He scrutinises me as he dries his hair. “I was going to call you anyway.”
“Call me? We’re in the same house.”
“Technically.”
“I suppose this place is the size of a hotel…”
“Yeah.” Is he uncomfortable about this? He bought the house…
“What were you going to call me about?” I ask.
“Tonight.”
“What about tonight?” I don’t do ‘tonight’, not with Dylan. Tonight, I’m packing.
“There’s a party.”
“Thanks for the heads up - make sure you turn the music down by 10pm.”
He gives me his ‘you’re funny, Sky’ look. “No. You have to come.”
“Not my scene.” I turn to leave; his near nakedness is addling my brain and could lead to me being persuaded to join in his episode of the Young and the Beautiful.
“Sky, this is for us to make a scene as a backup to our story.”
“A scene? What do you mean?”
“We have a fight or something in public for people to spread around social media.” He pauses. “So, I’m not using the party as an opportunity to get in your face and talk you around.”
“Your idea?”
“No. Kim’s.”
I bet, and I can imagine her haughty face overseeing the situation. “I’m not sure…” I grasp for and excuse. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Dylan laughs. “Nice excuse.”
“I mean I don’t have anything suitable for a rock star’s girlfriend to wear.” None of the clothes Steve brought from my flat are what I’d wear out shopping, never mind to a party.
“I can get you something?”
“And you know my response to that!”
He huffs. “Fine. Check the wardrobe in your room?”
“For what?”
“You’re in the guest room. People often leave clothes – there’s probably something suitable.”
Second hand clothes from skinny girls? Those are unlikely to fit me. “No. I’ll wear something I have. If I go.”
“Suit yourself, but if you want to disconnect yourself from Blue Phoenix, this is the easiest way. Then you won’t have to subject yourself to my presence again.”
We both wait for the other to speak. The room is humid from the pool and heating, and the atmosphere between us hangs in the claustrophobic air.
“Why were you going to call me? Why not come and talk to me?” I ask.
His distant pale blue eyes connect straight back to the Dylan from Broadbeach, the one looking to escape. “Because seeing you is hard.”
Dylan throws the towel across his shoulders and climbs one of the sets of metal spiral stairs leading to a part of the house I haven’t been in.
As his figure disappears, Jem re-enters my mind. I hope I don’t take a wrong turn on the way back to my room this time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sky
Whoever packed my bag was male. The rucksack contains mismatched tops and trousers, a pair of faded jeans, a plain white work shirt, a short red party dress and my favourite blue and white floral summer dress.
I lay the creased dresses on the bed and compare them. The red dress has a wine stain on the front from last year’s Christmas party, so I dump it back into my rucksack. This leaves two options-summer dress or jeans. Judging by the expensively dressed people I’ve watched climb out of cars this evening; jeans would get me escorted off the premises. The summer dress I wore in Broadbeach is my only option.
Creeping down the hallway from my bedroom, towards the sound of the loud guitar music and the hubbub of voices, I reach the curving staircase at the front of the house and peer down. People mill around in the marbled entrance hall, air kissing and admiring each other. Even from a distance, I can see expensive looking, presumably designer, dresses and well-tailored suits. There’s no high street fashion down there. I look down at my floral summer dress and flat shoes; I’m no Disney princess ready to make a sweeping entrance at the ball.
I can’t walk into the throng of people below; I’ll be eaten alive.
I head back along the hallway, past my room, to find the set of stairs leading down to the end of the house with the kitchen. Maybe Jan will be there, and hopefully no one else. I can’t imagine this is the sort of party, where people hang out in kitchens. I recognise my streaming thoughts – panic mode bringing on bubbling, burbling nonsense waiting to fall from my mouth.
I walk into the kitchen and Dylan’s alone on the terrace outside. My chest tightens and I halt.
