by Vicki James
“He hated the man staring back. He didn’t even recognise who he saw.”
My fingers dug into Presley’s hair as I stared at him, filled with soul-destroying, devastating empathy and heartbreak.
“I don’t ever want to become that man, Tess,” he breathed, his brows creasing together. “I don’t ever want to live for everyone else instead of myself. No matter what.”
“You won’t,” I assured him, shuffling closer so our bodies were pressed together, and our faces were level. “What your father did was a desperate act in a dark moment he couldn’t find his way out of. That’s not who you are. I’ve never met someone like you, Presley. You’re so aware of yourself—it’s inspiring. It’s one of the things I love about you the most. But don’t you see, wearing a mask isn’t the problem here. Everyone does it. Even you. I’ve been with you all this time, and I had no idea of the pain you carried deep inside.”
“Pain that goes away whenever I’m with you. I know what I want, and I know I’m selfish with it, but you’re all I need. You’re all I want.”
I smiled as a tear fell down my cheek, across my nose and onto the mattress. “I’m here for you,” I told him with all the honesty I possessed. “And I’m glad you took off the mask for me this morning.”
“No more secrets,” he assured me.
“No more secrets,” I repeated. “No more lies. No more waiting.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“No more masks, either. That includes yours, Presley.”
“Don’t worry. My mask can’t hurt me. Not like Dad’s did him,” he slurred, his words growing heavy as he closed his eyes again and released a sigh that warned me of impending sleep.
I took a moment, running my hand through his hair until I saw his lips part and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
“No,” I whispered. “But it can hurt me.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I woke to an empty bed, patting the pillow beside me aimlessly until I lifted my head and opened my tired eyes.
He wasn’t there.
Moving slowly, I lifted myself up and looked around the empty space. A mild form of panic started to rise in my chest.
Did he regret telling me the secrets he’d kept inside him?
Did he regret opening up and seeing the pity I struggled to hide?
The empty room didn’t answer my questions, so I moved, dressing as quickly as I could as I shrugged into some black jeans and a fresh white T-shirt.
I searched the room for my cherry boots and pushed my feet into them, keeping the laces loose as I walked towards the bathroom and began to tie up my hair.
When the door opened, and Presley stepped through it, I stopped in my tracks. He was effortlessly breathtaking, as always. The grey beanie hat hung from the back of his head. The black leather jacket that was distinctly him made me want to throw my arms around him, squeeze him tight and tell him about the butterflies in my stomach that always woke when I got my first glimpse of him like that. Instead, I let my eyes drift down to the cardboard cup holder in his hands, carrying two cups of takeout coffee.
“Thought you could use a pick me up,” he said smoothly. “One that didn’t involve alcohol.”
I took a cup from the holder, wrapping both hands around it as I stared at him. “You should have woken me. I could have gone with you.”
“I think I kept you awake enough this morning.”
“Still… I didn’t know where you were.”
Presley’s eyes narrowed and held back a smile. “Sorry,” he whispered, in a most un-Presley like way.
He wasn’t the kind of man to apologise over something so trivial. I expected him to throw a sarcastic comment my way, let the air spin his smooth words around before he twisted me up in another one of his spells.
There was no sarcasm that morning.
No spark in his eyes.
If I looked closely, it almost looked like regret.
He regrets telling me about his father.
I was about to open my mouth to say something profound, but then there was a frantic knock on the door. Presley took a step back to open it with his free hand, and in marched Julia with a slick little MacBook tucked under her arm.
“Have you seen?” she asked breathlessly, her usual air of confidence gone, replaced by panic as she glanced between the two of us frantically.
“Seen what?” Presley asked, brows creased together.
Julia blew out a heavy breath. “Janey Dominic. The snake has finally made her move. You’re everywhere, guys, and it isn’t pretty.”
I stood there with my hand over my mouth, watching the laptop screen in front of me.
Janey Dominic stared back at me, her smug, too-perfect, vindictive face sitting in front of a full professional set-up with lighting that made her glow. The need to reach through the screen, grab her perfect skin and tear it off with sharp nails surged through me, tamed only by my stunned mind.
“Welcome, viewers,” Janey said through a bright white smile as she shuffled in her seat and let her sparkly eyes shine into the camera. “I’m Janey Dominic, reporter for The Daily Times, and I’m here today to offer up a little treat from the entertainment world.”
She smoothed down her fitted burgundy dress—one that showed off her toned arms and perfect figure. Shuffling her chair closer, she played the part of the excited reporter well, her hands placed in her lap as she let her head bob from side to side to build the anticipation.
A picture of Presley suddenly appeared on the screen as he walked out of the club that fateful morning, before he lost his temper and launched himself at the fan who’d taken his jacket.
“Once the most eligible bachelor in Britain—if not the world—Presley West of the band of the moment Youth Gone Wild is now officially off the market,” she sang, her voice over the image.
Presley’s face was quickly replaced by a picture of me. A picture in my regular life, leaving BB’s one afternoon, my face make-up free and hair scraped back. My mouth hung loosely as I crossed the road, eyes tired from lack of sleep and my skin pale. I looked the exact opposite of what someone like Presley deserved.
