usually greets my reply with a scowl.

"It was a tough decision," I lie. It wasn't, although I still have to pinch myself every so often, just because it all seems so surreal.

The offer came out of the blue a couple of months ago, and although I asked my agent to repeat it several times over, to make sure I hadn't mis-heard, I still couldn't believe what she was saying. She's based in New York and is called Delilah Dunn. I've always imagined her name to be made-up, but I've never dared say so, or even ask about it. She's way too scary. She's in her mid-forties, and – like Calvin – has bright red hair, although hers is artificial and matches her nails and lipstick. Delilah was adamant about the offer, though… the part she'd sent me to audition for was definitely mine.

"They know I'm British, right?" I asked once the news had sunk in.

"Of course they do. They're not deaf. They said they were impressed by your American accent." Her own was dripping into my ear. "I'll e-mail you the contract, but I've read it through and there's nothing to worry about."

"Okay. Before you go, have you had any luck with finding a publisher for my book yet?"

I ask her that question every time we speak, and her answer is always the same… just like it was that afternoon. A resounding, "No."

She's had my manuscript for over two years and sometimes I wonder if she's even trying to get it published. I know she makes more money out of my acting – as do I – but this isn't what I want to do, and she knows it.

The problem is, I didn't slave over my laptop for months on end to have my novel sitting on my agent's desk, gathering dust, while I tread the boards, keeping the wolf from the door.

"Shall I try another agent?" I said, knowing it would rile her.

"It won't get you anywhere." Her voice was harsher. I knew what was coming next and braced myself. "Your plot isn't original enough. I've told you over and over. You need to re-write it."

"But I like it." I like it exactly as it is. If I didn't, I wouldn't have written it that way.

"It's not about what you like… it's about what will sell, and country house murder mysteries have been done to death."

I refused to listen, just like I'd been refusing ever since she first raised the point, shortly after reading through my manuscript.

Regardless of everything she says, there's nothing wrong with my novel. I know I'm not exactly re-inventing the wheel, but my detective is at least a little different, no matter what Delilah says. He's a doctor, who enjoys reading mystery stories, and when a murder happens right under his nose, he sets about solving it. He has little choice, as there's a convenient snow-storm, stranding the inhabitants of the remote country house where the weekend party is being held, meaning the official police can't get to them. I've set the story in the mid-1920s, when house parties were all the rage, and created some interesting characters… at least, I think they're interesting, even if Delilah doesn't.

But that's because the woman clearly doesn't know what she's talking about.

I lean a little closer to the mirror to double-check I've removed all the make-up, then pick up the pile of cotton pads I've used for cleaning my face, and dump them into the bin. It's moisturiser next, and I apply it liberally, wondering whether I'll need to use so much make-up in my next job. I'm just replacing the lid on the pot when the door crashes open, at least half a dozen people vying to get through it at the same time.

"Knock, why don't you?" I mutter under my breath, although I paint a smile on my face. They mean well, even if they don't understand the word ‘privacy'.

Ozzy leads the way, which isn't at all unusual for him. He's carrying a couple of bottles of champagne, swinging them wildly, which won't do the contents any good. Not that he seems to care. He's not the youngest member of the company; he just behaves like he is. Behind him is Anna, the leading lady. She's in her late forties, if I'm being kind… which I am, because I'm nearly always kind to ladies. It's not a trait shared by Ozzy, who's just crashed through the door ahead of her, while the rest of the company wait their turn, giving Anna due deference.

I stand, offering her my seat, and she smiles up at me.

"Why, thank you."

She has a slight southern drawl, and without the awful blonde wig and excessive make-up required for the role she's been playing on the stage, she's a very attractive woman.

The next person into the room is Desmond… our leading man. He's probably ten years older than Anna, although he doesn't look it when made-up, and while he doesn't run the company, he's very much in charge of the actors, and we all look up to him. He comes straight towards me, offering his hand, which I shake.

"It's been a pleasure working with you," he says with a smile.

"Likewise. I've learned a lot from you, Desmond."

"And I from you."

I doubt that, but I'm not surprised by him saying it. It's just the kind of thing he would say. He's forever encouraging younger actors to work harder… to be better.

A few more people pile into the room, but the next one to come over to me is the director. His name is Shawn. At twenty-seven, he's younger than I'd expect most directors to be, but he has a commanding presence, both on and off the stage.

"We're going to miss you," he says, patting me on the arm.

"I'm going to miss all of you, too." That's not a lie. I've made friends here, and although I know I'll stay in touch with Calvin, I doubt I'll be back. Like I said, this isn't what I want to do.

Calvin nudges me. "Uh-oh… here comes trouble."

