Unbreakable (Alessi Brother #3)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

PENNY

A s I stand backstage at Madison Square Garden, my heart is beating hard and fast. I place a hand on my chest, take a deep breath, and will myself to relax.

Relax! How can I relax with fifteen thousand people out there waiting for me?

They have come to watch me cook, decorate, plan a party, and learn to organize their homes. Who would have thought when I started my little YouTube channel eight years ago it would blow up to this scale? Not me, that’s for sure. I used the platform as a creative outlet. Shy and introverted, I was happy pretending no one was watching.

My mother, Elizabeth, who is also my manager, sidles beside me. Her blonde hair is styled in a neat chignon and pearls decorate her neckline. She’s wearing a blue and white floral dress that flares to the knee, and a white cardigan is draped over her shoulders. She radiates true southern elegance.

“Sweetheart. How are you feeling?” she asks. We moved to New York City from South Carolina eleven years ago, and we have both lost the southern accent.

I swallow hard. “Like I’m going to throw up.” You’d think I’d be used to this by now. I’ve been thrown in the public eye and have done multiple presentations and shows—just not to this scale. I’ve filmed a TV series on Netflix, and yet, I’m still that shy and introverted girl.

She fluffs out my hair and brushes the locks off my shoulders. “They are here to see you. Keep it together.”

If that’s a pep talk, it sucks. Although I’m used to it. She’s not one for showing an abundance of loving encouragement. She’s all business and making sure I do it well and don’t screw it up.

“I’ll try,” I say.

Positioning herself in front of me, she adjusts the collar of my navy blouse. Her gaze travels the length of me. If her forehead could crease, it would, because I can see distaste in her expression. “Why aren’t you wearing the Gucci skirt I bought you to go with this top?” she asks. “It’s much more flattering than what you have on.”

By flattering , she means the skirt she bought makes me look thinner. Will she ever accept that I’ll never be a size two like she is?

“I didn’t think wearing an eight-hundred-dollar skirt to the show was appropriate when I’m teaching an audience how to decorate on a budget,” I reply.

My mother rolls her eyes. “You are successful. There is no shame in showing how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. If anything, wearing expensive clothing tells people they too can be in the position you’re in if they try.”

I don’t have time to argue with her, the MC is revving up the crowd and listing off all my achievements. When she calls my name, my body grows cold, and my feet don’t budge. I can’t do this. What was I thinking? Madison Square Garden is for rock stars, not little nobodies like me!

Before I can turn and run from the building, my mother nudges me from behind. Breaking my frozen state, I stumble forward.

“Good luck. Don’t forget to…” My mother’s voice gets drowned out in the applause.

As I step onto the stage, the vibrations of thousands of people blast into me. Like I’m being hit by the pressure from a wave. The golden light following me is blinding. I have to stop myself from shielding my eyes. I’ve never been in front of so many people.

An adrenaline hit shoots through me, and I walk to the table set up in the middle of the stage for the demonstration without tripping over my feet. Waving, I smile and pretend I’m the most confident person in the room. Inside, I’m a shaking, scared mess.

Standing at the table, I wait for the audience to sit. I use the moment to take a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I look over the sea of faces, and my chest swells with joy. I’ve done a lot of great things with my career, but a live show at Madison Square Garden tops it all. My career is skyrocketing. I’m getting married tomorrow. My life is perfect. My life can’t get any better than this.

I start the show and talk to the crowd. My body begins to relax. Once the nerves settle, I feel more in control. I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing.

Behind me, the big screen that’s set up to show everyone a close-up of what I’m going to make, flicks on. First up is a cooking demonstration. All the ingredients to make garlic and tarragon butter beef skewers are set up in transparent glass bowls. It’s a recipe that is simple and easy, yet delicious. A dish I’ll be including in my cookbook.

