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30
CERYS
Princess Ellaand Liam the Rock Star sleep on the sofa. Disneyland exhausted them both, but at least Liam didn’t receive the full princess makeover as Ella, although he is currently wearing Ella’s tiara. My stomach flips and I ignore the discomfort that threatened to ruin my holiday in the early days. Ella is so relaxed with this man that she happily leans on him, mouth open, dribbling down his T-shirt. Unable to help myself, I take a photo with my phone.
Two days straight at Disneyland, and I’m exhausted too. Following a morning trailing around Fantasyland, I snuck off to Carnation Cafe for the afternoon while Liam took Ella back to her favourite place—Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. That’s when I know Liam must really care about us. Why else would he let a five-year-old drag him to a place that he arrives back from muttering about tiaras and shrieking girls? I told him he should be used to shrieking girls in his line of work and he gave a whispered, inappropriate-for-children’s-ears response about what would happen if I didn’t stop teasing him—and what I owed him for subjecting him to the princess experience.
Emily appears so I show her the picture, and we chuckle.
“Do you think he’ll recover enough for tonight?” asks Emily.
“Tonight?”
“You guys have visitors.”
Oh. I forgot. Sky and Dylan are in town and Liam wants to catch them before they go back to the UK. I met Sky once at Christmas, the frozen moment in time where she thought me and Liam were a couple, when at that point we weren’t. I know a little about her from things Liam has told me—and I know one thing I have in common with Sky is we’re not interested in the money and fame side of this life. I’m unsure I’d want to date, or be engaged to, Rock God, Dylan Morgan. Sky must be something special to cope with the side effects of that decision.
I need to find out how Sky copes with the attention. Our first trip to Disneyland yesterday resulted in the first pictures of Liam with his new girlfriendandher child. Liam agreed to stop for photos in return for the press leaving us alone to enjoy the rest of the day undisturbed, and to my surprise, they complied. I’ve asked Liam to stop them posting pictures of us that include Ella, but she’s the part of the story everybody loves. They blur Ella’s face in the photos, but anyone who knows us knows who she is. The constant need to reinforce Ella isn’t his daughter irritates me, although Liam’s blasé about it.
Craig sends a text. He’s seen the pictures, which surprises me because I didn’t think he watched the entertainment sites. Somebody must be watching them for him—Marcella probably.
I stared at the phone, irritated by his intrusion into my happy world.
He’s not rewinding me to ‘panic-mode Cerys’. Wales doesn’t exist at this point.
* * *
A short snoozeand a couple of beers later, and Liam perks up. A little too much because when I step out of the shower and into the bedroom he’s sitting on the bed, waiting. Dressed in a greying Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and jeans, I despair at whether he’s even able to dress up at all. I move from a guy obsessed by his appearance to one who throws on whatever’s nearby.
“I thought you might need help dressing,” he says with a smirk.
“That’s funny. Normally, you’re too busy attempting to remove my clothes rather than helping me put them on.”
“Okay, I’ll just watch then.” Liam rubs his lips together and I remain still. “What are you wearing tonight?”
“What do I wear to meet The Dylan Morgan?”
He makes a humph sound and pulls an unimpressed face at the carpet. “I don’t know; whatever you think would be suitable for The Liam Oliver, too.”
Is he jealous of Dylan? I cross to him and kiss his head. “You don’t seriously think…” My towel lands on the floor, tugged off by Liam, and he nips my stomach as he laughs at me. “You asshole!”
Liam covers his head as I smack him, but having achieved his aim, he finishes by hooking his leg under mine and tripping me onto him. “No, I don’t seriously think.”
I attempt to push myself up, hands on his hard chest but Liam grabs my arms and spins me over onto the bed. My wet hair splays across the thick duvet still crumpled from this morning.
Pinning my hands above my head, Liam’s gaze caresses my breasts, and my nipples harden in anticipation of what will happen next. “I want to know something,” he says.
I wriggle against his grip but he tightens his fingers around my arms. “What?”
“When you had pictures of me on your wall—” he begins.