The glass door is open and he faces away from me. He’s wearing a suit and holds a short tumbler glass in his hand, the light glinting off his rings. My heart stutters, and the confusion between anxiety and attraction hits. I’m turned on by this hot as hell man who turned my world upside down, there’s no getting away from that, but how is that enough? Dylan turns and walks towards the kitchen, pausing when he sees me.
“Sky.”
“Hey.”
He sweeps a gaze across my ensemble. “I like what you’re wearing.”
His scrutiny makes me uneasy. “Very funny.”
“No, I do. You were wearing that the first day I met you.” He knocks back the rest of his drink. “I remember how sexy you looked in that dress. How sexy you look in it now.”
“This is just a dress from Next, nothing fancy.”
Dylan steps forward, on the very edge of acceptable personal space. “The dress shows your curves, and you look natural.”
He needs to step back and stop talking about my curves the way he did the night in the beach house, and I dismiss the reaction my body wants to have to Dylan calling me sexy.
I swallow. “I don’t think natural fits here.”
“You’re beautiful, Sky,” he says, eyes softening as he lightly rests his fingers on my face.
“I guess your suit isn’t high street?” I say, moving my head away from his touch.
“I told you I looked fucking hot in a suit,” he says and grins, pulling at his jacket.
A quote I once read springs to mind, about how a well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to a man. In front of me is exactly what that quote means. I’d retort about his arrogance but he’s a hundred percent correct. The expertly tailored dark grey suit and crisp black shirt beneath covers all the ugly tattoos; the open neck adds a more casual look. With one hand in his pocket, and the other holding his empty glass, he’s searing hot, model material again. No wonder this guy is number one on all the Top Ten lists of world’s sexiest men. A secret surge of smugness he wants me sneaks in and I slap the reaction down.
Crossing to the kitchen bench, he pours himself another drink from the heavy bottle. “Do you want one?”
God, yes. “Okay.” I don’t go for spirits much but one glass should help the nerves.
“So you’re going to accompany me to the party?” he asks, filling my glass with a dark liquid.
“Accompany you?”
“We should arrive together, even if we leave apart.” His words and expression are loaded as he picks up the two glasses and inclines his head towards the next room.
The music and light filter under, and I inhale as he opens the door. I only need to do this once, I tell myself.
“Cheers,” he chinks our glasses and drains his in one go.
I copy him, setting my glass on the small table nearby. Dylan chuckles then bows indicating the door. As he opens the door, Dylan slips his arm around my waist in a way so natural the gesture breaks my heart, and almost my resolve.
“Have fun,” he whispers, his breath sending tiny shockwaves across my face.
*****
Dylan strides through the open door and his presence fills the room, capturing the attention of everyone around. True stars like Dylan carry something intangible with them that pulls the world towards them. Whether an energy of a different nature to other people, or the sexuality they exude, something causes men like Dylan to shine in this world.
I stiffen as the nearest people scrutinise us registering his proprietary arm around me and stealing looks at my ridiculously inappropriate dress.
The party spans several rooms, guests draped across sumptuous black leather sofas in this room, and through the open door I see others spilling out to another terraced garden. I veer around them with Dylan’s arm tightly around my waist; my anchor in this sea of brightly coloured fakery. Music blasts from the speakers in the next room we pass through, where bodies move and connect beneath the strobes.
“I didn’t expect there to be so many people,” I whisper to Dylan, as we step into a quieter room.
I meet the shocked expression of a skinny girl with shining brown hair tumbling across her face, her skin stretched across high cheekbones in her pale mask of a face.
“We need a good audience, so Kim invited half of London’s ‘it’ crowd. Now go with this.” He moves his arm to my shoulders, pulling me close as we cross the room towards a small group.
Aware of the scrutiny, I keep my eyes to the marble floor. When I look up, amusement shares confusion in people’s expressions, and despite my nerves, I’m glad they don’t think I fit.