Step by step, I tell the audience what I’m doing. Then something seems to happen to the speakers, because I can no longer hear my voice. There’s a muffling noise. Then a second later, gasps ring out through the arena. Confused with what’s happening, it takes me a moment to understand what’s coming from the speakers. Sounds that have nothing to do with cooking echo through the room. My brain isn’t comprehending how it’s possible. I glance into the wings. My mother is covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes, as wide as dinner plates, are staring at the screen behind me.

A producer comes rushing to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me toward backstage. “Don’t look at the screen,” she demands.

Of course, when she says that, it only makes me want to look. Tugging my arm free, I turn and stare up at the screen. The nausea I felt earlier before walking onto the stage is nothing compared to the waves rolling in my stomach and clogging up my throat. The sounds I’m hearing now make sense. A video is playing of a man jackhammering into a woman bent over a desk. A desk I know well because it’s in my home office. And the man having sex with the woman is my fiancé Darren.

I thought my life couldn’t get better.

I’ve just discovered it can get a hell of a lot worse.

Sitting on the king-sized bed in the penthouse suite of The Plaza Hotel, I flick the red rose petals off the plush bedspread onto the floor and drop onto the mattress, bouncing slightly. My best friend, Claudia Lockwood, sits on a chair next to the bed with a sympathetic look.

“How could Darren do this to me?” I wail into my champagne flute. Almost done with this bottle, I eye the Dom Perignon chilling in the ice bucket. Don’t worry, I’ll get to you soon. I need you to make me forget the chaos happening in my life. With Darren’s affair broadcasted in the news and social media, I might need more than two bottles. I scan the room and wince. After the news broke, I didn’t expect to find the room decorated with romantic honeymoon aesthetics. Another reminder of my humiliation. Well, I got what I paid for even though the wedding is dust. “Th-this should be my wedding n-night.” I hiccup.

“It’s doing you no good staying here and getting drunk. It’s upsetting you. Just because you booked the room and had your luggage delivered here doesn’t mean you should have left my apartment,” Claudia says with a comforting tone.

I had spent last night at Claudia’s house. When I woke up, I asked her to bring me to the hotel. There was no way I’d go home. What if Darren was still there? I walked out on him while he was groveling and spewing excuses about his behavior. There was nothing he said that I wanted to hear, and I never want to see him again.

My spine stiffens. “And let Darren and his new girlfriend use it? Because he probably wants to shack up with her here too. No way! This-s i-is my room.” I point my glass toward Claudia. Alcohol splashes onto my hand, and I suck it off my skin. “I hosted a party for her. I taught her how to make swans out of table napkins!”

“Penny, give me your glass before you spill champagne everywhere.” Claudia reaches for the glass. I hold it up over my head so she can’t take it. A few drops land in my hair.

“It’s mine.” I quickly lower it to my mouth and gulp the rest down before she can stop me.

Claudia shakes her head.

I slide off the bed, stumble on wobbly legs to the ice bucket, and pluck out the Dom Perignon. Popping off the cork, I don’t bother with a glass this time, just drink straight from the bottle. I hold it out to Claudia. “Want sum?” I hiccup and sit back on the bed.

Claudia frowns. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” I can see the concern on her face, but my life is too much of a shitshow to care right now.

“Nup. I’m drinking until I forget about Darren and Karen.” I slap my hand over my mouth and giggle. “ Darren and Karen . Their names rhyme! Oh, they are so meant for one another.” A second later, my laughter turns to sobs. “They’ve ruined my life. How am I ever going to face everyone again? My followers think we had the perfect relationship. We were filming a Netflix series about our wedding. They were getting set up to film the finale—our wedding day. I’m such a fraud.”

As I start to lift the bottle to my lips, Claudia leans forward in her chair and snatches the champagne from my hand.

“Hey, when did you become a ninja?” I ask. She had moved so fast she blurred.

“The alcohol has slowed your reflexes. Another reason you need to stop.”

“I need it to numb the pain.” I shoot out my hand to grab the bottle.

