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PROLOGUE
LANCE
Arash Amiri is a pleasant man. He wears an expensive black suit with a crisp white shirt open at the collar. He smiles warmly, greeting me with a firm handshake and clasped my shoulder in an almost fatherly way with his other hand. In his mid to late fifties, he’s old enough to be my father but still, I have been completely in charge of this meeting. Mr Amiri owns Starlight, a unique and hugely popular club on the Northeast border of the city. My father and I want to own this place, for reasons beyond the profitability of the business and the status of being able to own prime real estate in one of the most sought-after areas of town. We’ve already spoken in the small office above the club about numbers, stats, and all things dry and boring. After the official part of the meeting is over, my host requested that I stay for a drink and to watch the final act of the night, ‘The Star of Starlight’ he’d called her. You see, Starlight’s unique selling point is that although it’s a nightclub, every night the DJ’s sets are broken up by the house band, and each of their five lead singers taking a set.
That’s how I ended up leaning against the bar, gripping a tumbler of Glenfiddich with such force it’s a wonder the glass doesn’t shatter. Amiri is talking at me, something about how captivating the siren on stage is but I am too captivated to listen. It’sher. This is not just another pretty pop-princess wannabe attempting stage presence, like the girl who’d been singing on stage when I first entered the club. This is the angel of music who has haunted my dreams and invaded every thought I’ve had for the last three years. She is different, hair is different, makeup is thicker and heavier for the stage, and her body seems more toned. At least her legs are, I can see from the way her calves pop as she struts in ridiculously tall heels across the stage. At one time I had memorised every curve, crevice, and angle of her body; now the thought of it being different gives me mixed feelings. Angry thatmy memories no longer match her reality, and excited at the prospect of re-learning her. Although that will never happen.
She finishes a song as the band gives a dramatic beat and the dancing crowd disentangles from each other to whoop and cheer. She gives them flash of white teeth and a flirty wink.
“Thank you,” she speaks into her hand-held mic, her voice sweet and soft unlike the sexy rasp she sings with. “You guys have me pumped! Such a great audience.” Have you ever tasted something that you haven’t had in years and the flavour pulls you to another place in time? Where every emotion, feeling, and sensation is as real as it was the last time you’d taken a bite? That’s what it is like hearing her speak. I am transported back to a warm bed, crumpled sheets, the smell of honey, and a soft and pliant body next to mine.Fuck.
“You guys, it’s my birthday!” The crowd cheers and shouts happy birthdays to her and she preens like a princess. Of course, I’d woken up this morning and knew exactly what today was, she was my first thought and that cavernous hole in my chest had given an all too familiar ache. “Can you guys believe I’m still single?” She pouts. More shouts from the audience—mostly men—some make lewd comments that have me glaring at them with flared nostrils and narrowed eyes. She just laughs at their words and turns to the bassist. “I think I’ve pulled,” she says to him but into the mic. Everyone laughs. “Well, you want a piece of this…” she shimmies and turns to wiggle once more, much to the delight of every man in the audience. “…I got something to tell you.”
She sings the start of Dear Future Husband by Meghan Trainor without backing. Oh to be her one and only for all her life. The band kicks in and she begins singing in earnest about needing to be treated like a lady. Yeah, like that’s what these Neanderthals are thinking. My chest tightens to the point I almost can’t breathe when she makes her way off the stage to sing amongst the crowd. Shit, will she see me? Would she even recognise me? Fuck, what if she is so completely moved on that I’m just some guy she used to know and she couldn’t pick me out of a line up? Would that be worse? It shouldn’t be but fuck, it would.
“All our performers come into the audience and interact, but this one gets them going like none of the others,” Arash is saying to me. I watch as she fists her hand in a guy’s shirt, pulling him close to direct her song at him before pushing him back to his friends.
“What about crowd control, is she safe?” I find myself asking as people crowd her, including several ogling men.
“Our security is very good; they are always watching and are stationed at several vantage points so there are eyes on the performers at all times, they would jump in if they had any concerns whatsoever. And they can do so without disrupting the performance.”
Shit, she’s coming over. I tense up and watch her half dance, half walk toward the bar but she swerves off without looking at me at all. She heads to a small set of steps and climbs them to walk along the length of the bar. I stare up at her as she wiggles and bops, bending over to flirtatiously stroke the bartender’s cheek. He smiles and shakes his head and I get a glimpse of her underwear where it covers her cunt. My cock twitches into life. This is bad.
