“Do you really think everything is OK with Mom and Alan?” I ask.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yep, and I’m so relieved. I really miss Mom.”

“Me, too.”

“I hope she gets here soon.” She crinkles her nose. “Maybe Jen will go away. I can’t stand her. Can you?”

I shake my head. The way Krystal says that causes a knot to form in my stomach. “Why don’t you like her?”

She does a shudder. “Jeez, are you blind? She’s always hanging on Dad, flirting with him, even when we’re there.” She leans closer. “She sent him the grossest text message ever when we were in Melbourne. Even worse than the ones you used to send Bobby.”

I blow past this latest Krystal spying confession, more desperate to know what she knows about Jen and Alan. “How do you know?”

“Oh, I hacked your phone a long time ago when we first moved to the ’Sades.”

I groan, frustrated. “No. The other part. About Jen.”

She does a soundless gag. “Dad left his phone unlocked and I read it—don’t get mad, I heard a notification and I wanted to see if it was from Mom because he was happy—but no it was her. And just gross.”

I pale. “What did it say?”

Her cheeks grow brightly pink. “I can’t say it. It’s too embarrassing. The same kind of stuff you text Bobby the nights after you pretend to stay at Zoe’s.”

Oh fuck.

“I don’t know why she does that,” Krystal whispers.

Duh, Krystal, Alan isn’t happy about Mom; he’s seeing Jen and that’s who he’s playing salacious phone text with, not Mom.

“I wish she’d stop. It’s so obvious that Dad loves Mom,” she adds, annoyed.

I stare at my sister, feeling like the air’s been punched out of my lungs.

“What’s wrong?” Krystal asks, worried.

I shake my head—everything and it’s all my fault, no matter what Graham says. My fault.

That momentary respite I had from my guilt abruptly ends.

I lower my gaze. “I just miss Mom. I wish she were here, too.”

Krystal smiles sweetly. “She’ll be with us soon. I know it.”

A door opens and I turn to see Alan exiting his bedroom, sharply dressed and looking like he’s going somewhere.

He doesn’t look at us as he crosses the room. Not making eye contact with us; not comforting.

He checks his watch and then stops at the table. “We all good here?”

Krystal frowns. “Where are you going?”

I shift my gaze to her. Oh crap, she’s suspicious, too, and I don’t need one more thing to add to the list of things I’ve done wrong—like tipping off my baby sister that I think Dad’s messing around.

He drops a kiss on each of the boys’ heads and then on Krystal’s. “I have something I’ve got to do. A last-minute schedule change. Don’t wait up. I’m going to be late.”

He turns quickly toward Mrs. Barton, and is even smiling at Prune Face. “Things might run long. You probably shouldn’t expect me until after morning. Don’t go anywhere with the children. I want them in the room until I get back.”

Oh, he’s definitely avoiding eye contract with me. Ding. He checks his phone. I catch a not completely contained smile.

He clicks off the phone and moves to the door.

He opens it and I see his security team waiting in the hallway. “No fighting. No calling. No texting. Nothing. I don’t want to hear from any of you unless it’s a real emergency.”

Oh God, he’s never said that before.

He quickly disappears into the hallway.

Krystal stares at me. “That was weird.”

I fight to keep my emotions from my face, but weird doesn’t cut it. Very overt and very busted.

Fuck, that’s it.

If Mom finds out, next stop divorce court.

It’s suddenly very hard to breathe.

I spring from the table and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” snaps Mrs. Barton. “Back to the table for another half hour.”

Ignoring her, I continue into the hall only to be stopped by Graham.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Where are you going?” he asks, stepping in front of me so I can’t get to the elevators.

I stare up at him, frantic. “I just want to talk to my dad, OK? Can you call him back? Please?”

“I can’t call him back and I can’t let you go, Kaley. No one is to leave the room. Those are my instructions until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, great.

Tomorrow, too late.

Tomorrow none of the good of the past three weeks will matter.

If Alan hurts Mom, I’ll never forgive him.

*  *  *

I lie on my bed, the hotel walls closing in around me. A handful of minutes and it feels like eternity. I’m never going to survive a full night of this torturous uncertainty. It’s like there is a heavy rock in my stomach, turning over and over, and I can’t stop it.

I’m so tired of hurting. So tired of the guilt. The collapse of my life is like a slow-moving film, frame and then pause, frame and then pause, and with each change a new misery.

Bobby dumping me.

Being dragged away from Mom to here.

And now the terrible certainty that I’m the one—after everything my parents have survived together—to end Chrissie and Alan after more than twenty years.

I just want to feel young and laugh, and not hurt and worry 24/7. Guilt is a terrible thing. The aftermath of hurting people you love is inescapable.

For one night, I want out of this smothering cage. I want to be eighteen and not give a shit about anything like the rest of the kids my age. A normal girl. With a normal life. Just for a little while.

I grab my bag, sneak from my bedroom and into Alan’s. I open the walk-in closet door and find the service exit against the back wall just like in every hotel penthouse on this tour.

Now I know why the fucking door is there.

I carefully ease it open and peek into the hallway. Nope, just as I thought, no one there. Alan’s gone, so security is not here.

I jog down the hall and step into the emergency exit stairwell, and after a dozen flights I cut through the lobby and out the front door.

Free. For the first time in nearly a month.

I blend into the people on the sidewalk and start hurrying down the street. I pass trendy restaurants and a few clubs, but then I spot one without a rope line and duck in there.

No cover. Not exactly an upscale place, but it will work and hopefully no one will think to look for me here.

The room is dark and full of strobing light, and I settle at the bar. When the bartender comes I order a bottle of tequila and a glass. When a guy sidles up on the stool next to me, I offer him a drink.

I want to get drunk.

I want to laugh and dance and flirt.

I want not to remember.

I want for one night to be only eighteen.

CHAPTER 27

An hour later, I’m full of tequila shots and whooping it up on the dance floor. The vibration from the music and the alcohol pumping through my veins makes me feel good for the first time since I left California. The small area beneath the DJ is hot, crowded, the lights are flashing, and the guy I’m dancing with definitely has moves. His body rubs against me and I melt into him.

His hands tighten on my waist, pulling my ass to brush against his cock as we bob with the beat. He kisses my neck.

I tense.

Too familiar.

I pull away from him without missing a step.

I open my eyes.

Oh shit.

Graham Carson is standing on the edge of the floor with his tree-trunk-sized arms crossed in front of his chest. How the hell did he find me? Delta Force training, no doubt. He looks pissed.

I wait until the song finishes. I tell my partner I have to go, and then cut through the people on the floor. I stop in front of my bodyguard. It’s so obvious what Graham is with his iron body neatly encased in all black. I can feel more than a few people staring at us.

I stare up at him. “Can’t you be cool for one night and let me have fun?”