With her ninja-like moves, she hides it behind her back. “What you need is to get out of this depressing hotel suite and sober up. Let’s book another room.”

Flopping onto my back, I splay my arms out wide and stare at the spinning ceiling. “She’s a supermodel. Of course he’d screw someone who is in his league.”

The mattress dips next to me as Claudia sits on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

The spinning ceiling is making me feel sick, so I close my eyes. “I always wondered what he saw in me. I’m not what big, muscular, popular, sexy football players usually date.” In the past, he was known for dating models. All tall, slender, and beautiful; not five foot five, curvy women like me. Early in our relationship, the media made it clear they were surprised he’d chosen a woman like me too.

“He saw a beautiful, sexy woman. A woman he loves,” Claudia says.

I snort and turn my head to look at her. “If I were those things, he would have never had sex with another woman. God, how many times has he been with her? And in my house!” Nausea rolls around in my stomach.

“This could be a one-time thing. A mistake.”

I throw Claudia what I hope is a dirty look and not some drunken, cross-eyed grimace. “It doesn’t matter if it’s one time or one hundred times. He screwed up. Big time. He went to the trouble to star in his own porno. This isn’t some ‘I was drunk and my penis accidently fell into her vagina’ excuse. Who got hold of the video? Why did they air it at my show? Who hates me that much to do such a thing? Was it Darren?”

Claudia gives me another sympathetic look. “Will you talk to him about it?”

My body stiffens. “No way.”

“You might get the answers to your questions.”

I shake my head; pain shoots through my skull and I regret it immediately. “I’d rather get hit by a bus.”

Claudia grins. “A little dramatic. It’s probably for the best you don’t speak to him. He’ll only lie about it.”

I agree. I’ll believe nothing he says again.

Claudia’s shoulders sag on a heavy sigh. “I wish I knew how to help you or make this better.”

Nothing can make this better. He’s ruined everything.

I lift into a sitting position, hold my arms out for a moment to steady myself, and wait for the room to stop spinning. “You can give me back the champagne. That might help.”

Claudia’s lips tighten. “Not happening.”

I blow out a frustrated breath. “Party pooper.”

Giving me a sympathetic smile, she says, “What are you going to do?”

I scrub my hands over my face. “That’s something I need to think about when I don’t have two lumberjacks chopping wood in my brain.”

“Then let’s sober you up.” Claudia jumps from the bed, takes me by the hand, and tugs. “You need a cold shower, and Tylenol.”

My body loosely jerks as she yanks at my arm. “Leave me alone,” I complain.

“No. What kind of friend would I be if I left you in this state?”

“A good one.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Penny, I know you’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable that you want to drink your feelings away, but alcohol is only a band-aid. It will give you a hell of a hangover—nothing more. What you need to do is go out there and show the world you are strong and fierce, and fuckwit Darren can’t bring you down.”

My back stiffens and I sit up straight. Claudia is right. After what Darren has done to me, there’s no way I want to look like the pitiful, heartbroken victim. “He’s the one who should look pathetic. Not me. I’m going to show everyone this will not drag me down.” I slide off the bed. With steel in my spine, I stomp barefoot to the door.

Before I open it, Claudia calls after me, “Where are you going?”

I turn around. “To show them how fierce and strong I am.” Isn’t that what she said I should do?

“Your clothes are disheveled, and you smell like a brewery. Maybe you should shower first.”

Looking down at myself, I see there are creases in my top and a few suspicious-looking water stains in the fabric. Then I cup a hand over my mouth, breathe into my palm, and sniff. I wince. Oh geez, I could knock a cowboy off his horse. I change direction and head for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

In the bathroom, I fill a glass with water and swallow it with two Tylenol I find on the counter, which I assume were provided by Claudia. Then I strip out of my clothes and turn on the water. Once it’s at a temperature to my liking, I step under the spray.

If only a shower could wash away the past twenty-four hours. I wish Darren wasn’t a cheating bastard. I wish my life wasn’t in such turmoil. Unfortunately, I can make as many wishes as I want, and unless I find a magic Genie in a bottle who can turn back time, nothing will change my situation.

