by Mandy Baggot
“Is that where you’d like to go? There’s nothing much there. Just sand and water and five-star hotels,” she told him.
“I’ve heard the fishing’s good. Diving and fishing, walking, five-star hotels, I’d fit in just fine,” he insisted with a grin.
“You’d have to take off your diving suit for the restaurants. Gentlemen are required to wear long trousers and formal shoes for dinner,” Autumn informed him.
“What’s a formal shoe?”
“Not Havaianas,” she responded with a snort.
“So, where would you go if you could go anywhere?”
“I can go anywhere. It doesn’t change you though. Life doesn’t suddenly become perfect or even easier.” She nursed the wineglass in her hands.
“You’ve got the world at your feet. You’re twenty-seven, you’re beautiful, you’ve got your whole life in front of you,” he said, studying her face.
She lifted her head, gazed at him, and whispered, “No one ever calls me beautiful.”
There was real pain etched on her face. He could see that so clearly. She ached inside for some reason. She’d been taken apart by someone or something, gradually, like picking a scab over and over, and she carried that weight, that kilo of agony, around with her. It may be underneath the pop facade, the iconic image she showed the world, but it was there, and it wasn’t too deep. Scratch at the surface and you could touch the insecurity.
“I get ‘Autumn Raine, looking stylish, Autumn Raine, glamour personified, Autumn Raine, resplendent in green’ or pink or whatever color I happen to be wearing. But never beautiful.”
The tears rolled from her eyes now, and she had to cough to remove the boulder in her throat.
“I love what I do,” she continued, frustrated, “but no one actually cares who I am. They only care about what I can give them. And when I look into the mirror, well... I’m turning into my mother.”
“No, I don’t know anyone who can raise their eyebrows that high,” Nathan said.
“I knew Juan didn’t love me, I knew that from the beginning, so why did I let it go on? Because that’s all there was for me, him and a virtual pet. What was I thinking?” she asked herself as much as him.
“I don’t know. I can hardly wait to meet the prick in person.”
Autumn stifled a laugh and wiped her eyes.
“I mean, isn’t that High School Musical guy single? Wouldn’t he be more your type?” Nathan suggested.
Autumn laughed aloud at the suggestion and hit him on the forearm.
“Do you have his number? He might be able to help you whip up a non-organic song in twenty-four hours,” Nathan suggested.
“Hey! I can whip up a song. I was just letting you know that these things aren’t easy. I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.”
“Piano in the basement,” Nathan stated.
“Have we got anymore chocolate?”
Chapter Thirteen
He didn’t find the chocolate, but he did find another bottle of wine. He poured them both a glass then showed her the piano. The basement of the house was as luxurious as the rest and was decorated like a 1940s style bar and dance hall. Gold-flecked fawn wallpaper hung around the perimeter, Art Deco lamps adorned retro sideboards, tables, and the walnut-colored bar, and at the far end of the room was a grand piano.
Her eyes lit up when she saw it, and she practically skipped the length of the room to reach it. She sat down on the stool, opened the lid, and let her fingers flow up and down the keyboard like the professional she was. She started exercising her fingers with scales then stopped, as if she had just realized he was still there. She swallowed, looked awkward, so he dismissed himself under the guise of checking up on Jazz and Teo.
Once upstairs, he heard her working the piano. Tentatively at first, trying different chords, then creating something longer, note by note, key by key, steadily growing in confidence.
Truth be told, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t convinced by what his contact had told him during the phone call on the plane. Something about this was off; he just didn’t know what it was yet. Tomorrow should help. Tomorrow, hopefully all the potential suspects should be in the same room. This had nothing to do with As-Wana. This was something different.
She’d seen Nathan come back into the room, but he’d sat down in one of the armchairs by the bar, with the wine, and not interrupted her.
“What rhymes with cretin?” Autumn called across the room.
“No idea,” he responded, turning to face her.
“Nothing! Kind of. It might work,” she said, triumphant.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“I’ve finished. Would you like to hear it?” She looked over at him.
“Sure.”
She nodded then composed herself for a moment over the keys. She started to play, and when the music required it, she began to sing.
When I’m alone, I want to feel you
When we’re together, I don’t want it
You make me hate cos you do
Togetherness, what’s that shit?
Owner of my heart
Keeper of my secrets
They can’t make us part
My life, you complete it
You say you love me, I hate you
You like fish, I hate that
What were you? What did I do?
I say this and you say ‘dat’
Owner of my heart
Keeper of my secrets
They can’t make us part
My life, you complete it
You destroyed my faith in us
You gave me all and nothing
Trust ripped up and torn apart cos
You’re actually a cretin
She played the final note. She shook her head. The verse and chorus were completely at odds. She’d thought about Juan, and anger had raged inside her at his betrayal, but then something lighter, something warmer had filled her up. The song was solid but…she hated it. She pulled down the lid of the piano with a crash.
“It isn’t very good. I tried to write something good, and all I could think about was that horrible, cheating, lying...Rockweiler.” Autumn moved across the room toward Nathan.
