Nola

Ana Torres's yacht was at St Katharine Docks, a marina at the heart of London, surrounded by modern apartment blocks, office buildings, shops and restaurants, as well as an 18th century pub, but I didn't get a chance to properly look at anything past the jostling crowd of paparazzi. Cameras flashed in my face, almost blinding me. I knew that celebrities regularly experienced stuff like this, but I hadn't realised how intimidating it was.

As we walked up the gangway onto the yacht, Rhydian trailing behind, my heart pounded in my throat. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to a proper party, and my last night out had been that disaster with Bianca. I didn't know what to expect.

The marina was only three miles from my apartment, but Darius had refused to let me drive. Tonight, he'd insisted, was about enjoying myself.

I wanted to.

I really did.

But I was terrified.

What if I made a fool of myself?

Worse, what if I made a fool of Darius?

I tucked a loose curl behind my ear.

Two hours before we were due at the party, I'd called Lily in a panic, begging for help. I didn't know how glamorous to go with my makeup and no idea what to do with my hair, and this wasn't like going clubbing with Bianca. This was the first time I was stepping out as Darius's 'girlfriend', and I desperately wanted to look good, both because I felt like such a plain little potato next to him, and because I dreaded what the internet would say if I turned up with bad hair or makeup.

Lily, bless her, had come straight over, armed with her full array of beauty products. My hair was curled and twisted into a complicated updo with about a million pins – and wouldn't that be fun to unpick later? – and my makeup was tasteful but neutral, highlighting my features rather than overwhelming them.

Lily had suggested a bold red lipstick, but I still couldn't bring myself to wear it.

I didn't want to think about Mike tonight.

"Relax, you look fantastic," Darius whispered in my ear.

"How did you know I was worrying about my appearance?" I said, too late realising I'd just confirmed his suspicions.

"You look like you're about to bolt," he said.

"In these?"

I hitched up my skirt and raised one foot, showing off my sleek silver stilettos. I'd been happy to wear my old shoes, but Darius had refused. If I was having a new outfit, it had to be complete. He'd even surprised me with a pair of tear-drop earrings that I suspected were real diamonds.

"They look good on you," Darius said, though I couldn't help noticing his eyes were on my leg, not my shoe.

I let my skirt drop back into place, and he raised his eyes to my face.

God, he looked so fucking hot tonight.

He'd pulled the top layer of his hair into a loose knot, leaving the rest to spill around his shoulders, and his designer stubble was freshly sculpted, drawing attention to the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones.

He was dressed all in black, as usual – black jeans, black boots, and a black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing off a deep triangle of tan skin.

I wanted to lick that chest.

I wanted to lick everything.

The gangway led onto a strip of lower deck at the back of the yacht, and already I felt like an idiot for not knowing any of the technical terms. A set of steps led up to another, much larger, deck, while about halfway down the yacht, a third deck rose overhead.

Padded benches ran along each side of the deck, with reclined seating closer to the edge, I assumed for people to sunbathe on. A circular table sat in the middle of the seating. Recessed lighting in the sides of the yacht cast a muted golden glow over everything.

"Darius!" A man called his name from the interior part of the deck, raising one hand in the air, and Darius made a soft, resigned noise.

"Give me a moment," he said, and headed inside, nodding and smiling to several people along the way.

I hovered by the polished railing, feeling like I'd been cast adrift without a life-jacket. Coming here with Darius had been scary enough, but to be left alone within two minutes of getting onboard?

"Just breathe," I whispered.

Why hadn't Darius taken me with him? Was he already embarrassed by me? Had I done something wrong?

I wrapped my arms around myself, wondering if I could hide somewhere until the night was over. Yachts had bedrooms, right? Or were they called cabins?

Someone nudged me and I turned to see Rhydian, holding two glasses of champagne. He handed one to me.

"Thanks," I said, surprised.

Rhydian just grunted.

Sipping my champagne – which was better than anything I'd ever tasted – I looked around the yacht. I estimated there were around thirty people on this section, both in and outside, with more gathered on the upper deck, and I'd already lost track of how many famous faces I'd seen. I wondered how many more of them were famous and I just didn't know it. Was anyone here ordinary like me?

Darius came back over, and raised an eyebrow when he saw my champagne.

"Nothing for me?" he asked Rhydian.

Rhydian smirked. "You snooze, you lose."

"Who was that?" I asked, nodding at the guy who'd called Darius over.

"Brian Jobs. He directed a couple of our music videos," Darius said.

"I . . . you didn't introduce me," I said, suddenly feeling very lame.

Darius frowned, then his face cleared. "Oh shit, I wasn't ditching you." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Brian's one of the most fucking boring guys I've ever met. There's a reason we don't use him anymore. Spend more than ten minutes alone with him and you'll want to put a bullet in your brain. I was trying to save you that."

"Oh." Okay, now I felt really lame.

Darius's forehead furrowed. "That's what he did, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"Mike." He all but spat the name.

I wasn't sure I'd ever heard him say it before.