Leaning my back against the tile wall, I slide to the floor. I wrap my arms around my bent legs and drop my head onto my knees, letting the tears fall. Being tough is easier said than done.

After a few minutes, Claudia knocks on the door. “Penny, are you okay? Do you need help with anything?”

Carefully getting to my feet, I grab the bodywash and scrub my body. “I’m fine. Nearly done,” I call out.

What would I have done without Claudia? As soon as the video was leaked at my show, she was by my side, whisking me away from frenzied journalist circling for a great story to sell. The honeymoon suite wasn’t where she wanted to take me. For some dumb reason, I’d insisted.

When I’m done, I step from the shower, put on a bathrobe, and wrap my wet hair in a towel. I walk back into the room, and Claudia’s gaze trails me from head to toe. “You look… fresher.”

I crack the first genuine smile in hours. “Is that your way of saying I still look like shit but cleaner and smelling better?”

“You never looked like shit. Just sad.”

I tighten the belt of my robe. “I can’t face anyone yet.” The bravado I had earlier washed down the drain of the shower with the water and soap.

“There’s no rush. Whenever you’re ready.” Claudia’s phone chimes, and she picks it up. Biting her lip, she reads the message.

“Who is it?” I ask. “If it’s my mother, tell her I’m fine. I’ll call her later.” Much later. The only person more devastated about the affair is her. She loved Darren. Couldn’t wait for the wedding. Probably because she believed no one like him would want to marry me. I don’t have the energy for a conversation with her tonight.

“It’s your mom. She’s been trying to call you. You haven’t answered, so she texted me. She’s suggesting we get a statement out quickly as the news is exploding with different stories.”

I sigh and drop onto the nearest chair. Why can’t this disaster just disappear? “My brain is too muddled to deal with a statement right now.”

Pulling a chair up next to me, she says, “Well, as your PR manager, it’s my job to take care of it and handle the press. I should have done it by now, but I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’m fine on my own. You should go to the office. I’d be grateful if you sort it out.” I trust Claudia will say the right thing. I don’t have the energy to think let alone write a statement about my cheating ex-fiancé.

“Are you sure? It can wait until morning.” Claudia looks undecisive. Like she’s not sure whether to leave me.

“I’ve already waited long enough. I’m fine,” I reassure her. “I’m going straight to bed.” And pray I wake up from this nightmare.

“Okay. Call if you need me. I’ll be here in a flash. Actually, I can work from here and stay the night.”

I shake my head. “It’s getting late. Go home. I’ll only be asleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Claudia nibbles her bottom lip. “I hate leaving you like this.”

“I’m fine. The shower and Tylenol have sobered me up. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.” Most of what I said is true. I am exhausted and need sleep. I’m not exactly sober. The room is still slightly spinning.

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t call room service for more champagne.”

Like she doesn’t trust me, she takes the bottle I was eyeing and hoping to finish off, and goes into the bathroom. I’m assuming to pour the liquid down the sink. My suspicions are confirmed when she comes back with an empty bottle.

She won’t know if I order more. “I won’t,” I lie. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt. Except the thought of drinking more champagne makes my stomach churn.

Claudia picks her phone up from the bed. I stand and give her a hug. “I’ll email you the statement for you to finalize,” she says.

“I trust you. Just publish it.” It’s only going to be something vague about needing time away and privacy.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up and we can go on that honeymoon to Bora Bora you paid for.”

There’s no way I’d let Darren take the vacation. “Can’t wait.” A secluded tropical island is what I need. A place where I can get away from everyone.

I walk Claudia to the door and say goodbye. When the door closes behind her, I sigh with relief. As much as I love her and am grateful for her help and support, it’s nice to have some time to myself. I don’t want to talk. Or think. Or pretend I’ll get my shit together. All I want to do is sleep for about five days.

