Rockstar vs Heiress (Love in Illyria Book 3)

by Adalind White

  "What's going on?" he asked when he got close.

  Alice looked up at him for a moment and mumbled a greeting before staring back into King's paper.

  "Andy is fixing a song he wrote for them," David answered. "And if you think Alice is excited, you should see the boys fangirling every time they work with him."

  "They're not that bad," Alice said without looking at David or at him.

  "Yes, they are," David assured him. "You never met Sebastian, right?"

  "Vy's brother?" he asked. "No, I have the good Cesara in my studio," he said trying to shake King's focus.

  Alice opened her mouth to argue, but she closed it when she met his eyes. Whatever she saw in them, made her eyelashes flutter and her cheeks flush.

  "They're both very talented," King said, capping the pen and handing Alice the sheet.

  The girl reached up and planted a big noisy kiss on King's cheek. To Tim's surprise, the big man smiled and brightened up as if he was used to her affection.

  "Carter, you got here late," King said. "As much as we enjoy your company, we have practice scheduled on the main stage."

  King and David stood up, but Alice remained seated.

  "I'll be there in five minutes," she said, looking up at her Captain. "I have to send the guys this version."

  She turned her gaze to him.

  "They texted me a million times to ask about the song," she said as if justifying herself for dawdling behind.

  She shook her head when she looked at the screen.

  "They do not know the meaning of the word patience," she said, but the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth in her voice was at odds with the stern words.

  She took photos of the music sheets and sent the message. He had never seen her so happy. He mirrored her happiness when she looked up at him again. His heart felt light and for a moment he forgot to be angry with the world.

  "Got to go," Alice said, standing up.

  She folded the music sheets neatly and placed them in her notebook, which she tucked carefully in the ridiculously large pink bag. The obvious delight on her face brought a smile to his lips. Waves of happiness seeped from the girl into his own troubled soul.

  He turned his head to watch her leave, grasping to the shred of cheerful peace echoing inside him. She was almost skipping with happiness a little thing as an improved version of a song for her band. When was the last time he'd ever felt such simple happiness?

  For the past six years, the Bracciano Mansion had housed the most intense moments of his days. And now in this place, not his home, he found peace.

  He and Isabella weren't even arguing any more. He loved his new born son. And yet, his house was no longer his home.

  He realized why the tense politeness was so familiar. He'd lived that situation during his parents' many reconciliations. He'd hated those weeks and months more than the times when his father was in some faraway corner of the world, and his mother dragged him at the theater.

  He hated the way everything felt when Barbara and James pretended they could make it work. He hated the hope he felt each time that it would last, only to be shattered when his father left and his mother cried all through the night.

  He stayed lost in thoughts at the empty table. He didn't love Isabella. The more they got along, the more he hated her. Her companionship was not a healthy relationship. It was a prison. He knew how he had acted with Alba. He hadn't given up on their relationship in time, blindly clinging to an ideal of love.

  He'd been often unkind and sometimes cruel to Alba because she didn't live up to his idea of love. Alba, who was gentle and demure, had left his life in with her soul in shreds. People might think he avoided her because he was sorry he lost her or jealous on her new found happiness. The truth was he was ashamed for hurting her.

  The arguments they had before Stephen's birth warned him he would do much worse to Isabella. Accidental or not, Isabella had tricked him and a part of himself couldn't forget or forgive.

  He felt his heart turn to ice when he made the decision. He picked up the phone and looked for his lawyer's number.

  "Cesara and associates," a female voice chirped at the other end.

  "I'm Tim Carter. I want to schedule a meeting with Mitch Rathbone today."

  "A moment," she said. "Mr Rathbone can see you at 4 pm."

  "Excellent. Thank you."

  #

  He asked Mark to take over his practice and left the House. For the first time in three months, he didn't go straight home.

  One good thing about money was that it solved some problems faster. He called a real estate agency on his way to Orsino. Before he met with his lawyer, he had already paid the deposit for the new place.

  One good thing about a serious health scare was that his will was updated and the provisions for the trust fund were already drafted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tim

  HE ENTERED his home as if he stepped onto a battlefield. Although the modern, minimalist design hadn't suffered much alteration due to Isabella's presence, it wasn't home any more. It might never feel like home again.

  One of the never used guestrooms had become Stephen's nursery. The living room looked pristine as ever. The harsh white and the shades of off-white made the spacious room appear even larger. Everything looked perfect, and he had never felt more out of place there.

  The sun hadn't yet set on that autumn day. He stood in the middle of the room, waiting for Isabella. The couch on which he had slept so many nights didn't appeal to him. The TV screen remained resolutely black, like an ugly dark mirror.

  The cooing from the nursery shook him to the core. He steeled his heart. The sooner he did this, the better it would be for Stephen. His son shouldn't grow up watching his parents destroy each other.

  "He's asleep," Isabella said when she came out. "What's wrong?"

  "Our relationship is not working," he said. "I tried my best, but it's not getting any better."