“As we all know, Presley West chose Paris to declare his love for cherry-haired bartender of his home town, Tessa Lisbon, live on stage during Youth Gone Wild’s Devil’s Doormat Tour. The internet has been in outrage ever since, wondering how someone like Miss Lisbon happened to snatch up the most naturally beautiful man on the planet.” The image of me faded away, exposing Janey’s face as she raised her hands in the air and shrugged sweetly. “Even I can admit that. I’m a woman, and he is hot.” Her eyes narrowed, and she gave a cheeky pout before she let her hands fall back into her lap.
“Some have supported Presley, thinking it’s sweet how he stuck to his roots and ended up with a woman he’d known before his golden locks and charming smile became more famous than The Harry Potter franchise. Others, not so much. Nothing splits the nation like a hot man being taken off the market, right? But let’s face it, it’s not like he didn’t try out a hundred more famous faces before he went back to this home-grown working girl.”
Presley’s body language spoke volumes when I took a glance at him. His legs were parted, hands balled into fists by his side, his face paler than I’d ever seen it.
I forced myself to turn back to look at Janey—nausea rising in my tight chest.
“Some of you out there happen to think that this little love affair that’s suddenly come to light is nothing more than a publicity stunt, designed to soften Presley West’s image after his recent public temper tantrum, where he attacked an innocent man after a night of undoubted debauchery and excessive drinking.”
A picture of Presley fighting filled the screen, his face angry and twisted. As soon as it arrived, it disappeared, and Janey leaned closer to the camera, her eyes sparkling with victory.
“Well, I’m here to tell you, ladies and gents, that those of you who thought it was all a stunt were absolutely right.” Her
slow grin grew, and I found myself turning to Presley again. He was looking at me. His eyes filled with unspoken apologies.
I stared at him, numb, as Janey’s words filled the room.
“Over two and a half years ago, I happened to be one of the reporters asked to go to Youth Gone Wild’s first official live gig as a signed band. It was an intimate, small venue, used for the sole purpose of putting the members in front of people who mattered so the word would spread of their talent for music. Standard practice in this business.”
Presley stared at me, his eyes turning sadder.
“After their performance, a few of us were granted access to interview the band, one on one.” When I turned back to the screen, Janey Dominic was smiling like she could see me—like she was smiling right at me. “And here, viewers, I have exclusive, never before seen footage of Presley West confessing his plans for the future with Miss Lisbon. Hold onto your hearts, viewers. You’re about to see a side of Mr West you didn’t know existed.”
Grainy footage filled the screen, a phone camera videoing the exchange between Presley and Janey as they sat opposite each other, leaning over a small coffee table, the camera angled up to their faces.
She’d secretly recorded him, and he had no idea.
Presley’s body swayed, his arms resting over his knees as he rolled from side to side. His blonde hair was scraped back, and his face looked sweaty—fresh from a performance as he stared into Janey’s eyes with a look I’d seen from him so many times. He was wasted… and he was horny.
“You’re clearly a phenomenal drummer,” Janey said on the video, her body leaning closer to Presley. “You’re on the verge of being a global phenomenon. You have the talent, the right music… the looks,” she whispered. “Are you ready for the way your life is going to change, Presley?”
His signature smirk came out in full force. “No one is ever ready for change, Miss…”
“Dominic. Janey Dominic.”
“That’s a shit last name for such a gorgeous woman.”
She chuckled, tilting her head to one side. “Really. What do you think it should be?”
“Something that describes you. Something more… ethereal.”
“You’re making me blush, Presley. Are these compliments of yours an attempt to smooth me over so I give you a good review?”
“You’ll give me a good review anyway. They always do.”
“They?”
Presley blinked slowly, swaying from side to side to a rhythm nobody else could hear. “The critics. Women, too.”
“You’re more confident than I realised.”
“Shyness only gets you walked over.”
Bile rose in my throat as I watched him flirt with the one woman I truly despised. That look he was giving her was meant for me. That smirk was for my eyes only. That’s what I’d allowed myself to foolishly believe, brushing his encounters with people like Harriet Cole under the carpet to let myself live in the moment—live in this dream. Yet there he was, sliding his greasy charm over Janey Dominic’s skin like he truly wanted her.
Janey went on to ask him about the music, and Presley answered in ways that made him sound like he didn’t give a shit—he had his eyes set on a woman he wanted, and all he was bothered about was taking her to bed and ravishing every inch of her.
She talked about his future with the band. He directed the conversation back to her.
She talked about his youth as a kid who wanted to drum for the rest of his life. He directed the conversation back to her.
She talked about his childhood. He directed the conversation back to her.
Then she mentioned Hollings Hill.
“It’s a small town,” she purred. At this point, Presley’s hand was out, gripping onto the tips of Janey’s fingers as he stared into her eyes, the two of them as close as they could get with the phone staring up at them from the coffee table that separated their bodies. “What was it like growing up there?”
“You don’t really want to know about Hollings Hill, do you, Janey?”