Before I can face-plant onto the bed and fall into what I’m hoping is a dreamless sleep, I spot Claudia’s purse on the table. “She forgot it,” I mumble.

I sprint for the door and out into the corridor to catch up with her. The elevator doors are closing before I can call out her name to stop her. Oh well, she’ll come back for it if she needs it, or I’ll give it to her in the morning.

Something bangs behind me. A surge of dread fills me. I slowly turn around. The door to my room is closed. Crap! I don’t have the keycard. I grab the door handle and jerk it up and down in case it miraculously opens. It doesn’t budge. In frustration, I kick the timber with my bare foot. “Ouch,” I whimper.

What am I going to do now? I don’t have my phone to call reception. And I don’t want to go down there wearing a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around my head. What if paparazzi know I’m staying at this hotel and are camped in the lobby? They can’t see me like this.

What other choice do I have? I can’t spend the night in the corridor.

As I’m deciding what to do next, the elevators chime to announce they’ve reached my floor. My shoulders sag with relief. Oh, thank God. Hopefully, Claudia has come back for her purse, or it’s someone I can send to reception for me. Spinning around, I race to the elevator then skid to a stop. Four men step out, and when they spot me, they rush toward me, pointing cameras in my face. Bright lights blur my vision, and I hold my hand up to shield my eyes.

“Penelope Aldin,” a man with a black, bushy beard shouts. “How do you feel about the video of Darren Ellis and Karen Featherstone having sex?”

Another says, “Did you know about the affair?”

A guy with a potbelly and balding head asks, “Will you still marry him?”

The fourth man wearing a Hawaiian shirt snickers. “Does Darren have sex tapes of you too?”

Fear and embarrassment grip me. My arms flail around as I yell, “Leave me alone.”

My outburst only makes them more trigger-happy, and they press in closer, snapping more pictures.

“Come on, Penelope. Give us the details,” the photographer with the bushy beard says with a cajoling tone.

In my frazzled state, trying to get away, the towel slips off my head and falls onto the floor, causing my hair to fall in tangled, wet clumps around my shoulders. Again, the clicking noise of the cameras go wild.

Since I can’t get back into my room, I have no choice but to run to the elevators and somehow keep them from following me inside and hope the concierge can help me. The photographers have circled around me and are practically glued to my body. There’s zero chance of getting away without them following me in. Still, I have to try. I can’t stay out here so exposed.

Before I can find a gap and sprint, the elevator doors ping open and a couple steps into the corridor. The man’s arm is flung over the woman’s shoulder, and she’s pressed against his side. Their faces are buried in each other’s necks, and they appear to be unaware of the commotion going on.

I rush to them and plead, “Can you help me please? I’m locked out of my room, and these men are bothering me.”

They pause from their amorous embrace to stare at me. I suck in a startled breath. It’s Lucas Alessi. One of the owners of one of the most famous fashion houses in the world, Alessi Fashion, and the boy who ruined my senior year. Our brief encounters lately—due to me being good friends with his sisters-in-law, Harper and Alyssa—have been nothing but hostile. Normally, he’d be the last person I’d ask for help, but with the paparazzi hounding me, I’m desperate.

The men are too busy taking photos of me and yelling out questions to notice Lucas and don’t pay him any attention.

Without letting go of the woman, Lucas takes in the scene. A huge grin spreads across his face. He knows I’m in trouble, and he’s enjoying it. “I’m sorry, I’m busy.”

He pulls a keycard out of his pocket and taps it on the lock of a door. He steps into the room, and the woman follows him. She’s no help either.

Lucas turns around and grins. “Good luck out there.” Then the door closes in my face.

Bastard! How can he leave me like this? Tears sting the backs of my eyes and burst free. I cover my face with my hands. Backing away from the paparazzi until I feel the wall pressed against my back, I slide to the floor and drop my head on my knees.

If watching a video of Darren having sex wasn’t humiliating enough, this tops it all.

I’ve reached rock bottom.