When her song is finished, she lowers herself off the bar, thanks everyone for their applause, and hands her mic to a guy by the stage before disappearing. I feel like I can breathe again. The current owner starts talking to me again about the bar, the shows, their themed nights and I nod and hum in fake interest. I am trying to figure this out, we can’t pull out of this sale, my father has made it clear that this is ours, but can I work withher?
I am so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t notice Amiri step back until his voice comes over my shoulder.
“Mr Preston, I’d like to introduce you to my star…”
I swing round to see him stood with his arm around her shoulders. If I had any doubts that she’d remember me, they are obliterated when her beautiful wide smile drops the moment she sees my face and gasps. It is as though all the blood has drained from her face and she freezes stock still.
“Lance,” she breathes.
I gain my composure and lean back against the bar with my hands in my pockets, crossing one ankle over the other in an attempt at aloofness. “Hello, Eleanor.”
Part I
Then
1
SIX YEARS BEFORE STARLIGHT
ELLE
Iwas finally here. University had been an uphill struggle for months but not because of my grades—no they were in the top percentile. My war had been at home, my parents were beside themselves when I told them I wasn’t going to their choice of school, the school where all the students would have had the same top grades as I did. They would all have come from wealthy families, probably nobility too.Eurgh, kill me. I fought tooth and nail but finally they agreed to allow me my own choice of university. St La Salle was still a good school, requiring high quality students but money was not a necessity. St La Salle took government grants and did not require a donation upon accepting a placement, so I had the opportunity to meet new and different people.
Once we’d agreed on the university, we had the battle of courses. I wanted music, drama, or dance; they wanted business, math, or politics. Honestly, they either don’t know me or don’t care. We compromised and I’ve ended up enrolled into English Literature. I guess it’s better that we’re both unhappy than they win, right? Anyway, classes hadn’t started yet, and I’d arrived in time for fresher’s week to move into my halls of residence. I seemed to be the first to have arrived as the block was eerily quiet. There were four rooms on the first floor, and I had scoped out the ground floor, which comprised of a basic kitchen with a large dining table, and a small communal living space with a couple of sofas and some bean bags.
I hadn’t found any other rooms so I guess I would have three roommates. I hoped to get myself a group of girlfriends. I’d never really clicked with anyone in school. I had friends, obviously, but they were social boosters, not confidents. We partied and posted on social media, we shopped together and talked aboutthe boys in our year, but I didn’t tell them anything of any real importance. I couldn’t trust them with my truest self. The girls I grew up with would smile to your face but throw you into the fire for a date with the right guy. University was my time to surround myself with people who would love me for me, who would empathise with me about my difficult parents and whose problems were bigger than not finding the cashmere coat they wanted in their size.
I was dropped off this morning by Peter, my father’s head of security. Obviously, Mum and Dad were out of the country, but I suppose I should be grateful that they sent someone as important as Peter to drive me. It could have been the gardener. I’d decided that I would only be taking what I could fit in the car as I was not planning on going home at all, and I couldn’t be planning on bringing more later. As it turns out, a Maybach can carry quite a lot between the boot and the back seats. Peter lets me travel in the front on the understanding that we don’t tell my father. Peter left after helping carry in all the boxes, so now I was alone to make myself at home.
The room was tiny; a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a desk with collapsible chair was all the furniture provided, but there was a miniscule built-in cupboard, which I believe was meant to be the wardrobe. There was a small ensuite with a shower cubicle, a sink, and a toilet. The walls were beige, and the carpet was green with no softness at all. It was a blank canvas and I would enjoy every minute of making it my own. Considering how to arrange everything, I stood barefoot, my legs bare in my comfy short shorts and my tummy covered only by my thin strappy top beneath my cropped pink hoodie. I was surrounded by boxes and was starting to believe that this box room was smaller than the Maybach as there seemed to have been a lot more room on the journey over. Spotting a box labelled ‘Kitchen,’ I thought it a good opportunity to clear some room.
I ran down the stairs with two boxes stacked in my arms, not seeing where I was going when I knocked into something solid and ricocheted into the wall. The boxes fell loudly down a flight of stairs as I lost my footing. My heart leapt out of my chest and the air left my body as I faced the fall. But just as I was on the precipice, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to thesolid ground of the half landing. I crashed into a wall of hard muscle that smelt of fresh laundry and cinnamon.
“You should look where you’re going.” The deep rumble vibrated through his sternum.
