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  Unfortunately, yes.

  “Okay, I’m a soft touch. She keeps crying every time I suggest she goes.”

  “Ah, Bryn, man…” Liam shakes his head. “Can’t you see what she’s doing?”

  “What?”

  “Look at the picture. She’s pretending to hide herself from the press.”

  “But she doesn’t need to hide; nothing’s going on between us.”

  “Exactly! But she’s making it look like there’s something to hide. She wants the world to think you’re together.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Liam laughs. “Yeah, oh, fuck.”

  Ella and Emily appear through the kitchen door, Ella running up to Liam and planting a kiss on his head. A shaggy white dog follows and Emily bends down to unclip the lead, brown hair falling across her face.

  “Hey, Bryn. How are you?” she asks.

  “Dating an heiress apparently.”

  Emily smiles. “I read about that. Are you?”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re a rock star, Bryn. It’s expected.”

  “I’m not interested in Mia!”

  “Well, you know the answer,” says Liam and stands. “Get her to leave and find another chick. Or find another chick anyway, so Mia gets the message. I’m sure it won’t be too hard. Be right back.”

  “Fancy being my fake girlfriend?” I ask Emily and I’m half-serious.

  Tall, slender, with long, long legs, Emily’s one of those girls who attract men without trying. Pretty girls can enhance themselves with the right image and attitude, but will always be outshone by naturally beautiful girls who don’t realise they are, like Emily. Unfortunately, she’s in her late teens like Mia and a great kid, but not on my radar. Too young, for a start,

  “Sorry, Bryn, you’re not my type.” I open my mouth to retort but she’s biting her lip in barely disguised amusement.

  “Oh, yeah, I hear you prefer actors.”

  Her face loses the amusement. “From who?”

  I was teasing but now I’m intrigued. “Nobody. But I think you have a secret.”

  “I do not!” An increasingly flustered Emily takes her magazine from the table, a hint of pink on her pale cheeks.

  “Is there one you like? I can introduce you if you want.” I point at the magazine. “Cas whatshisname. He’s popular. You met him?”

  “No! I’m not interested in famous people and I doubt they’d be interested in me!”

  Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Has Emily hooked up with an actor? As nanny of a Blue Phoenix member, Emily’s in the right job if she’s looking to hook up with somebody famous, although I’d never pin the sweet, politely spoken girl as somebody to get into the messed-up world of celebrity.

  I shrug. “Fair enough.”

  A look crosses Emily’s face and I can’t figure out what, like I said something to hurt her. I give her one of my grins and she scurries off almost knocking into Liam on the way past.

  “Beer?” The question is a formality as two bottles appear on the table in front of me. “So, what’s up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything okay?” Liam opens both bottles and discards the metal tops.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Who’re you bringing to the wedding? Mia?”

  “Fuck, no!” I pause and drink. “Has Cerys got any decent looking friends?

  Liam purses his lips in amusement. “Best man and the bridesmaid?”

  “Anybody would do right now,” I say gruffly.

  “Whoa. That’s not like you. Mr. Secretive Nice Guy.”

  “Maybe I’m pissed off with being the nice guy; it doesn’t work.”

  “Work at what?”

  “Being happy. Forget it.”

  The smell of roast dinner fills the kitchen, reminding me of family Sundays; and as I sit in the warmth of Liam’s kitchen, my heart aches again. I chased this dream too, but I was looking in the wrong fucking place. Why the hell can’t I accept what happened and get Hannah out of my head?

  Chapter Three

  BRYN

  Every time this girl turns the waterworks on, I cave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Mia hugs the dog to her chest, mascara streaking down her cheeks in silent distress.

  I run a hand through my hair. “Mia, please. I need my space.”

  “But you have so much room, please, Bryn. I can’t move until I’ve found the right place and I don’t want to move into a hotel! Not when it’s almost Christmas!” She sniffs delicately, rubbing at an eye with one finger.

  “What do you mean ‘the right place’?”

  “None of the apartments I look at are right. I really want to move to Mayfair; it’s closer to everything.”