"Yeah," I said quietly, wrapping a stray curl around my finger. "Getting ready to go anywhere with him was always hell because I never knew if I was wearing too much makeup, or not enough, and I still had to vacuum around myself while I was doing my hair, and no matter how carefully I chose my outfit, he'd find something to criticise. I did it all to please him, but whenever we got to the party or whatever event it was, he'd disappear to get himself a drink and just leave me."

"I'm not him. I'm not going to leave you," Darius said.

I felt his words like a caress, trailing over my skin, leaving goose-bumps in its wake.

"Come on." Darius took my hand. His palm was warm, except for the cooler touch of his skull ring. "Let me introduce you to Ana."

He pulled me to the opposite side of the deck, where the film star herself was deep in conversation with an older guy.

"Darius! You made it," she exclaimed and flung her arms around him.

Darius hugged her back, but I noticed he tried to end it sooner than she did. Even when Ana let him go, she kept her hand on his shoulder.

"Ana, this is Nola," Darius said, taking my hand again and tugging me gently forward.

Ana's smile slipped a fraction. She wore glossy red lipstick, like the one Lily had suggested for me, and it made her gleaming Hollywood smile seem even brighter. With creamy brown skin, and thick, silky dark hair, her curvy figure showcased in a skin-tight red gown, she was known for her beauty as much as her Oscar-nominated acting skills, and I couldn't imagine there was any man in the world she couldn't have.

Except maybe Darius Keller.

Because he was barely looking at her.

He was looking at me. He was still holding my hand.

He smiled at Ana, laughed at something she said, but didn't respond any further when she batted her incredibly long lashes at him, purred like a cat, and found any excuse to touch him.

The old me might have been annoyed.

Lily or Tasha would have smacked the champagne out of her hand and told her to back the fuck off.

I just shrank against Darius and tried not to imagine what Ana must be thinking when she looked at me.

What's he doing with her?

He could have any woman and he picks that mousy little thing?

He must have lost a bet or something.

Unfortunately she wasn't the only one. Every time I glanced around, I caught women looking at Darius, and whenever their eye caught mine, I saw a faint sneer or a calculating appraisal.

Mike had been a handsome enough guy that he was never short of female attention, and he'd always been sure to tell me when someone had hit on him, though he knew it upset me.

This was on a whole other level.

Darius was a catch in a way that Mike couldn't even dream of being, and a lot of women here wanted to be the one who reeled him in.

Suddenly I felt like a mouse surrounded by hungry cats.

What would I do if the claws really came out?

Ana gasped and clutched Darius's arm. "This is the first time you've seen the yacht, isn't it? I need to give you a tour."

"Do you want to?" Darius asked me.

In my periphery, I saw Ana's smile slip again. Obviously I hadn't been invited. She'd wanted to get Darius alone, somewhere more private so she could sink her red-painted nails into him.

Anger sparked.

I was right here.

I was Darius's date for the evening, and Ana was acting like I was some inconvenience she could persuade him to abandon. She might be beautiful and talented, but I didn't like her.

"Sure," I said, my eyes locked on Ana.

She tried to fix her smile, but it was harder than before. She probably didn't like me either. Somehow that didn't matter as much as I'd thought it would.

Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" drifted out of Darius's pocket, and he pulled out his phone. His face fell, his jaw tightening. "Just a second," he said, and answered. "Bianca? This isn't a good time."

I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she sounded pissed.

"We'll talk about this later," Darius said, and ended the call.

Bianca immediately called back. Darius ignored it until it stopped ringing.

"Where were we?" he started, but Bianca interrupted him by calling again.

A muscle flexed in Darius's jaw. He declined the call. Bianca called again. He declined it again.

"Everything okay?" Ana asked, watching him keenly.

Darius smiled. "Fine," he said.

Only he wasn't fine.

Maybe he'd fooled Ana, but I could see shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before Bianca had called. His hand held mine tighter than before.

I glanced back.

Rhydian stood a short distance behind us, his white T-shirt rippling in the breeze – of course he hadn't dressed up for the occasion. He couldn't have heard what Bianca was saying either, but his stormy expression suggested he knew exactly who'd called.

Did Darius know how much his best friend disliked his sister?

"Come on," Ana said, and I turned back to her. She was still looking at Darius with a predatory gleam in her eyes, like she was planning on pushing me overboard as soon as she got a chance.

She led us inside, pointing out the parquet teak flooring, and the ribbed walnut panelling on the walls, the champagne-coloured leather furniture of the living area, and the orchids in glass vases on the sideboards in front of the windows. Beyond that was the cockpit, which she chattered about in technical detail, although I highly doubted she had a clue how to actually pilot this thing. It sounded like she'd memorised a manual.

She led us up another set of steps to the upper deck, where we found sun loungers arranged around a small hot tub, and further back, a shaded dining area and bar. I could only imagine the incredible views this would offer when the yacht was at sea, and for the first time I wished we weren't docked.

From there, she led us to another deck, which she called the foredeck, where she showed off her sun pad spread, which seemed to be flat padded cushions covering the floor. Again, I assumed that was for sunbathing.