“Did you make that up in half an hour?” Nathan asked as he looked at her.
She sat down in the chair and took hold of the bottle of wine. “Yes, well, it’s what I do.” She shrugged.
“It’s in four-four time,” Nathan remarked.
“Yes?”
“I thought you had to get to five.”
“It isn’t funny!”
“I was being serious.”
“I add in a breath.”
She felt her cheeks heat up at her admission. He had a way of making her feel even more insecure than she usually did. Their worlds were poles apart. She didn’t understand his, and he couldn’t possibly understand hers. How on earth were they going to convince a room full of music moguls and the world’s press that they were having a relationship?
She went to pick her wine up from the table next to her chair, but it caught the arm, fell, and landed in her lap. She shrieked and leaped up as it trickled down the front of her dress and onto her bare legs.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m such an idiot. I’ll get something for it. What should I use to clean it up?” she asked, looking to him for guidance.
“Leave it.” He picked the glass up from the floor and righted it on the table. Without unfastening the buttons, he pulled the cotton shirt he was wearing, up and over his head. He moved toward her and began to dry the wine on her dress, moving down her front and onto her wet legs.
“I can do it. If you give me the shirt, I can do it,” Autumn said. She was stuck between two movements, half of her wanted to stand still, the other part of her thought hopping from foot to foot was the appropriate action. She stubbed her toe on the chair and held steady as she looked at him.
His bare-chested form was so different to the odd, dark figure he cut in his cheap suit. He
was honed in every area, but not sculpted like an athlete. He looked toned through hard work, perhaps because of what he did.
He finished drying her then handed her the shirt. “I’m sorry if I’ve made this difficult for you,” he spoke. His tone was soft. He’d said the words in nothing more than a whisper.
She swallowed and looked up at him, clutching his shirt to her and feeling for one of the buttons.
“I’m on your side, Autumn. Don’t forget that.”
He was so close. If she unfurled her fingers from his shirt, she could touch the skin on his chest. He reached out and cupped her face with one hand. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and let the strong fingers support her head. Why was he touching her like that? Why wasn’t she objecting to him touching her like that?
Then he dropped his hand. Her head jerked upwards with a start.
“There. Pretending we’re in love tomorrow night’s going to be a piece of piss,” he declared with a triumphant laugh.
She forced a laugh from her chest, but it made her cough, and she had to hide her face in his shirt. The scent of musk and something she couldn’t quite put a name to filled her nostrils, and she had to clear her throat. She’d almost dropped her guard, let him see who she was when she wasn’t on display. Why would she do that?
Suddenly, she was very angry with him. Who did he think he was, being nice then humiliating her? And angry with herself, too. Why had she expected his show of compassion to be sincere?
“Don’t touch me again unless...” she began in a hiss. She could feel the heat in her cheeks setting light to her skin.
She threw the shirt at him and he caught it.
“Unless?”
“Just don’t do it again. Ever,” she ordered then swept toward the stairs and up out of the basement.
He finished his glass of wine and looked at his watch. It was probably time to check over the grounds before calling Jazz and Teo then turning in. He heard a door slam and could imagine Autumn throwing herself on her bed in a divaesque flounce.
She was stuck up and self-obsessed, an anorexic with a need to count random objects. But she was also vulnerable and damaged and very, very beautiful. He’d meant that when he’d said it.
Chapter Fourteen
Autumn had gone to bed furious and woken up still angered by his treatment of her. She’d never trusted him, and now she trusted him even less, if that was possible.
She took a long shower, tried to find something suitable in the wardrobe for her to wear to the party that night, then dressed in another stylish yet cheap sun-dress, and counted the gulls on the beach outside her window.
Only then did she venture from her room. Nathan’s door was closed. He could still be in there, but a look at her watch told her it was almost midday, and he didn’t seem the type to lie in bed until late. When she reached the kitchen, she was greeted by a table full of food. There was a large bowl of fresh fruit salad, croissants and pain au chocolat, together with muesli and a pot of coffee. Despite having eaten a huge bar of chocolate last night, she was starving, and the feast before her looked like heaven.
He’d made this for her. It must have taken him an age to cut the fruit. Perhaps this was his way of apologizing for last night. She wondered where he was. Had he eaten already? Maybe she should look for him, smooth things over. She had to consider that he obviously hadn’t been brought up the same way she had.
“Hello there! You must be Miss Autumn. Well, what you waiting for, child? Dig in!”
Autumn dropped the ladle she had picked up and it fell back into the fruit bowl. Bustling from the hallway into the kitchen was a buxom, forty-something black woman. She was dressed in a blue denim pinafore dress, wore heavy military-style ankle boots, and her long hair was fashioned into dreadlocks and bunched up on top of her head.
Autumn’s mouth dropped open as she looked at the woman. She looked like Whoopi Goldberg dressed for combat. And then Nathan’s words came to mind and she tensed.
Autumn picked up the pot of coffee and held it out like a weapon. “Who are you? Don’t come near me!”
