Lily of the Tower (Once Upon a RomCom #3)

Chapter 1

Lily

Aman dressed in all black moves quietly through my bedroom. I lie still on my bed, watching his stealthy motions. The moonlight through my window illuminates the long scar over his left eye as he rifles through my belongings.

“Is this really necessary?” I ask, sitting up to rest on my elbow.

He straightens and fixes me with a serious glare. “Yes, Lily,” he says, his British accent adding weight to his words. “This is necessary. Your safety is of the utmost importance.”

I huff and roll my eyes. My oldest brother, Adam, can be so annoying sometimes.

“Couldn’t we just pack like normal people? You know, when it’s light outside?”

“We’ve gone over this. No one can know that you’re leaving, or where you’re headed next. If Tristan gets wind of this—” Adam shakes his head, clenching his jaw. “He almost took you once before.”

“Unfortunately, I remember,” I mutter.

Adam resumes packing, and I pull my knees to my chest, tossing the long, blonde braid over my shoulder and wrapping my arms around my legs. Having been isolated for a year now, my hair is longer than it’s ever been. It used to go to my waist, but now I can actually sit on it.

And not for the first time, and probably not the last, I feel the shame of my poor decisions. It’s been an entire year since Tristan Jackson, world-famous movie star and Hollywood’s favorite golden boy, told me he loved me and convinced me to run off to Las Vegas to get married.

Yes, married.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so awful if he really did love me.

I hug my knees even tighter and rest my chin on my legs, feeling the familiar waves of humiliation as I remember the moment my brothers, Henry and Adam, banged on our hotel room door and demanded that Tristan leave me alone in exchange for a generous check.

Which he accepted.

And with a smile on his face, he watched me pack my bags while I sobbed.

Humiliating doesn’t even begin to describe that experience.

But I’ll add this piece of information to clarify my naivete: I was only eighteen.

I’ve matured a lot in the last year! Partly because my father and older brothers decided it was best to force me to stay at home in our penthouse apartment in Silver Lake City, California.

For the first eight months, I stayed in the penthouse, practicing the piano nonstop.

At first, I was heartbroken. I would have to be made of ice to not feel the stab of betrayal from Tristan.

But as time went on, I healed and learned that what we had wasn’t love.

It probably wasn’t even like on his part.

And once I realized that, I regained hope that I’d find real love someday.

My interaction with the outside world has been severely limited, but I like to think I’ve done some growing up. Now I know better than to run to Vegas with the first guy who shows any interest in me. That’s an extra ten points in the Game of Life, right?

“Do you need this?” Adam asks, pointing at the tripod I used for my phone.

I shake my head quickly.

“Good,” he replies. He mutters something under his breath as he tosses it in a corner.

“What was that?” I ask.

He grunts and looks at me. “I said, ‘The source of all our problems.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you hadn’t made that video, telling the world what happened between you and Tristan—”

“Then your name would have been smeared, and you’d never get a job again!” I cut him off with a cry. “I was helping you fight Tristan.”

His eyes soften, and he sits on the bed next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I know, Lily. And I’m so grateful. But now your location is compromised, as is your safety.

You don’t know what people are saying online about you.

On top of that, now that Tristan is suing you for defamation of character, we need to get you out of here.

” I see the flash of fear in his eyes, then he quickly pushes it away.

“Brookhaven isn’t far, only thirty minutes.

” He gives a small grin. “At least you’ll be staying with Aunt Agatha. ”

I snort a laugh. Aunt Agatha is sweet, but…quirky. And I’m not sure how much of a difference a change in scenery will make if I’m not allowed outside.

But who am I to question my older brothers and father?

Being the baby of the family comes with perks, but sometimes it means I completely lose my voice.

And when my brothers decide I’m better off living with crazy Aunt Agatha in Brookhaven, I have to say yes.

Adam is overbearing, but I know it all comes from a place of love…

and fear. Besides, I’ve already given them so much heartache over my poor decisions with Tristan, I can’t bear to give them more grief.