Did that mean the yacht had three decks or four? Did the little strip that the gangway had led onto count as a deck? I didn't want to ask Ana. She was enjoying showing this off, taking every opportunity to touch Darius and flirt with him, and I didn't want to give her any more reason to look down on me.

Bianca called four more times, and though Darius ignored her, tension was settling into his shoulders, pulling them tight, and I felt a powerful surge of anger towards his sister.

Why couldn't she leave him the fuck alone?

What was her problem?

Trays of champagne were everywhere on the yacht, and I downed three before Ana brought us back down to the largest deck level, and to the cabins.

Because of course that's where she finished the tour.

This time, when she glanced at me, clearly annoyed I was there, I squared my shoulders and stared her out.

She might be prettier than me, richer, more famous, might be everything more than me, but that didn't give her the right to treat me like I shouldn't be here.

Someone distantly shouted her name, followed by the sound of smashing glass.

Ana made a frustrated noise. "Excuse me," she said, and stalked off, her high heels clicking.

Suddenly Darius and I were alone, and I wished I hadn't drunk so much champagne, because it was nervously sloshing around in my stomach. My palms felt sweaty.

"It's a nice boat," I said, and immediately felt like an idiot.

Boat? Really?

Darius chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

I really wished the cabins weren't behind us. The doors might be closed, but I was hyperaware that, just behind those doors, were beds.

Big, comfy beds.

Beds for doing so much more than sleeping in.

"You ever think of getting a yacht?" I blurted, trying to distract myself.

That earned me another chuckle. "Not my kind of thing. Too flashy."

I fingered the tear-drop earrings he'd given me. "You don't think these are flashy?"

Darius tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear, getting a better look at the earrings. "On you, they're perfect," he said.

Suddenly I couldn't breathe.

Darius's fingers rested on the curve of my ear, his eyes locked on my face, not my diamond earrings. He moved his hand, his knuckles trailing along my cheek, and I made a soft noise.

That was when he kissed me.

Darius

Yep, this was a bad idea.

This date was supposed to be fake, which meant I shouldn't treat it as anything different.

I definitely shouldn't be kissing her.

But I couldn't fucking help it.

She'd noticed the way Ana was all over me, and I'd seen the sparks of defiance in her eyes. She hadn't said anything about it, and I hadn't expected her to, but she'd gone from cowering at my side to staring Ana down, and I was fucking proud of her for that. Every day she ventured out of her shell a little more.

How long until she fully emerged?

Nola fisted her small hands in my shirt and yanked me closer.

I tasted champagne on her tongue.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea, my brain chanted.

Shut the fuck up, my cock replied.

I slid my fingers into Nola's hair, dislodging several metal pins, and pulled her harder against me, my other hand on the soft, bare skin of her back. Fuck, she wasn't wearing a bra.

Nola made a breathless noise, almost a whimper, and my cock jerked hard, pushing against my jeans.

My phone rang again, slashing through the mood like a knife, and I let Nola go, resting my forehead against hers as I struggled for breath.

Fucking Bianca.

Although maybe I shouldn't be too mad at her. She'd just stopped me from doing something that I'd regret.

I answered the phone. She wouldn't stop until I did.

"What?" I snapped.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," Bianca said. She sounded drunk. Or like she'd been crying. Or both.

"I'm not doing anything to you, Bianca," I said, rubbing my forehead with one hand.

Nola watched me, her brow wrinkled with worry.

"Why didn't you invite me?" Bianca demanded.

"It's not my party!" That hadn't stopped me bringing Nola, but I wasn't telling Bianca that. She'd flip her shit even more, and I wasn't in the fucking mood.

I'd been looking forward to a good night, maybe getting a little drunk, spending more time with Nola, and forgetting some of my responsibilities for a while. Of course Bianca couldn't let me have that.

"You could have found a way," she accused.

True, but I didn't fucking want to.

"You can't keep calling me all night," I said.

I felt a headache building. She was my sister, the only one I had, and I wanted to take care of her, but she made it so fucking difficult sometimes.

"You don't care about me. You're just like Mum," she sobbed.

I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes. Silk rustled, and then Nola put her hand on my arm. It was such a small touch, but it felt like more.

"That's not fair," I said, and it was a struggle to keep my voice calm.

I knew that Bianca had her share of issues with our mum, but they paled in comparison to the anger and resentment I'd bottled up all these years.

I was the one who'd been abandoned, not Bianca.

Bianca continued to drunkenly sob, and I felt a shout of pure frustration building in my throat, until I couldn't take it anymore. I ended the call with a stab of my finger, and turned the phone off. I should have done that the first time she called.

"Are you okay?" Nola asked.

She was still touching my arm.

I had the sudden urge to hug her, to bury my face in the soft hollow between her neck and shoulder, breathe in the smell of her skin and hair.

"Sorry," I murmured. "Bianca can be a handful sometimes."

"I've noticed."

I sensed there was more she wanted to say, but she didn't.

"Well, my glass is empty, and you need a drink more than ever," she said, and laced her fingers through mine. "Come on."

I let her lead me away from the cabins and the huge mistake we'd both been about to make.

If only it was easy to walk away from the other problems in my life.