  “I thought you said you were going back to the States?”

  “Not until the auditions for the new seasons start. I’ve spoken to my agent and she’s found me loads! This year might be my big break! There’s this one show planned about a girl who…”

  “Wait. What? Aren’t you looking for a recording contract?”

  Mia waves her hand. “Singing, acting, modelling, I don’t care. But since Daddy’s new wife decided to be a bitch, he’s not helping me anymore. I’m not even going home for Christmas. I hate them!”

  The tears stream again and I wish she hadn’t mentioned her family. Mia’s family is friends with Steve and became mine, too. When Blue Phoenix started out, Mia’s mum, Trudy, took the confused teens under her wing and helped us navigate the new world we were thrust into. In LA, we slept in spare rooms at their house.

  Trudy ran a PR company and was not to be messed with, had a major reputation as being good at what she did, and she was. She refused to PR for us or get too involved in case it ruined her friendship with Steve, but Trudy smoothed over a lot of our fuck ups that could’ve hit the press. In a weird way, this Hollywood shaped woman who looked half her age became a surrogate mum to the immature, eighteen-year-old rock stars. I had the hardest time leaving Wales and my family, so I became the closest to her.

  Her husband, Frank, was a businessman, who made his money through a successful transport company, and between them, they rolled in wealth and spoilt their little girl, Mia.

  Trudy died of breast cancer three years ago, devastating her family. At that point, the rest of the guys didn’t have anything to do with the family anymore, but I’d stayed in touch and the grief hit me too. Mia was already going off the rails and had her dad wrapped around her finger, the fifteen-year-old who had everything decided it wasn’t enough and needed more.

  Before she died, Trudy asked me to keep an eye on Mia, made me promise to keep her safe the way she kept an eye on me early on in my career. Of course, I agreed but never thought I’d need to. Unfortunately, Mia’s life of hanging around the rich and famous wasn’t enough; she wanted more – her own fame.

  Since then, Mia has jumped from project to project, using Frank’s endless stream of money. In the last year, this involved a fledgling singing career and Steve passing UK guardianship of the naïve eighteen-year-old to me. Always me, soft touch Bryn with nothing better to do.

  What I didn’t bank on was Mia’s growing obsession with the band, notably with me as the one single member. I don’t think she’s attempting to make the world think we’re a couple for mercenary reasons. She’s immature and selfish, unable to accept it will never happen.

  Maybe I have sympathy because of my own inability to accept when something isn’t going to happen.

  So, the promise I made to a dying woman and my too fucking nice-ness perpetually leaves me in Mia’s life.

  “You need to get rid of the dog then,” I say.

  “Nooo!” Like a child with a favourite doll, Mia hugs the animal to her chest. “Please, only a couple more weeks.”

  Couple of weeks?

  Knowing I’m done for, I shake my head. “Okay, but Mia…” She straightens, smiling expectantly through her panda face. “Can you please stop walking around the h
ouse half-naked? I am not interested. At all. You are too young and not my type.”

  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve bumped into a lingerie-clad Mia at night, who’s hoping to arouse more than just my interest. Yeah, she’s a sexy girl but I’ve known her since she was ten and that memory of her supersedes the attraction. I have four sisters; she’s like a fifth in some ways, or a cousin. Not a girl I want in my bed.

  Mia bites her lip coyly. “Okay, sorry, I didn’t think it bothered you like that.”

  “It doesn’t bother me like that, which is why your plan won’t work.” I sigh. “And you need to tell people we’re not a couple and stop with the smug-faced ‘I’m not telling’. They don’t listen to me when I deny we are.”

  Apparently unable to hear me any longer, Mia stands with her dog, raining kisses across the poor animal’s snout.

  “Mia?”

  “Fine,” she replies but I don’t believe her. At all. “What about the wedding?”

  “What about it?”

  “Liam and Cerys’s wedding is next week. Who are you taking?”

  “Not you.” Mia’s face falls and I temper my tone. “I just told you why. I don’t want the world thinking we’re together.”