I look up and see Maggie approaching, and wonder if I can hide somewhere. I glance around, except there's nowhere… other than behind the screen. That won't work, though, because I'm fairly sure she'd follow me, and God knows what she'd expect to happen then. She's been chasing after me since I got here, and if that sounds big-headed, it's not meant to. Maggie chases after everyone. She's about the same age as me and is attractive enough, in a rather obvious way. To my knowledge, though, there's nothing wrong with her… other than the fact that she's slept with every other male actor in the company, including Calvin.

And Desmond, I believe.

"It won't be the same without you," she murmurs, coming right up to me and brushing her hand up my arm.

"Yeah, it will. You won't even notice I've gone."

"I will." She moves even closer, her body crushed against mine. Then she sighs, ensuring that her ample breasts press into me, and I take a step back, which seems to disappoint her. At that moment, Ozzy comes over, offering glasses of champagne to me and Calvin. "Where's mine?" Maggie asks, pouting at him.

"Over here." He nods towards the table on the far side of the room, and although she seems reluctant to go, she follows him, leaving me to sigh out my relief.

"There's an easy way to get rid of her," Calvin whispers, clinking his glass against mine.

"Oh?"

"Just fuck her. She'll leave you alone then. That's what happened with me."

"It's a nice idea… but I'm leaving, remember? She won't be a problem after tonight."

He chuckles and I take a sip of champagne. I've never ‘just fucked' anyone in my life, but I'm not about to say that. I'm not about to admit I haven't had sex since moving here, either. Working in the theatre, learning lines, and keeping very anti-social hours have made it difficult to meet new people. Those all sound like pathetic excuses, I know, but they're genuine enough. And besides, I've always preferred to get to know the women I sleep with. That probably explains why the last woman to share my bed was Moira… the woman I left behind in London. I wasn't in love with her, or anything like that, but she was my most serious girlfriend to date. We'd been together for nearly eighteen months when I was given the chance to come here. As far as I was concerned, even if acting wasn't my ‘thing', it was an adventure, and one I wasn't about to turn down. Moira didn't see it that way. Unlike me, she had family ties, and asking her to leave them all behind was clearly too much.

I wasn't sorry, even if she made our parting more difficult than I felt it needed to be. It worked out for the best in the end. I'm rarely at home, so I'm not sure how much we'd have seen of each other… and if I'm being honest, I don't think we'd have lasted. We had fun together, but she was never ‘it' for me.

"Do you think anyone would notice if I snuck out?" I whisper to Calvin, and he looks up at me, frowning slightly.

"Why?"

"I don't want to hang around for a fond farewell." I'm not sure there will be one, but Ozzy's just gone to find more alcohol, and the more drunk they all get, the more likely it is that this gathering will end in tears. They won't be mine, but I'd rather just sneak out, anyway. I'm done here now.

"It'll be fine," he says as he waves towards the door. "Just don't forget us when you're rich and famous."

"I'll never forget you, Calvin."

He chuckles and, keeping my head down to avoid making eye contact, I surreptitiously slip from the room, making it to the corridor with surprising ease.

The stage door is to my right, and I open it, sucking in a lung-full of fresh air, before pulling it closed behind me. I feel ludicrously light-headed, considering I've only had a small glass of champagne. It's not alcohol that's making me feel like that, though… it's a combination of nerves and excitement. I'm terrified about the new job I'm about to start, but to me, that just makes it even more of an adventure.

My apartment isn't far from the theatre, and I let myself in, standing on the threshold for a moment, absorbing the space.

I love it here, and I know how lucky I am to have found this place. When I first came to Boston, the production company I was working for financed my accommodation. The budget wasn't huge, but it ran to a one-bedroom apartment in a fairly nice part of town, not too far from the studios where I worked. That contract duly ended, and when it did, I knew I'd have to find somewhere else to live. I may have fallen in with the theatre company, but they couldn't afford to pay me very much, which meant I couldn't keep my apartment. Luckily, Anna said she knew someone, who knew someone, who might be able to help, and while I was grateful, I fully expected to find myself in a shoebox in a rundown area of Boston. I never anticipated a loft apartment that used to be a dance studio, just a ten minute walk from the theatre, where even at midnight, the light is incredible. The open plan layout helps with that, although I have the privacy of a mezzanine for my bedroom, with everything else, including the bathroom, on this lower level.

I close the door, the moonlight flooding in through the expansive windows, and make my way across to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine. I don't care how late it is, I'm still too wired to go to bed, and I sit on the sofa, put my feet up, and lean back, staring at the high ceiling with a smile on my face.

Life's good. It's really good.

And I think it's about to get a lot better.