Enemies Under One Roof

Chapter One

ETHAN SUERTE STEERED his car through the wrought iron gates and the tension eased from his shoulders.

Home. Then a fresh wave of grief hit. It would never be home without Aunt Ruby.

He eased his foot off the accelerator and scanned the gravel driveway for anything old, sick, or unwanted.

Ruby’s fondness for strays was legendary.

Just like you.

She’d taken him in and given him stability after the chaos of his first ten years. And now she was gone. Exhaustion gnawed as the past week caught up with him.

The phone call that changed everything.

The mad dash back to England.

The guilt of being too late for his substitute mother who’d never let him down, unlike his real one, and the soul-destroying realisation he’d never see Ruby again.

Continuing down the winding drive, he reflected on yesterday. Ruby had told him years ago exactly what she’d wanted for her celebration—she’d refused to call it a funeral. She’d been explicit about all the details, and he’d promised her that he’d do everything as she’d wished. And he had.

The service had been held at her beloved Manor, overflowing with music, food, drink and those she’d loved.

It had celebrated her life, with no tears or black allowed.

Ruby would have adored it. A smile tugged at his lips until he remembered the one glaring omission he’d been unable to fulfil, and then his mouth flattened as anger raced through him.

She hadn’t even bothered to respond personally to his attempts to contact her.

No call, no text, no message. Just an impersonal response from her assistant that there would be no attendance, and to proceed without her.

If the tabloids were to be believed, which he had first-hand knowledge they weren’t, she was in hiding with her latest lover, Ben Price.

Ethan had no respect for the tabloids, nor their lies, but when it came to her anything was possible.

What was undisputed was that Ben had been her most recent co-star, and he’d left his wife, for her, once filming had ended.

His jaw clenched; he had zero tolerance for cheaters.

Unwittingly memories he kept buried snuck out.

His late mother, oft heralded as one of the best actors of her generation, doing the same thing.

Constantly starting relationships with her leading men and directors.

Needing them to fall in love with her, adore her.

The more difficult the challenge the better.

When she’d achieved her goal and ripped lives apart, she’d get bored and come home to Ethan, her only child, and his father, her husband and biggest fan.

His father would preen under the attention, every single time, because she was the sun that he orbited around.

And as much as it sickened Ethan to admit it, he’d done the same, feeling seen, wanted, loved.

They’d play happy families under the full beam of the press for a few chaotic weeks, until he’d wake up one morning and her bags would be packed with no warning, and she’d leave again, with no clue as to when she’d be back.

Ethan would be shattered and so would his father, who’d lock himself in their darkened media room with whiskey and cigarettes and watch on repeat, every movie his mother had ever appeared in, until her next visit. Then the cycle would repeat itself.

And nothing Ethan had done had ever changed that.

No matter how hard he’d tried at school, how much he’d wished for her to come home again, how good he’d been or how much he’d played up, it hadn’t made any difference to either of them.

He’d been a bit player in their melodrama, only needed for limited scenes.

When his parents had met their tragic and well-documented demise, Ruby, a distant relative of his mother’s, had brought him back to WillowGlen.

Despite the fact Ethan had never met her before, she’d protected him like the fiercest lioness from the endless prying eyes and given the grieving ten-year-old all the love and support missing from his life up until then.

He swallowed. And pushed everything back into the vault he hated opening and focused on the present. There was no excuse for her missing Ruby’s celebration. It rankled, because she’d meant so much to Ruby, and her total indifference was a rejection Ruby hadn’t deserved.

He refused to allow his mind to wander to any other reason for his anger.

Definitely not to the birthday party here, at WillowGlen, eight years ago.

Automatically he glanced at his name scrawled in Ruby’s achingly familiar handwriting on the envelope sitting on the passenger seat.

Her solicitor had given it to him an hour ago.

Dread inched down his spine, and Ethan gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and pain shot up his forearms, wondering how he’d be able to fulfil Ruby’s wishes.

Did it have to be with her? The absolute last person he’d ever choose? His gut churned, contemplating their upcoming, unavoidable interaction.

