“And you’re sure the tow truck driver was okay with us leaving before he got there?” I ask again.
Valerie chuckles. “Yes, Ella. He said it was fine. He knows what to do and I trust him. He’s worked for me for years.”
My ears perk up at that. “What do you do, exactly?”
“I manage a large, multifaceted business. I coordinate between many different professions and because of that, I have a lot of connections.”
The blood in my veins freeze. “Holy shit, are you in the mafia?”
“What?” Valerie shrieks, the car veering off to the side a bit in her shock before she corrects it. “Dear god no. No.”
“Are you sure? Cause that sounded exactly like how someone in the mafia would describe their business.”
She shakes her head. “My sister is famous. I handle the business side of things. I know Paul because he’s been her personal chauffeur for the last four years. He takes care of driving her to and from events, but he also manages everything to do with our vehicles. I trust Paul to get your car to his preferred shop. He won’t screw you over.”
I stare at her. Famous sister? And this sounds really famous. Who the hell am I in a car with?
“I don’t think that car’s worth saving. It needs a new . . . everything. And I cannot afford a new everything.”
Her lips twitch but she avoids my gaze. “We’ll wait to see what Paul says. Anyway, what kind of food would you like? Maybe Thai?”
There are a lot more secrets about Valerie that I want to unravel, but I accept her pivot in conversation.
“I’m allergic to shellfish, so perhaps something else? Some places are great about my allergy, others not so much. Maybe Italian? Pasta is always a good idea. Unless that’s inconvenient for you. If you really want Thai, I’m sure I can find something to order.”
Valerie glances at me quickly before focusing back on the road. “Pasta it is.”
Ethan always made such a fuss when I needed a substitute because of my allergy or asked to see an ingredient list. Valerie though? She just accepted the change like it was no big deal.
We drive for a few more minutes, winding down quiet roads, the houses getting larger as we go.
“Is that the Salish Sea?” I ask, pointing in front of us.
“Yep. I have a really nice view of the water from my house.”
That’s when she pulls into a driveway, flanked by bushes taller than me.
“Wow,” I whisper. “This is beautiful.”
Her house isn’t huge, but it is large. And nice, nicer even than my house back in Toronto. There’s a small fountain in the middle of the circular driveway. Flowerbeds filled with riots of reds and pinks and purples span the length of the house. Baskets overflowing with even more colourful flowers hang from the porch roof. Turning around, I have an unobstructed view of the water.
“Please, come in.” Valerie guides me inside, where I’m impressed once again. Slate tiles, light grey walls, and photographs in white frames greet me as I walk into her home.
“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she freezes. “I didn’t mean like that. Though, yes, I mean I would be up for that, I just meant because you’re wet. No! Your clothes are wet and I am going to give you dry clothes to change into.”
Her face has gone beet red and I can’t help but laugh.
“I know what you meant. And I appreciate you taking care of me when I’m wet.” I wink at her to lighten the mood.
“Come on then. This way.”
I follow her up the stairs, taking my time to examine the pictures that decorate the walls even here. It seems like every spare inch of wall space in her home is covered in photographs. Pictures of her with, who I assume is, her family. Pictures of her with famous people. Holy shit, is that Crystal Harlow? I stumble up the steps in my haste to catch up with her.
“Why don’t you put these on?” She tosses me a pair of black sweatpants and a grey T-shirt. The fabrics are silky and luxurious, softer than anything I’ve ever owned. I rub them between my fingers and savour the feeling as Valerie crosses the room, carrying her own bundle of dry clothes to change into, and closes the door so I can have some privacy.
I resist the urge to snoop through her stuff, though I do notice even more framed photos on the walls here. Crystal Harlow, who is the world’s biggest pop star, features in all the pictures. I narrow my eyes as I study one of Valerie and Crystal. They have the same slope to their nose and bright blue eyes.
Valerie said her sister is famous. Is her sister Crystal fucking Harlow?
