Chapter 3
THREE
Isabelle
If you believe that living with a bad boy rock star would be incredible—then think again.
I’m married to Linc Boswell, the lead singer of Blood Orchid.
The sexy smile he flashed in high school only for me belongs to other women now.
The sexual magnetism that attracted me is shared.
It makes other women scream his name and throw themselves at him.
As he moves into his forties, he looks better than ever.
His rock-hard body and smoldering gaze are every woman’s fantasy.
He thrives on their worship and I drown in it.
He’s away for months at a time on the road, touring, and although he often calls me, there’s always a party in the background.
When he eventually comes home, smelling of another woman’s perfume, he tells me so many women hug him, it’s inevitable he’d smell like them and yet he always has an excuse for not answering his phone at night.
I no longer trust him and it’s ruining what relationship we have.
As he writes more hit songs, and fills venues, it’s as if the age gap between us is dramatically widening.
I look back to the time when we were high school sweethearts.
I loved him so much and when he sang to me, it was as if I could see his soul.
He’s always been magnetic and had women falling at his feet but he loved me and only me.
I drifted through high school on a cloud.
It was him and only him—and soon I was pregnant but I didn’t worry.
I knew he’d marry me. Our first son arrived when we were eighteen; another son and a daughter came close behind.
His influence made me a movie star but now I’m washed-up.
A faded rose, with bruised petals, and he’s gorgeous and stuck in his thirties.
I can never compete with his adoring fans.
Sure, we live in luxury and could never spend his fortune but I want the old times back.
I crave the look he’d give me when I watched from backstage and the nights in seedy motels.
I used to be his passion, his world, and now I’m just an afterthought.
Every reporter who sticks a microphone in our faces only wants to know about him—his life and his career. It’s never about me.
I need my side of the story written, so people discover the truth about him.
Will it ruin his career—our marriage? Do I care?
I hired a new ghostwriter after the other one didn’t work out—and this one will write what I tell her and not go sneaking to Linc and my kids to write her own truth.
This one, Alani, has written books for many celebrities more famous than me.
I needed to pull in a favor to get her to work for me.
I need someone I can trust because there are secrets in both our lives I never want revealed.
I have a plan to control the situation, but if I fail it will mean the end of my marriage and my life as I know it.