He rounded the last curve and the quintessential Victorian manor came into view.

His hands loosened; his stomach settled.

He’d never been drawn to a house like this one.

Sitting on top of a sloping lawn, sandstone staircases led from either side to a central one that swept up to the porched entrance and imposing front door.

The afternoon sun reflected off the stained-glass windows—hundreds of them—so he couldn’t pick out the one he’d broken during an enthusiastic game of cricket years ago with his two best mates from boarding school, Luc and Cam, that had been replaced with clear glass.

He smiled, remembering Ruby banishing the three avid tween players to an outer section of the estate with enough drinks, biscuits and sandwiches for twenty.

His gaze wandered to the circular fountain at the bottom of the slope.

The marble Virtue statues—Faith, Hope and Charity—watching over the grounds, water endlessly trickling from their hands.

His chest expanded, breathing in all that was WillowGlen.

Parking his classic British sportscar, he alighted and entered the manor through the lavish archway.

As he crossed the main foyer, sunlight streamed through the upper gallery windows burnishing the mahogany panelling with a medley of colours.

He didn’t linger, although he loved this space, especially at this time of day, but he needed a drink, a strong one.

Not something he was in the habit of having at 5:00 p.m. but this was an exception.

Ruby’s letter had been the last thing he’d expected; there was no use pretending otherwise.

Trust me this one last time.

She’d been one of the few people he did trust, because his early life had taught him how rare it was, how it was the foundation of any relationship and the most important thing to him.

And Ruby had never asked anything of him, except this.

He cursed, then cursed again for even questioning her wishes.

He strode to the sitting room, his steps muffled by the thick hallway carpet, desperate for a drink. Then slammed to a halt.

Ivy stood next to the grand piano covered with silver photo frames across its shiny lid.

Want—raw and ferocious—smashed into him, threatening to knock him backwards. He planted his feet into the carpet as blood pounded in his ears.

She swung to face him, a photo frame clutched in her hands. Shock, unease and something he didn’t recognise flashed in her black-fringed hazel eyes.

Silence settled between them, stretching long past the comfortable stage.

Not trusting to get anything past the lump holding his throat hostage, he finally dragged his gaze from hers to roam over her heart-shaped, fully made-up face, complete with her signature red lipstick.

Glossy waves of black hair tumbled over her shoulders, a knee-length fitted black dress showed off her famous curves and killer heels completed a look more suited to a movie premiere than a wake.

‘I’m sorry. I came as soon as I could.’ Low and broken, Ivy’s usually disguised Australian accent was audible.

He took an automatic step to comfort her, until he remembered; Ivy was an actress, a brilliant one. She had a swath of awards to prove it and he’d sworn he’d never be duped by her again.

Hadn’t he learnt anything from his upbringing?

‘I contacted you a week ago.’ Coldness flooded his voice. He was relieved he hadn’t betrayed any of his conflicting thoughts, yet felt no satisfaction when she flinched.

‘Did you…get to see her?’ Her lips trembled. ‘Before she di—’

‘No. I arrived afterwards.’

She hugged the photo frame to her chest.

‘It was a massive stroke. It wouldn’t have made any difference if anyone had been with her.’ He’d told himself the same thing. It hadn’t eased the pain at the thought of Ruby dying alone, or his guilt. ‘It happened while she was asleep.’ The only thing that gave him any comfort.

Placing a slender hand on the back of the overstuffed pink-and-white floral armchair, she gingerly moved around it. Lowering herself, she painted a picture of pale despair as his frustration raged.

What was acting?

What was real?

What he did know, though, was that he wasn’t going to keep standing just inside the doorway.

He moved to the fireplace and a prickle of sweat broke out on his nape, like the fire roared, instead of remaining unlit on this unseasonably warm autumn day. He shifted his legs to the brace position.

Don’t show any discomfort.

Ivy stared at the photo of Ruby resting on her knees as he reacquainted himself with the real-life version of the woman he’d never been able to fully avoid. He’d catch sight of her online, on magazine covers, on the news.