Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” William says. He takes a sip, nods approvingly. “Good stuff.”
For the next couple of hours, we drink expensive champagne and mingle. Or rather, I mingle and William stares awkwardly and slightly open-mouthed. It’s mildly hilarious. Oddly fascinating. Disturbingly sexy. Still, he never once complains or voices his discomfort. I think I’m starting to realise that William doesn’t necessarily dislike me, he’s simply…nervous. Of what, I’m not sure yet. My persona. The limelight. His new job… It bothers me that I’m so desperate to find out. Worse, that Andy might be right. Because that has no chance of ending well.
One thing I’m certain of is that William Walker is no Cain. He’s shown no interest in flattering me. In fact, I don’t think he’s paid me a simple compliment yet. I like that.
“Want to find somewhere quieter?” I ask, after finally getting rid of Riley Newman, a fellow actor who’s been chewing my ear off with industry gossip for the last twenty minutes.
William shrugs. “If you do.” His wide-eyed expression betrays the words.
I lead him toward the spiral staircase encased in glass windows that overlook the gardens and take him to one of the terraces. When we arrive, I treat William to his own private rendition of Faith by George Michael, which is currently playing inside the house, complete with air guitar. Going off the beaming grin I receive, I think my audience of one is impressed by my talent.
Performance over, I clink William’s glass. “Nothing like overpriced champagne to warm up the old vocal cords.”
He laughs, and it’s a joyous sight. The smile uses his entire face. Opens his mouth, widens his cheeks, creates creases around his eyes.
“This has been the most mental evening so far,” William says before blowing out a long puff of air, as if he’d been holding it in his lungs since we arrived. “I never do anything like this, let alone surrounded by famous people.”
I mirror William’s position and lean forward against the glass railing of the terrace. I twist my head, watch him. My lips smile automatically. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say. “Otherwise, I’d be compelled to stay down there and make conversation.”
I’m not surprised there aren’t more people up here, hiding out. By default, most celebrities love this kind of thing. Opportunities to dress up. Show off. Outshine one another. Spread the latest scandals amongst fake friends.
“Oh, please. They’re doing more than chatting now. Did you see the dancing pole in the living room? At least I think it’s a living room. There was a TV in there.”
I chuckle. The room in question Stan refers to as the leisure suite. “You’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to ‘em all. They get boring after a while.”
“So why did you come?”
“Because Stan’s my friend. Like an actual friend. I get invited to these things all the time. Eighty percent of folk down there aren’t Stan’s mates, they’re acquaintances. This party is as much about celebrating his birthday as it is networking and securing business opportunities. Most invites are sent out and RSVP’d by managers.”
William takes a few seconds to mull that over. “That sounds sort of…sad,” he says, brow furrowed.
“Yeah. I s’pose it is, really.”
“I’ve met so many stars tonight I think I’ve genuinely gone slightly blind, but-”
“That’ll be the champagne,” I interrupt.
William snorts, before continuing, “But you haven’t introduced me to anyone normal.”
“Normal?”
“Not famous, I mean. People who aren’t part of this crazy industry. Like family. Or real friends. Does he have those? Do you?”
I can’t remember the last time anyone’s asked me that. I don’t know if anyone has ever asked, in fact. It hits something in my chest, knocks something out of place. “Not as many as I’d like,” I admit. “I’m still in touch with Ewan, a friend I’ve known since we were weans. Only get to see him once or twice a year. Same with my mum, though we talk often. Not seen my dad in almost two, but I call him every couple of months. I’ve a half-sister I grew up with in Scotland, and two half-brothers on my dad’s side, too. Again, we don’t see each other often. Apart from that, Stan and Andy are it.”
“So…you’re not married? Seeing anyone?” he asks, looking away as soon as I catch his eye.
I study him anyway, searching for hints to the validity of his question. Is he making idle chitchat? Being polite. Or is he trying to put truth to the headline rumours that surface every few months? “No,” is all I say.
Nodding, he continues to look over the gardens below. “I’m surprised, you know. I don’t think it’s as glamourous as I thought it would be. Celebrity. Sounds ridiculous, embarrassing even, but when Andrew mentioned your name, told me I was going to meet you…” he trails off, faces me, “I had, I dunno, butterflies I suppose.” He rolls his eyes before draining the last remnants of champagne from his glass. “I know you won’t understand, but it was kind of a big deal meeting a famous person.”