  “I can tell people we’re not! Please! I’d literally die to go to the wedding.”

  “It’s not upmarket, Mia. Very understated.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I guess it would be. I mean, they’re not very … you know.”

  “No. Enlighten me.”

  “Like…” I watch as Mia attempts to find words that won’t sound insulting. “They’re not very star-like.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “The wedding will not be your thing.”

  Mia pulls a tissue from a nearby box and continues to wipe at her streaked face. “I just thought… if the girl from Austria wasn’t going with you…”

  “Australia. And there’s no girl, please keep out of my business, Mia,” I say tersely.

  “You should find yourself a girl.”

  “Like I said, that girl won’t be you and keep out of my business.”

  Pissed off she’s dragged the spectre of Hannah up after three weeks of trying to push her away in my mind, I stand and head to the kitchen. Grabbing a carton of orange juice from the fridge, I rest against the counter and drink without pouring into a glass.

  I’m damn happy for Liam and Cerys, but I’m not looking forward to the wedding. They’re perfect for each other and Liam’s a different guy around her, relaxed, happy, like he’s found what was missing in his life. Dylan and Sky, they’re happy too. It won’t be long before they’re married I’ll bet. Fuck knows what’s going on with Jem and Ruby and their on/off whatever the hell they call it, but they’re solid.

  Everything’s changing and I’m still here waiting for my past to catch up, investing my time in other people so I don’t have to confront my own emotions. Look at Liam and Cerys, kept apart for years and they weren’t even as close as me and Hannah.

  I’d kill to have Hannah with me, and take her to the wedding. When I last visited her in Australia, I was going to suggest to Hannah she should come. I intended to ask Hannah to step into my life, so I could show how Cerys and Liam aren’t pursued with the same rabid fervour as Jem and Dylan, and she’d be safe with me. Hannah could sneak into the Blue Phoenix world while the spotlight was on others.

  Instead, we’re over and I’m best man at a wedding I know will depress me.

  Not that anybody will notice.

  Mia. Hannah. What the hell am I doing? I’m pining over Hannah who doesn’t care; she fucked with my head and I need her out of my system. Mia’s taking advantage of me being such a soft touch and I need her out of my house. No more girls walking over Bryn Hughes. Next girl I meet, I use the fame to my advantage because it’s about time a chick fell at my rock star feet. Then the girl after that. And the next. Fuck being the nice guy.

  Chapter Four

  AVERY

  Three weeks of waitressing and I haven’t spilled, dropped, or broken anything, so pouring a bowl of hot soup into the lap of the drummer from Blue Phoenix is a spectacular way to break my perfect record.

  This isn’t my fault, Bryn Hughes moved his chair at the wrong moment, and I tripped forward attempting to hang onto the bowls. The bowl I carry in one hand survives; the other empties its orange, pumpkin goodness all over a millionaire rock star.

  Bryn jerks his head round and jumps to his feet, the liquid trickling down his grey trousers. “What the fuck?”

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, I dump the other bowl on the table, grab one of the perfectly folded white napkins from the table, and start wiping at the damp patch on Bryn’s crotch.

  “Whoa, you could at least buy me a drink before making a move on me!” he says.

  “Crap! Sorry!” From spilt soup to inappropriate touching of guests, I can safely wave this job goodbye.

  The calmness of Bryn’s tone surprises me, especially considering the other band members are laughing at him. Aware of the heat on my cheeks spreading, I look up at him. Amused brown eyes regard me, which is a relief, but doesn’t help with the blushing because this is the closest I’ve been to anybody famous. His brown curls rest against his forehead, full mouth fighting a smile as he looks down at me. Literally looks down. He towers over me and if he was angry, I’d be terrified. At just over five-feet tall, most people are taller than me but this guy…

  “Good thing your soup isn’t too hot,” Bryn says. “Or that you didn’t spill it on Jem’s lap and injure him.”