After all, I’m still only nineteen. Maybe I don’t know as much as I thought I did a year ago, and it’s easier to just go along with them than argue.

I nod, resigned to follow his decision. What else can I do at this point? My things are packed, the car is ready to take us to Brookhaven.

Adam stands. “I think we’re all done in here. Let’s go see if Henry has arrived.”

I follow him silently out to the living room of our family’s apartment, where my second older brother and our father wait for us.

“Ready to go?” Henry asks us, his voice only slightly tinged with the British accent he developed before moving to the States. I was born here, so I don’t have any indication of our heritage in my voice.

Adam nods and I shrug. I know better than to fight these two.

Father steps forward and holds me in a warm embrace. He’s short, unlike my older brothers, but his hug still feels safe and comforting. “I’ll miss having you here,” he says. “But I know it’s for the best.”

I lean into him. He’s been my constant companion throughout these eleven months, and I’m going to miss his warm smile and encouragement. I pull back, blinking away tears. “I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll call every day.”

Father nods and gives me a sweet kiss on the forehead, then lets me go.

“All right then,” Adam says, ever the stoic. “Let’s head out.” He walks over to the elevator with my suitcase and presses the button, and Henry and I follow behind.

I don’t know if they recognize how monumental this is for me. I haven’t left this building—no, this penthouse—in a year.

One foot in front of the other. That’s the only way I make it to the elevator. The doorman in the elevator nods at me and my brothers as we step inside, then he presses the button down to the lobby. We take the ride in silence, but I think my heart is pounding so loud everyone can hear.

The elevator stops, and the doors open. My brothers step out first, and Adam looks around to make sure no one is watching.

He gestures for me to follow, and I walk through the lobby and take my first steps outside in three hundred and thirty-seven days.

The night air is warm, as it usually is in September in Central California.

But I don’t have time to enjoy it. A car is waiting, and Henry opens the back door for me to get in while Adam quickly stashes my suitcases in the trunk. They shut the door and trunk at the same time, slide into their seats, and Henry begins to drive to Brookhaven.

Driving. I haven’t been in a car in a year, either.

The last time I was in one, we were in this exact same arrangement.

Except that time, Henry was driving us home from Las Vegas and I was an emotional wreck in the back seat.

I mean, I’m still an emotional wreck, but I’m trying my best to play it cool.

I’m out of the penthouse…but I’ll be stuck in a tower.

With Aunt Agatha.

As we drive, I rest my head on the seat behind me and close my eyes, hoping Henry was right when he said there’s a piano there.

“There’s no piano,” I say.

Henry and Adam stand on either side of me in the doorway.

They drop the suitcases with a thump, and we take in the sights of my new home.

We just walked up four flights of stairs.

Aunt Agatha’s home sits in the middle of the other adorable homes of Brookhaven, all with their pitched roofs and picket fences, but hers has a tower that stands high above the rest of the buildings.

The front door of her home leads either to her living room or to the stone staircase that winds up four stories to the top of the tower.

This tower is my new home. It’s a single room, but it’s large enough for a bed, a living area with a small couch, a tiny kitchenette, and a bathroom. I could probably do three or four cartwheels across the floor—if I knew how to do cartwheels.

That might be something to add to my list of hobbies.

So far I’ve taught myself the “Cups” song from the movie Pitch Perfect, Cat’s Cradle with a loop of yarn, and how to knit a sweater with the rest of the yarn from the skein.

There was a brief attempt at ballet, but I’m definitely not coordinated enough for that.

Maybe I’ll be better at cartwheels. Most recently, I’ve enrolled in online classes at Silver Lake University in hopes of finishing my degree.

But most of my time was spent playing the piano.

Henry looks around the bare room. “No. You’re right.”

I turn to face him, my hands on my hips. “You told me there would be a piano.”

“Agatha said—”

“Lily, what do you think of your room?” Agatha asks in her thick British accent, her tone breathless.

She was a little slower than us in climbing the stairs.

I’ll be honest, I was surprised she wanted to make the climb, but she seems unusually energetic for one in the morning.