  "You tried?! What the hell did you try except spend all your time working, if that's really what you were doing."

  He had cut down his commitments to the bone. He was even willing to step off as Captain on Sing the next year. He was willing to give up everything other than writing songs, which could do from home if he felt even trace of love for this woman. Instead the resentment kept growing under the façade.

  After their many arguments, he knew that explanations were useless. She would have to accept his decision.

  "I set up a trust fund for Stephen. He will have access to it when he turns 18. Until then, I'll provide for him financially, and I'll help you raise him in any way you'll let me."

  He took the folder with the trust fund papers and the new lease.

  "My lawyer drew up this agreement," he said, offering her the folder.

  Isabella knocked it out of his hand. Her nostrils flared with anger. When she spoke, he noticed the stilted accent from the eastern quarter of the capital.

  "Don't think you can get rid of me that easily! If you have some delusion that I'll sign something your lawyer wrote, you're an idiot. I'll make sure you give me my due, not some scraps off your table."

  He knelt down to pick up the documents. There was no point in telling her that his lawyer worked at Paul Cesara's law firm. The mere mention of someone related to Vy would fuel her rage even more. Besides, not many people knew Paul Cesara's reputation or the extent of his influence.

  "Take the papers. Look them up with your lawyer. But I want you to move in your place today."

  "What?"

  He offered her the folder again.

  "The lease is inside. It's a couple of blocks from here."

  Her accent was even thicker now, as her anger kept mounting.

  "You chose a place without consulting me? You want to send me and your child out of here as if we're a couple of suitcases?"

  He had considered leaving her the penthouse suite and moving out, but the sterile design of that place resembled a laboratory more than the
warm home a child deserved. The house he chose for Stephen was the idyllic home he would have loved as a child.

  "It's a great place, right near the park. Big rooms, perfect furniture and you're close to the best kindergarten in Orsino. It's also close to the St-Pierre Prep School. I'll pay the rent for it as long as you will stay there. Or if you want to move, I'll-"

  "You are such a piece of shit. How can you throw me out of the house? This is the only home Stephen knows."

  "He's three months old. I'm sure he won't notice."

  Acting saved him. He managed to say the words in a cruel, uncaring tone, while his frozen heart was exploding in tiny shards of ice. Red splotches of anger stained Isabella's alabaster skin. How could he not love this beautiful, passionate woman? What kind of a monster was he?

  "Don't think this ends here."

  "It has to end, Isabella. I do not love you. I'm sorry if I ever made you think something else. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but for a while... I really believed I loved you. I don't understand what happened."

  She cackled theatrically. He hadn't expected that reaction. He'd come into that argument accepting that every mirror in the house, every piece of art and electronics would not make it through that night. He expected her to tear apart his books. To smash his watch. None of it mattered anymore.

  "Of course you don't," Isabella said contemptuously. "We played you like a puppet. We pulled the strings and you danced."

  Suddenly the East Orsino accent was gone, replaced with the cadence of the theater. Just like him, she had fallen back on her acting skills. But her words didn't make sense.

  "We?" he asked.

  Isabella's tone grew cold. Vicious. He'd heard it on stage, and got the same chill down his spine as it did when she played his wife. Lady Macbeth had stepped down from the Rose stage. She was in his home.

  "I only wanted to know how to win your respect," Isabella said, "but she taught me what to do to make you love me. You're so weird, I couldn't fake it any longer than the first few weeks."

  He should put an end to this charade.

  "Who taught you?" he asked, despite himself.

  She smiled wickedly.

  "Should I tell you? The only thing that amused me lately was to hear you talk about her. You poor bastard you don't have a clue who people really are."

  "You're not going to make me think that Vy taught you anything," he said curtly.

  "No, darling. Not your precious Vy. God, you can be so fucking clueless!"

  "You should stop. You're getting ridiculous."

  "It was fun to keep the secret as long as I could watch you delude yourself again. But since you're kicking me out, there's no fun for me to see you trusting Alice."

  "Alice? King's assistant? What does she have to do with anything?"

  "Why do you think King brought her on the show? Alice knows you, darling. Inside out. She studied your songs, your interviews. I'm sure that even your little princess told her a few things about you."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Alice was in the Salona Drama Club. She was my diction coach for months. She started as my diction coach anyway. She became so much more than that. She helped me get the part of Roxane when you held the audition for Simone's roles when she got sick. I had played Shakespeare before, but she made me Lady Macbeth. She taught me so many things. Alice Lewis is the reason you fell in love with me the first time. I don't know exactly how she does it in the House, but I'm sure she's manipulating you for King's purposes."

  He was stunned. Could this be possible? She was trying to hurt him, of course but… In a disgusting way, it made sense. Like a piece of a puzzle finally falling into place.

  He was calmer whenever Alice was around. He often sought her out when he had a break. He hadn't argued with any of the other Captains or anyone on the staff in ages.