A guy as tall as Dylan stands against the grey wall, legs crossed at the ankles as he watches us approach. He’s chosen the usual Blue Phoenix mix of T-shirt and jeans, and unusually dark red hair pours across his shoulders. After a glance at me, the guy gives a thumbs up to Dylan. Dylan’s grip on my shoulders tightens and I wriggle away, nervously brushing the front of my dress.
“Hey, sweetheart,” says the guy. “Nice to meet you. Honey told me you were at the house.”
Honey. Oh, great. I scan the room but there’re a few Honey clones so I have no chance of spotting her.
“This is Liam,” says Dylan. “He’s the bassist and an all-round nice guy.”
Liam pushes Dylan in the shoulder. “Ruining my image, man.”
“Hey, one of us has to be the nice guy.”
Dylan attempts to take my hand and I cross my arms, tucking my hands away. Liam watches. “I think you have to show everyone here that you’re together before you show the world you’re not.” He winks at Dylan.
“Where’re the other guys?” asks Dylan.
“Jem’s choosing a victim. No fucking clue where Bryn went.” I shiver at the word and Liam smiles. “I don’t mean real victim. Girls usually don’t see things that way.” He pulls himself from the wall. “I’d better find Honey - she’s high. Nice to meet you, summer Sky.”
As he walks away, I shake my head, hoping to shake some reality back in. “High?”
“Yeah. Want a drink?”
Dylan’s nonchalance shocks me, building back up the protective layers he stripped away. If Dylan’s drinking again, is he doing anything else?
I study his pupils and he holds my gaze. “I’m not high, Sky. I don’t do that shit anymore.”
“Just drink?”
He snorts. “Says the girl who downed more than a bottle of wine the night we met.”
The pink creeping up my neck is partly the truth of his words, and partly the reminder of the night we met. The evening that changed the course of my life for the second time in the same week.
“Well, I need a drink now,” I tell him. “Another one. A big one.”
“Sure thing.”
I widen my eyes in alarm as Dylan’s mouth brushes mine, unprepared for the power of his lips on mine after time apart. The reaction is predictable, a desire to respond engulfing my common sense. Thankfully, Dylan steps away.
“Sorry, just keeping up the pretence.” He runs a finger across my lips, smirking.
I touch my lips as if I’ve just been electrified, as Dylan strides across the room. A girl with black pixie cut hair watches, and then turns empty eyes toward me. She’s far enough away I don’t need to acknowledge her, and the way she studies me with a disdainful curve to her mouth should embarrass me. Instead, I lift my chin and stare right back.
No one here is any better than I am.
A young waiter, smartly dressed with spiked brown hair passes with a silver tray carrying glasses of champagne, wide-eyed as he takes in the crowds around. Wondering why Dylan left to find a drink when so many are available, I take a glass, and gulp the wine. By the time another waiter dressed in the same uniform but older passes, my glass is empty so I swap it for a new one.
Four glasses later and Dylan hasn’t returned. At least my discomfort lessens as my blood alcohol level increases. I giggle because I’m against the wall at a celebrity party trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a fake plant. What a weird night.
If Dylan’s decided to abandon me, shouldn’t we have a fight first? Then I can go back to my room, pack and wait for freedom? I pull myself from my safe spot and weave through the bodies, thankful that as the party has grown, the interest in me is lost in the crowds. Heading in the direction Dylan went, I fight through a jungle of silicone, suffocated by a deadly poison cloud of perfumes.
Several fruitless minutes of searching later, the dizzying atmosphere heightens my light-headedness and I move towards an open door. Stepping through the doorway into the summer night air cools my face, and I breathe deeply in an attempt to clear my head of the party. An old set of stone steps run down towards the dark; two figures stand at the edge of the lit area and I freeze. Dylan and a girl. My stomach knots tight – her arm is on his, and he strokes her cheek. I can’t hear what they’re talking about but they appear intimate. She’s small and slender with straight, dark hair. Dylan’s relaxed with this girl, more so than he was with me earlier. I chastise myself – why be jealous? I told him I didn’t want him.
