* * *

The screaming is so loud it’s deafening. I jerk awake and quickly try to orientate myself. The SUV has stopped. We’re parked in front of what I can only assume is the hotel. My dad’s gone. Krystal and the boys are staring out the windows, anxious and nervous. The security team is talking fast back and forth on their headsets. Graham Carson is crouched by the open door, alertly scanning the crowd.

Holy moly, what a profile and physique. He definitely deserves to be a Kodak moment. I slyly pull my camera from my bag and start snapping pictures.

“Not now, Kaley,” Graham barks. “I’m working.”

“I’m working, too. I’m the only photographer on this tour.”

He smile, but doesn’t look at me. “Nice. Very nice. You talked to your dad while I was napping. But stop screwing around and pack up your stuff. Change of SOP. We are now in this order of movement until further notice. Your dad. You. And then the rest of the kids with Mrs. Barton.”

Frowning, I put my stuff away. “Why is that? It’s a stupid change and I’m not doing it. I’m not going anywhere without my brothers. They need me with them.”

“You’d know if you hadn’t slept though the drive into Mumbai. Never seen anything like it on any tour. I’m now lead of your private security team.”

I tense and wonder if he’s messing with me.

“What? I don’t need security.”

“Your dad thinks otherwise and so do I. Look out the window. Damn, girl. You’re a global sensation. When you want people to listen to you, they listen. You might want to rethink how you channel that in the future.”

I turn to stare out the window.

Oh fuck.

There are people out there holding signs for me.

Bring back Kaley’s World?

Speak truth to power?

My picture?

Are they really screaming my name?

“All the way from the airport they’ve lined the roads for you,” Graham explains. “And whether you like it or not, you’re in the bubble just like your dad until you get back to California. There are a whole lot of places in this world it’s not safe for people to know your face and that you’re a rich American. Mumbai is one of them.”

Oh crap.

My gaze shifts to find Mrs. Barton glaring at me in disapproval. Like I could have foreseen this. Sorry to ruin your day, Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Roger that,” Graham says into his headset. “We’re moving.” He turns toward me, gesturing with an arm. “Your dad is safely inside the hotel. Come on, Kaley. Out of the car. Don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone. Into the building, the elevator, then the room. Dillon and I will be with you every step.”

I stare at the broad back clad in black just outside the door. Dillon; yep, I recognize those shoulders. It could be worse. At least Alan gave me a security team made up of two hotties.

CHAPTER 26

Three weeks later

“Kaley, stop pretending you’re asleep. Get up. Get dressed. Mrs. Barton says now.”

I roll over in bed, glare at Krystal, and fling off my blankets. “I’m not going. I am not spending another day seeing the sights of the globe in a traveling freak show to please decrepit nanny from hell. Nope. Can’t. Won’t do it. I am not going today.”

My sister drops heavily down on the bed beside me. “Why do you have to be difficult about everything? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Well, that was way harsh.

“Where’s Alan?”

“Still sleeping, and he doesn’t want you bugging him. Dad has a concert tonight.”

I check my phone. “It’s 9:30. I’m allowed to bug after nine. And if he doesn’t like it maybe he should try getting back to the room earlier the night before.”

Krystal’s eyes widen, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My cheeks heat.

Oh crap, I shouldn’t have said that, especially since I don’t really know anything, it’s just suspicions in my gut eating at me, and Krystal all-out idolizes Dad.

Nope, shouldn’t throw in her face before her Cheerios that I think Dad is screwing around on Mom with that hideous Jen. That would be just plain wrong.

A lump rises in my throat.

Why doesn’t Alan just call Mom? Fight it out. Yell it out. Or something. They haven’t talked since we left California and it’s driving me almost crazy since I don’t doubt Mom is a total mess. Damn it, Alan, swallow your freaking pride and call Chrissie already. I can tell he wants to—Jen is so not a solution to anything—and the waiting to know what’s going to happen with them is fifty percent of my unrelenting anxiety.

Fifty percent wondering if I’ve ruined my parents’ happiness forever. And fifty percent wondering why Bobby dumped me, if he’s seeing someone else, and if I can fix it.

Damn, now I’m hyperemotional again.

I let out a ragged breath, grab a sweatshirt from the floor, and pull it over my tank top. “Go back to Mrs. Barton and tell her I’m not going. Have fun without me.”

Krystal hurries out of the room and a few minutes later I hear the hotel suite door open and close. Good. Gone. I knew Mrs. Barton wouldn’t come in and try to argue toe-to-toe with me. She’s happier when I don’t join these fun educational outings she loves to plan for our benefit—not.

I can tell we’re just doing shit she wants to.

OK, how do I figure out a way to stay here?

I march down the hallway to my dad’s room, knock once loudly, and enter.

“I’m not going on another Bataan Death March all day with Mrs. Doubtfire.”

Alan jerks up from his pillow and checks the clock. He turns over in bed and uses his fingers to push the hair from his face. “Bataan Death March. Wrong country. That’s the Philippines. We’re in Australia. Melbourne is an interesting city. You are going today. You want to be a filmmaker—go learn something. I need quiet and sleep, so you get sightseeing today.”

I roll my eyes.

It’s so annoying when Alan takes my sarcastic comments, dissects them, thinks it’s funny to correct me and gets a subtle jab in himself.

Learn something.

Very funny.

We both know Mrs. Barton is full of crap and doesn’t know shit about anything. Who’d want to learn anything from her?

I cross the room and drop down heavily on the edge of his bed. “I’m too old for a nanny. You do realize that, don’t you? Or do you just get off embarrassing me?”

My dad sits up, reaches for his cigarettes, looks at me, grimaces and then tosses them back down on the night table.

“Mrs. Barton isn’t here for you, Kaley. The security detail is. It sucks being an Internet sensation, doesn’t it?”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t want to go with them. I don’t need security every time I leave the suite. Mom wouldn’t make me live this way. She’d know it was lame.”

His jaw clenches—wrong move mentioning Mom this early in the morning—and he climbs from bed.

“Maybe, but your mom isn’t here,” he counters in a clipped voice.

My stomach turns.

Why won’t they just start talking to each other?

I can’t take it anymore.

“And whose fault is that?” I exclaim, running from the room and slamming the door closed between us before he can aptly point out that it’s my fault.

I go into my room, dress for the pool, and shove my stuff into my tote. Not staying here. Not fighting with Alan again. I don’t need one more thing to feel badly about.

I brush the hair from my cheeks and realize I’m crying. Crap. It’s just all the uncertainty, but I can’t stand being girlie and weak.

Grabbing my sunglasses from the dresser, I hurry out of the suite. I’m immediately stopped in the hallway.

Graham Carson rises from the chair he sits in outside the door. “Going somewhere?”

I groan. “Don’t give me crap. Not today. I’m not in the mood for it.”