  “Why?” asks someone I recognise as Jem Jones, a tightly wound guy hidden behind brown curly hair twice as long as Bryn’s.

  “Could do some serious brain damage if something injured your dick,” says Bryn with a laugh.

  “Fucking hilarious,” mutters Jem and the scarlet-haired girl next to him joins in the sniggering around the table.

  Has Bryn deliberately switched focus from me? I step back and smooth my skirt, unsure what the etiquette is now. Walk away?

  When I discovered I was waitressing on the day of the big Blue Phoenix wedding, excitement vied for nerves. There are a lot of people out there who’d give their right arm to be privy to such a momentous occasion, the first of the guys to get married. The event is nowhere near as pretentious as I expected, lower key than some of the bridezillas and, often worse, bridezilla mothers I have to wait on at the castle venue I work at part-time.

  The bride and groom sit at the top table with a little girl next to them. The longhaired bass player, Liam, and Cerys, the girl with white flowers plaited into her hair, can barely keep their eyes or hands off each other. Their awareness of others in the room seems to have disappeared. Two people in love, not what I want to see right now.

  “Sorry,” I mumble again. “I’ll get something to clear it up.”

  “It’s all good, just find me a towel,” says Bryn.

  Nodding in a stupefied way, I head to the kitchen. The moment the double doors swing closed behind me, I slump against a counter next to the chef and let out a stream of expletives I wanted to use when I spilled the soup. Although rock stars wouldn’t find this kind of language anything out of the ordinary, as a waitress, this would’ve added insult to the behaviour.

  “What’s up?” David, the junior chef, looks over from where he’s sautéing potatoes.

  “You’ll never guess what I just did,” I groan.

  “Try me.”

  I’m relieved it’s David here and not Keith, the head chef who makes Gordon Ramsey seem like Delia Smith.

  “I just dumped soup over the drummer.”

  David laughs. Not just a chuckle but full on raucous. “You’re kidding me?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Is he okay?” David’s amusement disappears as the thing I’m worried about dawns. What if he complains? Sues us?

  “He’s bit damp. I said I’d get him a towel.”

  Shaking his head, David retur
ns to his cooking. “Wait until Gemma finds out.”

  “I know.” Maître d’ and chief bitch has found fault with me the whole time I’ve worked here. This job’s temporary, to fill the holidays between semesters before I head back to uni in London. Gemma has a chip on her shoulder about students, and every day something I do is wrong; badly folded napkins, inadequately shined cutlery, and once because I didn’t smile enough. Hypocrite, her face is permanently miserable. Gemma’s going to love this.

  I grab a tea towel and debate how much use it will be against the amount of soup covering Bryn’s trousers, but head out of the kitchen anyway. Bryn hovers outside and I almost slam into his wall of muscle.

  “Glad you’re not carrying more soup,” he says and steadies me with his hand.

  Bryn’s large palm is warm against my arm and his decision to touch me spikes my already high heart rate. I’m in physical contact with a rock star. I chastise myself; I’ll be swooning and giggling next.

  “Here,” I half-squeak and hold out the white and blue tea towel.

  He raises an eyebrow. “That’s too small; there’s a lot down there to dry, you know.”

  My face flares again at his double meaning. “Maybe take your trousers off…” Oh, my God. “I mean, do you have anything to change into?”

  Bryn makes a mock gasp. “I told you. You need to at least, buy me a drink before I put out! Groping me and then trying to get into my pants…you look so sweet and innocent, too.”

  I take a deep breath. I deserve this but I’m not taking it. “That’s amusing. I made a mistake and I’m trying to help.”

  Bryn takes the towel. “I know, but see the funny side, hey?”

  “Yeah, hilarious when I lose my job.”

  “Over one bowl of spilt soup?”

  “Believe me; somebody is looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

  “Hmm. Well, I won’t complain if that’s what you’re worried about. Accidents happen.”

  “I can’t believe you’re calm about this.”

  “What would I achieve by being shitty about it?” He pauses. “Oh, because I’m famous you think I’ll have an attitude to you common folk.”