Yet I am. Unbelievably, fluorescent green, Godzilla-size monster jealous. I thought he wanted me, and I’d begun to rationalise wanting him. Is he about to humiliate me at the party by parading another girl in front of everyone?
I stare as the couple talk in low voices. They touch each other’s faces and hair as they speak, and then the girl holds Dylan’s hand in both of hers. When Dylan kisses the top of the girl’s head and turns, so does my stomach.
I stumble backwards, hoping he can’t see me illuminated by the light from the room behind. I back inside just in time.
“Hey, little lady, where you going?” A hand catches my elbow and the voice carves fear along my spine. Jem.
“Nowhere much. Drink, I’m looking for a drink.”
Jem fixes me with an intrigued expression, and runs his tongue along his teeth, as he looks me up and down. “Nice dress, Sky. You certainly stand out in it.” His low voice sends a shiver through.
“Because I own clothing bigger than a handkerchief?”
He smiles. “Funny. Let’s get you a drink.”
Jem’s American drawl is more pronounced than Dylan’s, although Dylan’s is also stronger since he came back here. Someone bumps me, and a girl stalks past, heels clicking across the tiled floor.
Before I can react, Jem takes my hand and leads me towards a quieter room. A wooden bar spans one side of the room, several metres across, with a drinks selection worthy of a pub. Identical looking platinum blonde girls serve drinks, their large breasts barely covered in the cut off white T-shirts, shorts half way up their backsides. This is Dylan’s house; did he choose the staff?
I hang back near the opposite wall as Jem gets a drink. The girls go straight to him, and I compare Jem to those around. He’s wearing a grey suit similar to Dylan’s and a few eyes in the room are trained on him. He knows this, and holds himself tall, looking aloofly at the matching girls in front. His presence is similar to Dylan’s, but not as all encompassing. His star doesn’t shine as brightly.
Jem returns to me, holding a glass of champagne. When passing the glass to me, he deliberately rubs a thumb along my hand. I gulp the champagne, shifting my look from him; the guy Liam said was looking for a victim. He takes a long drink of the brown liquor in his glass then licks his lips whilst staring at mine.
My discomfort level grows by the second; is he flir
ting or threatening? What is it about this man that locks up the snarky, sure-of-herself Sky and throws away the key?
Jem places a hand on the wall and leans forward, breath on my face. As tall and muscular as Dylan, Jem has the strength to match. I’ve experience of how strong Dylan is when he’s touched and held me before, but this never worried me. Jem’s scent is different, a similar spice but heavier. Add to this the unfocused eyes and low voice and I’m scared.
“What’s the deal?”
“Pardon?”
“You and Dylan, what’s the game?”
“No game.”
He sneers. “Kind of a big coincidence?”
“What the hell?”
“You staying at the house with him. Planned it, did you? What happened? Is he not the guy you wanted him to be?” His tone hardens.
“That’s not what happened…”
He touches my nose with the tip of his finger. “Did you want to try another one of us?”
I pull my head back and scrutinise his face. He’s not sober at all; his eyes are those of someone elsewhere.
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
His brown eyes widen, and then a grin sneaks across his face. “If you want…”
Nice one, Sky. I side step but he places the other hand against the wall, caging me in. “He won’t give you money.”
“I don’t want his money!”
From the corner of my eye, I’m aware of heads turning to us. A girl in a silver glove of a dress nearby points and looks are thrown my way. Do they think I’ve started on a new band member?
Dylan appears behind Jem, face hard as he claps him on the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude?”
Jem steps back and holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Just chatting.”
The anger on Dylan’s face is directed at his friend, not me. “You okay, Sky?”
I nod.
“I’m trying to suss out what her deal is, man. This is all fucking dodgy. Look at her… seriously? You can do better than that.”
I grit my teeth and step away, unsure whether to respond. The scene we’re causing has more than a few interested onlookers.
Summer Sky: A Blue Phoenix Book Page 18
