The Monster of Fame (The Price of Fame Series) (7 page)

“I know, sweetie. You just sound upset. I wish I could afford to come down for a while.”

“No, Mum.” Anna sat down on the grass at the end of the garden and looked up. The sky was free of clouds and she could see a dim scattering of stars, twinkling through the darkness, but the lights in London shone too brightly to see them as clearly as she could back home. “You don’t have to do that. I’m great, really. It’s just been a long week. I’m tired, that’s all.” Again with the lies, but she didn’t want her mum to worry more. There was no way she could afford to take time off work, not when the bank was threatening to repossess the house.

“Well, get back to the party and enjoy yourself for a night. You’ll feel better in the morning. You should be flying, getting through to the next round.”

“I don’t need to party, Mum. I’m really great. Don’t worry about me. Tell Gran I love her, and I love you too.” She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Miles standing several feet away.

“I love you too, honey. Goodnight.”

Anna got to her feet and wiped her hands over her backside in case she’d gotten covered in grass.

“Eavesdropping?” she asked with a hard edge to her voice. Couldn’t he just leave her alone? It was strange because although she felt a real connection with him earlier in the dressing room—before he’d asked her if she was on drugs at least—his words the first day asking her to walk away still played around the edges of her subconscious.

“Why aren’t you enjoying the party?” He sat down in front of her on the grass, clearly oblivious to her foul mood. “Everyone is celebrating, yet you’re out here on the phone to your mother. Sounds like she wants you to enjoy yourself.” Miles stretched back and leaned on his elbows.

Anna returned to her spot on the grass, facing away from him toward the tall stone wall covered in ivy, enclosing the garden. Flowers were planted at the foot of the wall. In the daylight she could see them better, all the colors of a rainbow. She spent most afternoons out here, rehearsing and admiring the pretty landscape.

She sighed, having no idea how to answer Miles’s question. Why wasn’t she happy? By all rights she should be giddy and hyper and want to party her pants off. Instead, she was wondering why he didn’t want her to get through.

And that really bugged her.

He
was the problem, she realized with a start. He was not only killing her buzz, he was also making it very hard to concentrate on anything else. Did he have to be so overbearing? She picked at blades of grass with more vigor than necessary.

“Annabelle, can I ask you a question?” He obviously got the hint that she wouldn’t answer his previous one. After a nod from her, he went on. “Why is this competition so important to you?”

Startled, she turned to face him and almost gasped at the look on his face. The moonlight highlighted his pale skin and the fine worry lines on his forehead. His eyes, shadowed in the dim light, narrowed anxiously. Again, she was utterly baffled as to why he would look at her this way. Was he really worried about her? Why?

Regardless, his apparent concern put a great big chink in her armor and she spoke without thinking. “I want a better life for myself and my family. I want to do that by making something of myself.”

“By singing?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m hardly going to be able to support my mum and gran on a wage from a grocery shop. I know this is going to be hard—and I’m under no illusions that I’ll win—but I’m willing to work at it. I want to get better. I want to succeed.” She spoke fiercely and with a passion he couldn’t possibly understand, but she had to make him see.

There was no way she would fall at the first hurdle. She may not be strong now, but she’d learn to be. She’d learn to be anything if it would mean her mum and gran could live happily and not worry about losing their home.

“Why do you need to support them?” His voice was softer now, and he shifted closer to her on the grass. She could feel the heat reverberating from him and a hint of his spicy scent mixed in with soap sent a shiver of longing through her.

“My dad left us with a ton of debt. Mum and I have tried to work as much as we can. I don’t want her working twenty-four seven, I’d rather she had time to herself so she could move on and meet someone else.” She tilted her chin to stare back up at the twinkling stars scattered across the night sky. “Singing is the only thing I don’t screw up all that often.”

* * * *

Shit. This was going to be harder than he’d thought. Annabelle was here on a mission and she was determined not to fail. Not only did he have to keep her in the competition under Dave’s orders, but he now understood why she needed to stay in. But surely a person had more than one dream, a back-up plan at least?

“Was singing the only thing you wanted to do?” he asked.

