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Jude was about to reach across the reception desk to pick up the phone and see if there was a direct line to the office, or someone—anyone—who might know where Rosa was, when she suddenly appeared before him.
He blinked. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Mama didn’t show you the secret door, then, when she gave you the tour?’ Rosa grinned. ‘Good. A girl has to have some secrets.’
‘Secret door?’ Jude honestly couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not. ‘Are you kidding?’
Rosa shook her head. ‘Nope! There’s a secret door somewhere in this reception hall that leads to the family quarters. How else are we poor staff supposed to get some peace and quiet from all you demanding guests?’
‘I’m going to spend my entire stay trying to figure out whether you’re making this up or not,’ Jude admitted, which made Rosa’s grin grow even wider.
‘I’m okay with that,’ she answered.
‘So, where do we start today?’ Jude nodded at the clipboard in Rosa’s hands. ‘Want to go through and see how many names I recognise? Or how about you run me through the schedule for the week, see if I can highlight any potential danger zones.’ If he was here to be useful, he might as well make an effort. And by pure osmosis—and listening to Sylvie gossip—he thought he could probably offer some pretty good insights. Who was likely to abuse the free bar and might need to be kept away from the sea afterwards. Who would find something to complain about regardless, so it was worth giving them a tiny flaw in their bungalow that was easily fixed, just so they’d feel happy. Hell, he even knew one of the bridesmaids was allergic to fresh-cut flowers!
How much of his brain had been taken over by this world—Sylvie’s world? The world of celebrity that his label wanted him to be seen in.
What had happened to the music being the most important thing?
‘All of those sound like great ideas,’ Rosa said. ‘But actually... I thought we might take a walk around the island, first. I kind of want to see what Anna’s been doing here for the last two weeks, and get an idea of what shape we’re in, before I get down to the nitty-gritty stuff.’
‘Makes sense,’ Jude said. ‘Of course, it also sounds like a total procrastination attempt to avoid doing the actual work Anna left you...’
Rosa hit him in the arm with her clipboard, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him shut up and grin at her.
This was interesting. Last time they’d met, they’d been on his home turf—as much as a band tour bus could be called anyone’s home. They’d been in his world, before The Swifts had really hit the mainstream and started playing stadiums instead of pubs and tiny music venues. He’d known his place there, in a way he didn’t quite, these days.
But this time, they were on Rosa’s patch—her family home, even, for all that it was also an island resort. This was the place she ran to when they called—rather than running away.
And that meant he got to see a whole other side of Rosa, this time. Maybe he’d even see enough to understand why she left.
Rosa led them out of the villa, down the long, straight path that led back to the jetty and escape from the island. But before they reached the sea, she took a sharp right down a narrower path, through recently cut-back lush greenery. It was the opposite direction from Jude’s own bungalow, but, still, things looked familiar.
The bungalows they passed were just like the one he was staying in—low and white, half hidden between the plants and brightly coloured flowers. The smell of fresh paint lingered as they got closer to one; Jude knew that even a few days ago many of them had been grey and dingy. One or two he’d seen on his rambles across the island had displayed broken roof tiles and wooden shutters that hung from their hinges.
Not now, though.
Now, every bungalow gleamed in the sunlight, the freshly painted shutters giving a splash of colour against the white walls. The jungle Jude had fought his way through on arrival had been tamed, so the island looked lush, fresh and green, rather than overtaken by plants. Even the patios outside the bungalows had been swept, scrubbed, and the iron patio furniture cleaned and looking ready for use.
It was quite the transformation. If Jude had been paying more attention to the island, rather than his own thoughts—and Scrabble games—he would have noticed sooner. As it was, suddenly he could see what had drawn Valentina to the island.
Rosa was surveying it with a more critical eye. ‘How bad was it? Before the work started, I mean.’
Jude shrugged. ‘It was already pretty far under way when I arrived.’
‘But some parts weren’t done yet, right? What did they look like?’
‘They were...’ He winced as he tried to find the words to describe how run-down and derelict parts of the island had looked, just a week or so ago.
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Worse,’ he admitted. ‘Anna and Leo—and their crew—have done an incredible job around here.’
Rosa let out a long sigh. ‘Then she’s going to be even more unbearable when she gets back.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jude dropped to sit on the cast-iron chair on the patio of the nearest bungalow. Motioning across the table, he indicated for Rosa to take the other seat.
‘We should have brought coffee with us,’ she grumbled as she sat.
Having tasted Sancia’s coffee, Jude definitely agreed. But getting Rosa to talk about herself, that was good, too.
Part of him wondered why he still cared—why it still mattered to him at all. It had been three years since she’d left him, and it wasn’t as if they’d had a lengthy relationship before that. It had been a short, hot fling—and if he had any sense at all, he’d just keep the memory of that and move on.
Why had he expected anything else, anything more? Because it had felt so real, while it was happening. And like a dream once it was over.
There’d been women since, of course—short-term and long-term. And his life had changed beyond all measure—the tour bus replaced with a private jet, and the grim pubs they’d played with hundred-thousand-seater stadiums. His music was recognised, loved, had gone double platinum—twice. The band had grown closer still, as they’d gone through all the changes together. Especially after they’d lost Gareth. They all knew they had to take care of each other, in a way they hadn’t been able to take care of Gareth. In the way he should have taken care of Gareth.
But somehow, Jude had become the star—more recognisable than his bandmates, the one the papers and magazines wanted to interview, to photograph. The one who drew the rumours and the stories and the lies.
Still. He had so many people in his life now—from bandmates to friends to acquai
ntances to his agent to the people at the label to the über-fans—that Rosa should have faded from his consciousness completely. He shouldn’t even have recognised her when she walked in last night.
But he’d known her voice in an instant.
Maybe it was just that he knew what had gone wrong with every other relationship in his life—but Rosa’s motives for leaving remained a mystery. But deep down, Jude knew it was more than that.
He’d opened his heart and his soul to this woman, let her see everything that he was. She was the only person he’d ever done anything close to that for—besides Gareth. But Gareth had been his best friend since they were three. He’d known Rosa less than a month. And still, she was the only person in the world that had seen every inch of the real him. The only one to know him at all, once Gareth died.
And she’d run away. What did that say about the real him?
No wonder he hadn’t let anyone else so close since.
He wanted to know her as well as she’d known him, then. Wanted to understand her—find what was wrong with him, or with her, that she’d left and never looked back.
Starting with her obviously acrimonious relationship with her sister.
‘So. What’s the deal with you and your sister?’
Rosa stared mutinously at him. ‘We’re sisters. What do you expect?’
Jude thought about his cousins—three sisters who were so close they could practically read each other’s mind. ‘I guess all sibling relationships are different.’
‘You’re an only child,’ she pointed out, and Jude felt a small jolt as he realised she’d remembered that small fact about him. ‘What would you know?’
She was right, he supposed. He’d had Gareth, but that wasn’t the same. They’d grown up together, sure, but they hadn’t had the same parents, lived the same life in the same place, not until they were eighteen.
‘So tell me,’ he suggested.
Rosa sighed. ‘Anna and I...there’s only two years between us, but sometimes it feels more like decades.’
‘You’re not very alike?’