“What you going to do with that? Drown me in coffee beans? Put it down, child. I’m friend, not foe.” She held out her hand. “I’m Tawanda.”
“I don’t know you. You weren’t expected. Where’s Nathan?” Autumn was still holding out the coffee pot and trying to stop her hand from shaking.
“Ah! That’s what he’s calling himself this time, is it?” She let out a hearty chuckle of amusement. “He’s on the beach, just out there. Told me to get you to eat more than a bird’s portion of brunch.” She held her hand out to introduce the food.
Autumn tipped the pot in her hands. “No one’s supposed to know I’m here. I want to see Nathan.”
“Come now, child. Put the pot down and take a seat before those pastries get cold.” Before Autumn could do anything about it, the woman had taken the pot and pulled out a chair for her.
“Who are you? How did you get here?” Autumn slumped down into the chair as Tawanda began serving up the food.
“I am an old friend of your Mr. Nathan. He ask me to come, I come.”
“He didn’t mention it to me. He should have said something. He told me not to trust anyone. He might have said if he was going to invite someone to stay.” She tapped out five beats on the table with her fingers. “Are you staying, because you haven’t said.” She had picked up a croissant and eaten half of it without even realizing.
“Would you like some fruit juice?” Tawanda asked. “Or a smoothie? I could mix you up some guava and banana.”
“Where would you get guava and banana? Where did you even get these strawberries and grapes? We’re on a remote island!” She grabbed another croissant and stuffed it into her mouth before ladling fruit into a bowl.
“I’ll make some herbal tea,” Tawanda decided, heading toward the kettle.
Autumn had syrup drizzling down her chin when Nathan entered the house from the deck. She didn’t care. She was going to eat the entire table’s worth of food then go and throw it all up again.
She counted out five strawberries and five grapes and put them to one side. She wasn’t going to speak to him. He’d embarrassed her last night and had somehow seen fit to invite this larger-than-life lady into the house without mentioning it to her.
“I hear it’s Mr. Nathan now,” Tawanda greeted as Nathan took a seat opposite Autumn.
“That’s right,” he replied.
Autumn raised an eye and watched him use one hand to load a plate with pastries and the other to fill a glass with orange juice.
“I surprised Miss Autumn, and she tried to attack me with the coffee pot,” Tawanda remarked with a boom of a laugh that shook her whole body.
“I’ve been telling her anything can be used as a weapon. I thought she hadn’t been listening,” Nathan remarked.
“Hadn’t been listening?” Autumn screamed. “That’s all you’ve made me do since I got here! Now it’s your turn to listen to me. I’ve gone along with this harebrained party idea because you told me to trust you, but how can I trust you when you invite people to stay then don’t tell me about it? I actually know where you keep that arsenal of weapons you brought, so she’s lucky she didn’t get the end of a gun in her face.”
She wheezed like an asthmatic and grabbed hold of Nathan’s glass of juice and guzzled from it.
“I’d be surprised if you got the right end,” Nathan retorted.
“It’s happening all over again! Why can’t you listen to me? I want to know what she’s doing here and why you didn’t tell me!”
“Because it was my decision,” Nathan banged his fist on the table, “and I won’t run every decision past you—no matter who you think you are!”
A croissant bounced off the plate and landed on the floor, and the fruit salad reacted like a wave machine had been turned on in the bowl.
“I want to get out of here! You can’t keep me here!” Autumn screamed, rising to her feet.
Nathan stood up. “Fine! Let’s go.”
Shocked at his response, she didn’t move. In a couple of strides, he was around her side of the table, grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her toward the outside.
“Mr. Nathan—” Tawanda started.
Autumn screamed and tried to release her arm from his grip. When tugging didn’t loosen his grasp, she pinched his skin with her nails.
“I know what I’m doing, Tawanda. We’ll be back. Keep the coffee warm.”
He didn’t relinquish his hold until they were down on the sand, facing the lake.
Autumn rubbed at her sore wrist. “I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend tonight. I just can’t!” she shrieked.
“Why not? I’ve seen you act in those over elaborate music videos you’ve done,” he responded.
“That’s not the same. There are cameras, there are people giving me costume and make-up, there’s direction.”
“It isn’t any of those things though, is it?” Nathan retorted. “It’s because of who I am, or rather who I’m not.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were bulging out of his skull, his lips were tight, and she could see the tension in his torso. He started to pace, his hands on his hips, his bare feet in the sand. The cotton shirt he wore blew against his body with every breath of wind, and Autumn recalled seeing him without it last night.
“You know, I’m not the multi-millionaire owner of a software company called Drive. You know I’m a bodyguard, an ex-Special Forces agent from Hull who isn’t quite sure what knife and fork to use if there’s more than one set. You can’t force yourself to play a part with me,” he said.
His eyes were fixed on her, throwing rays of rage from every angle.
“No,” she said softly.
“No? So, I don’t disgust you? You don’t think I’m an ill-mannered bastard who isn’t even fit to be your driver?”