“No.” She turned to him then, her eyes showing her sorrow for what might have been. “I had that dream when I was a little girl. As I grew older, I wanted to teach. Primary school especially, but…” She trailed off and his curiosity piqued.

“So why don’t you go to university? Why not live out your dream?” Any dream other than this, he wanted to say, any dream that wouldn’t put her six feet under before her time.

Her eyes flashed and he saw a spark of angry fire burn in their blue depths. “I can’t. It takes years and I don’t have that kind of time. We’ll have lost our home by then.” She gasped and turned away from him abruptly. “Forget what I said. University is not an option for me. End of story.”

She’d lose her home? An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. It was clear she cared about her family, but enough to stay here and make herself miserable to help them keep a roof over their heads?

If debt was the only reason she was here, he could help with that. Hell, he doubted he’d ever be able to spend the money in his account in this lifetime, let alone what he had in investments. She’d be able to go to university and live out her dream. Well, one of them at least.

As he looked at Annabelle, her back ramrod straight and her chin held high as she studiously ignored his presence, he knew she wouldn’t willingly accept his money. Not only was she caring and determined, she was also proud. If only there was some way to help without her knowing…

“Miles!” The thick Brazilian accent made his hackles rise. “I wondered where you’d got to.” Slurring her words, Safri plonked down on the grass far too close to him. He shifted away, bringing himself closer to Annabelle. She looked up at Safri, and he struggled to understand her expression. Was it envy?

“Aren’t you coming back to the party?” Safri leaned closer and he could smell the whiskey on her breath. Every year she got drunk, and every year she tried to get him to spend the night with her. Honestly, even if he was one hundred percent certain that he would be able to perform, he’d still say no. Mixing business and pleasure was a mistake. Sober, Safri would agree with him.

“Annabelle and I were just having a chat. I won’t be long.” He hoped she would take the hint and leave them alone.

“It’s all right. I was just leaving anyway.” Annabelle rose, brushing her hands against the back of her tight jeans. The spark of arousal was back, warming his blood.

“See,” Safri said, drawing his attention away from Annabelle. He turned to look at Safri. She was already fully sloshed and he dreaded the conversation that was sure to come.

Every year it was the same damn thing.

“Come on, Safri,” he said. Miles rose and pulled her up with one arm. Annabelle was already walking ahead of them back to the house. He rushed Safri along, hoping she would play nice.

“Are you dating Anna now? Why don’t you dump her and come home with me?” The suggestion made him flinch.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry, Safri, but like I said last year, I don’t think a…one-night stand would be the best idea.”

Safri scowled ahead and didn’t give him any more trouble. When he reached the house, Annabelle was nowhere to be found among the thrall of intoxicated contestants.

* * * *

The moment the first words of the song left Annabelle’s mouth, Miles knew she was in trouble. What on earth was Safri playing at giving Annabelle a heavy metal song to sing? Was she insane?

He turned accusing eyes on the woman in question and noted the smug smile on her face. Safri knew exactly what she was doing. This was no doubt retaliation for the brush-off he’d given her last Saturday.

A year ago she insulted all of his acts for weeks, this year she was hurting Annabelle. His temper brimmed over, and he looked back to Annabelle. Her expression was that of someone who’d given up hope.

Her shoulders hunched with defeat, yet her eyes remained firmly closed. A part of him wanted to stop this madness now, but that was not within his control. Frustrated, he curled his hands into fists on the table. He didn’t bother to hide them this time. Let Safri see how pissed off he was with her stunt.

Her anticipation would make his revenge that much sweeter.

The song finished and Annabelle stood on the stage before them, waiting on their verdict. This was the part that was for entertainment purposes. It was the viewer’s vote that decided who went through to next week’s live show.

“I have to ask, Annabelle, what happened? Last week you blew us all away, this week was awful.” Sander’s look was sympathetic and his voice was gentle. Miles hoped it softened the blow of his words.

As he saw the tears well up in Annabelle’s eyes, he knew it hadn’t.

“Miles, up the sly remarks, kid. It’s what I pay you for.” Dave’s voice sounded fuzzy in his earpiece and made him jump. His chest felt heavy with dread.