“Personally? No.” She blew out a breath that let everyone know she was falling under his spell. “But my audience will want to know everything about you soon, and I’m going to admit something very personal to you now: my audience matters. My job matters. I want to be the one standing at the front of the line when you and Youth Gone Wild make it big. I want to be the one speaking your name first, telling them all about you. You think you can give that to me?”
She knew Presley was wasted, and she was using it to her advantage. Still, my skin prickled and the need to run made my feet itch.
Somehow, I watched on.
Presley leaned even closer to her on the screen.
“You’re persuasive and persistent. I like women like that. I’m drawn to confidence… to seeing the real version of whoever is put in front of me, whether that version is bad or good. You remind me of a girl back home. A sweet girl. A girl I watched transform in front of my eyes. The only difference between the two of you is that she’s too scared to live and you aren’t.” Presley paused, his eyes narrowing as a look I couldn’t decipher washed over his face.
“This girl sounds like she meant a lot to you.”
He blinked hard. “She will again one day. When I need her. When things get dark. I’ll seek her out when she’s useful to me.” He looked up into Janey’s eyes, his charm back in place. “Until then, I’ll focus on women like you. Women who know what they want. Women who don’t make you work so damn hard for every little thing. Women who like to live on the edge. You like to live on the edge, don’t you, Janey?”
Her victorious smile took over, and the last words we heard before she leaned closer to kiss him and turn off her phone were, “Presley West, you have no idea.”
The screen turned black for only a moment before Janey’s fresh face appeared again. Her eyes twinkling with excitement.
“So, is this all a publicity stunt to salvage Presley’s reputation? Is now the time when sweet little Tessa has finally come in useful?” She shrugged a casual shoulder and turned her smile upside down. “I’ll let the fans be the judge of that. But before you make up your minds, here are a few more clips to sink your teeth into.”
The images became a blur as tears filled my eyes.
I recognised my mother dancing in the street the night Dex had driven me to my parents’ home, along with a headline that said Lisbon family celebrate their celebrity scoop.
I saw my own brother sitting casually across the table in a restaurant, his head bobbing up and down as he told Janey, “For sure, Tess is in on this. She knows what she’s doing by being with him. She knows she doesn’t really matter. Come on. My sister? Give me a break. Presley West could have anyone in the world draping themselves over him, half-naked, and you think he’s going to choose my grungy little sibling?”
Pictures of Harriet Cole staring longingly at Presley as we walked out of the London hotel took over.
Pictures of the women he’d taken out and been seen with in clubs.
One after the other after the other after the other until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I gasped for air, the sharpness of it hitting my chest and making me turn around on the spot.
I needed an escape, to get out, to grab whatever I could find and run.
Janey’s voice continued, “I’ve interviewed women from Hollings Hill who once dated Presley West before he was famous. Here, we have Blossom Montgomery telling us how Tess Lisbon isn’t as innocent as she may seem, and how she became so obsessed with Presley West when she was younger, she used to stalk him at every chance she got, taking great pleasure in sabotaging his chances with anyone else.”
Blossom’s voice took over as I grabbed my bag and stuffed it with as many things as I could while zipping it up frantically. Somewhere behind me Presley was speaking, but everything became blurred, the white noise in my head blocking out all of it.
Tess. Tessa. Cherry, please. Julia, do something. Turn it off. Just
turn it off!
No, she needs to see everything, Presley. We can’t hide this anymore.
The fuck she does, Julia. The fuck she does!
All my monikers were thrown at me as they argued among themselves, leaving me unable to see anything clearly through the fog of my distress. I shook my head as he called my name one more time, and I turned and looked up into his eyes, the air hitting my throat like a sharp blade.
Don’t do this. Don’t do this. Don’t do this.
“Did you sleep with her?” I asked him, my voice quivering while my heart exploded in my chest, bursting at the seams with disappointment.
“Tessa…”
“Tell me.”
“You have to listen…”
“Tell me,” I ground out.
Presley swallowed hard, his shoulders dropping and the air leaving his lungs in defeat.
I stared at him, unable to believe what was staring back at me.
Guilt.
All I saw was guilt on a face I only ever thought would deliver happiness.
“You slept with her and didn’t tell me?” I whispered, the pain I felt creasing my face.
He closed his eyes and said nothing, his skin paling.
There was no air in the room. I felt hot and cold, and everything I thought once made sense now made me sick.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I wheezed, moving around him as quickly as I could, unable to get the sordid visuals out of my mind.
Janey and Presley kissing.
Janey and Presley touching.
His hands on her waist.
His mouth on her skin.
I made it all the way to the door when I heard Janey’s voice on the laptop again, and I froze, gripping the door handle tightly as I held my breath in my chest.
“And that, people, is life in the world of celebrity, where what’s presented to you isn’t always the truth, and where cover-ups go on every single day. That’s why I, Janey Dominic, make it a priority to bring you the truth. I think you’ll agree that the truth is there for all to see. This fairy tale, Cinderella love story between the world’s most wanted man and a woman who wipes down tables for a living isn’t real. It never was, and it never will be. Fairy tales only exist because someone makes them up.”