  "You know what's the really good part?" Isabella went on. "Everything she does, is for someone else. She messed with your mind just to prove herself that she could. She trained me what to say and how to act around you. She picked up the clothes for me, and she chose the subjects on which to ask for your help. She told me about your dad, she told me you love history and I read those awfully boring books to get your interest. She created your perfect woman, and all I had to do was play a role."

  His stomach turned. The books. The war movies. Everything he ever told Alice, she had used against him. How could she? How had he been so blind?

  At least he had made the right call about Isabella.

  "Be that as it may," he said coldly. "It doesn't change the fact that I want you out of here."

  "Don't worry about that. I'm sick and tired of you. As long as you keep your word and provide for me and Stephen, I don't care who you're screwing."

  He was screwing Alice Lewis, but after that revelation, he was going to destroy her.

  The evening became surreal after that.

  As if they had been on stage, and the play had ended, the atmosphere in the house was suddenly calm.

  Isabella didn't scream at him. Didn't call him names. She didn't break anything. She must have sensed for a long time that things hadn't been as they should be. For all he knew, she really was happy to leave him as long as she got to keep his money.

  And his child.

  He couldn't think about Stephen. Knowing he was doing the right thing didn't help him deal with the pain of losing his son. Maybe he had been one of the reasons his parents had tortured each other for so long, why they hadn't been able to make a clean break.

  He helped Isabella pack some of her things and the essentials for Stephen. He called her a cab. Took the elevator with her and Stephen, carrying her suitcases.

  "You'll send the rest soon, right?" she asked when the elevator doors opened into the subterranean parking lot.

  "Tomorrow," he assured her.

  He looked at the cab taking them away and he wished he could howl in pain.

  When he got back to the penthouse, he walked aimlessly around the house. The sparsely decorated rooms seemed to make a mockery of the idea of home.

  He had kept his apartment uncluttered as a reaction to the crowded costumes room of the Rose theater in which he had slept many nights. His mother left him there, to be safe, while she went out, doing what she had to do to keep them clothed and fed.

  The empty apartment didn't give him the same sense of peace anymore. He had just chased away his family. His heart told him he'd done the right thing, but it was going to take a long time until it stopped hurting.

  He went out onto the terrace looking down at the glittering capital. He didn't feel like a king anymore. He'd been a fool. He had allowed himself to end up in that position. He'd been careless. With Isabella. And with Alice.

  Alice's betrayal hurt more than Isabella's because he'd been completely blindsided. Even if he hated her more than he did, he would not act against the mother of his child. But Alice… She was the perfect target on which to unleash his frustration and avenge his agony.

  The icy autumn wind cut his face. He relished the pain. He looked up at the full moon rising. He wasn't going to howl like some fictional werewolf. He was going to destroy her.

  Time to be thorough.

  Time to plan his revenge.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tim

  HE HADN'T SLEPT at all that night. He turned around in his mind everything he knew. He couldn't count on Isabella not telling Alice details about what had happened, so there was no advantage in not confronting her.

  Maybe it was a rationalization for what he wanted to do anyway. He wanted to frighten mousey Alice. He wanted to see how she would react against the side of his nature that she kept dormant for months.

  He shoved the door to Music Room Two open so forcefully it banged against the wall.

  "You, out!" he barked at the young man who stood in the middle of the room looking at his music sheets.

  "What are you doing?" Alice asked, standing up.
>
  He shot her a heated glance meant to burn her eyes out.

  "Get the fuck out right now," he said again and the guy left his backpack on the chair when he ran out the door.

  He was in no mood to be interrupted by the kid looking for his backpack, so he grabbed it and hurled it out into the hallway. He slammed the door shut, and thumped his fists hard against the door frame.

  He tried to use the pain to get back some of the control he lost when he saw Alice. All his thorough planning from the night before vanished. Pure hatred burned inside him, his soul was stinking of brimstone.

  "You little monster," he said, slowly turning around to look at her.

  She paled instantly and took a step back. She could back away as much as she wanted, but she couldn't get away. He was standing between her and the only exit from that room.

  "What you did... I'm going to make you pay for it until you cry tears of blood."

  He hadn't prepared this speech. Words poured out of him without his control. He stalked over to her, and she backed away until she hit her shoulders against the frame of the window.

  "Carter, what the..."

  He stopped inches from her, drinking in the sight of her fear.

  "Do me the courtesy and don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about."

  She looked at him with big round eyes. He loved seeing fear in them. Terror, as real as the anger that burned in him.

  Smart little monster. She took him seriously now. But she could not guess what he had in store for her.

  "I'm going to make you curse the day you messed with me, little girl. You will regret it every day for the rest of your life."

  He towered over her. He wanted to shove her hair aside to uncover her eyes, but touching her was risky. He was on a dangerous edge. Even from behind her silly curtain of hair, she must have seen in his eyes the depth of his hatred. Her boring brown eyes sparkled unnaturally.

  The door opened and King stepped inside. That stupid boy must have alerted him. King closed the door behind himself before saying anything.