Shit.

“Miles?” Mhairi asked, nodding for him to begin.

This was it. He could shatter her dreams with a few choice words, effectively making sure that she wouldn’t be here next week. That’s what Dave seemed to want now. It would make great television, after all. Anguish churned his insides and he felt sweat bead on his brow.

He couldn’t do it.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Annabelle. It was the wrong song choice for you. Safri should never have considered it as an option. We all know how great you are. If you get another chance at this, go with your heart, not with what your delusional mentor insists upon.” Dave hadn’t said who Miles should insult and the subtle revenge against Safri tasted sweeter than chocolate.

Annabelle’s mouth dropped open and shock widened her eyes. The sharp intake of breath from his right pulled his attention away from her. Safri was fuming at him, her dark eyes narrowed into a death glare and her postbox red lips pulled into a scowl.

“Thank you, Anna,” Mhairi interceded. It would take an imbecile not to sense the tension between himself and Safri. “We’ll see you again in an hour for the results. Get voting, guys. You only have half an hour!”

Miles ignored Safri’s whispered insults. Instead, he watched Annabelle leave with her shoulders hunched and her head down. A part of him hoped the public would vote her out so he wouldn’t be the one to have to convince her to leave. Then there was that other, slightly insane, part of him which wanted her to stay.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t imagine how you three are feeling tonight.” Mhairi hugged two of the boys in the bottom three acts. Annabelle still looked too pale, like she was going into shock.

They’d all received the lowest number of votes and all had sang one last time to try to convince the judges that they should stay. Miles was torn. On one hand, both Sam and Jenkins were his acts and he wanted to win this. If he didn’t pick one, they’d both be gone and he’d be left with a mere three acts in the competition.

But then there was Annabelle. If he voted against her, she’d leave and he’d never see her again. His insides twisted in agony and his eyes flicked back to her pale face. There was a sheen of moisture shimmering in her eyes.

“Okay, judges. You know the drill. Vote on the act you want to go through and the other two will be sent home. In the event you can’t agree, we’ll put this to the public to decide and the two acts with the least votes go home.” Mhairi repeated the same words every damn year.

He rapped his fingers against the table, his impatience cracking through his collected facade.

“I’m going to send Annabelle through. Sorry, guys,” Sander started. Miles’s shoulders were so tense he thought they might crack with the pressure.

“Annabelle, you know I think you have a good voice,” Safri began, and he knew from her sly tone that she was planning to send Annabelle home. Possibly counting on Miles to help her.

He clenched his jaw and his heart picked up pace.

“But I’m going to have to go with who I think can make it to the finals. You’re not versatile, as tonight proved. I don’t think you’ll make it far when you can only sing one type of genre. I’m putting Sam through. Sorry.”

She didn’t sound sorry at all. Rage burned through him, white-hot and deadly. It took all of his effort to bite his tongue, to not lash out at the Brazilian and tell her exactly what he thought of her sarcastic apology in front of the whole of the UK.

A choked sob came from Annabelle and his attention flew to her. All the rage washed away as he took in her damp eyes and pale face. Her expression was that of defeat, and it looked like she was hanging onto composure by the skin of her teeth.

He wanted her out. There’s no way she would survive what came after the competition. She wasn’t strong enough. He could see it as clearly now as he could the first day. But could he be the one to do it, especially since this would destroy her in a whole other way? Miles closed his eyes and thought long and hard.

“Miles, we need your decision,” Mhairi pressed after a minute.

Miles opened his eyes and fixed them on Annabelle’s trembling frame.

* * * *

Try as she might, Anna couldn’t take her eyes off Miles. His were closed and he looked wound so tight she wondered if he might snap. His brows were creased and his face was twisted into a grimace. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was in physical pain.

Did he understand how much this meant to her? Would he give her another chance? Sure, he’d kissed her, but that didn’t necessarily mean he cared. Did it? Even after all their conversations she was convinced he wanted her to leave for some reason, but other than asking why she didn’t go to university, he hadn’t asked her to leave again since that first audition back in Glasgow.