Her nightgown looks like it belongs in the Regency era, but I can’t be sure if that’s her usual pajamas or her current wardrobe theme.

Aunt Agatha loves to dress according to her book club’s latest choice.

Last year, she was a detective and a guest on the Titanic, and earlier this year she was a pirate.

You never know what you’re getting next with her.

“It’s lovely, Aunt. Truly.” I swallow hard. “But, uh, where is the piano?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” She steps into the room, her feet padding on the carpeted floor, and opens the closet. “Here it is!” she says, her arms wide with a big ta-da flourish.

I step over to see a small, electronic Casio keyboard on a black metal X-stand. The type with thirty-seven plastic, non-weighted keys, as opposed to the full eighty-eight of the grand piano I just left back in Silver Lake City.

I can’t play anything on this.

I’m speechless. Absolutely, completely speechless.

Agatha’s face falls. “Is it…” She turns it on, the red light shining in the darkness, and starts pressing the keys. The electronic sound makes me want to cover my ears, but I’m literally frozen in place.

For a casual piano player, this would still make them cringe, but it probably wouldn’t shake them to their core.

For me, this is life-shattering.

The piano is my lifeline. The one thing that keeps me sane.

I’ve been playing ever since I can remember.

My mother played, not at the same level as me, but well enough that the sound of Chopin nocturnes would fill our living room throughout the afternoons.

My brothers would play video games or read books or act out stories with her music in the background, but I would sit next to her or on her lap, mesmerized by the way her fingers floated across the keys.

When I was old enough, she tried to teach me herself, but she quickly realized that having your mother teach you the piano can be a…

well, a conflict of interest. I was better off with a separate instructor.

From there, the piano became a piece of my soul. The rule was that I had to complete my chores before I could play the piano. If I got in trouble, my punishment was that I couldn’t play the next day—the most effective punishment my parents could have ever dreamed up.

And when my mother passed when I was fourteen, the only thing that helped me cope was playing the piano. Every day, all day.

Adam moved to Hollywood to become an actor. Henry threw himself into the family business with Father, training to take over Stone Technologies. Peter, our other brother, disappeared on one vacation after another, creating some travel app. We rarely see or hear from him now.

And me?

I played the piano.

After high school graduation, I started taking classes at Silver Lake University while continuing my piano studies, hoping to become a professional pianist. But then everything happened with Tristan…and now I’m playing concerts for my brothers and their fiancées.

Not exactly the same thing as Carnegie Hall.

At the very least, it was something to do all day while isolated at home. Now that I’m going to be here in this tower, I’m starting to panic. What am I going to do all day?

Henry clears his throat to cover my awkward silence. “Thank you, Aunt. We appreciate you taking Lily in.”

“Oh, of course. It’ll be so lovely to have some company here at home.” She smiles and pulls me in for a hug. “Once we know Lily is completely safe, we’ll have so much fun visiting the shops and going to festivals together.”

“Yes, how long will that be?” I ask, looking up at Adam and Henry. They tower above me, as do most people, since I’m only five foot three, but they’re both well over six feet tall. I still haven’t figured out how they inherited that height from our smaller-statured parents.

Adam heaves a sigh. “We’re not sure, Lily. It could be a few weeks, it could be months.”

“Months?” I squeak. “It’s already been almost a year!”

“Almost a year since Vegas. It’s only been a few months since you posted the video,” Henry replies softly.

“We’ve hired a consultant who specializes in these types of situations,” Adam says. “We’re meeting with him tomorrow and will discuss it with him. It shouldn’t be that long.”

Agatha pats my shoulder. “Better to be safe than sorry, love,” she says, leading me away from the boys and toward the bed. “I think it would be best for you to get some rest.”

I’m so tired of their paranoia. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. If there were an actual threat to my safety, we’d have an idea of when it was gone, right? But they’re just keeping me hostage, afraid that if the slightest possibility exists, I’ll be in danger.

I can wait a few weeks. Hopefully it will all be over by then.