Chapter 9
NINE
Alani
Wrestling a stampeding bull elephant to the ground would be easier than getting Isabelle to commit to an interview time.
She vanished after breakfast saying that she needed to shower and get in the mood for my interview and would see me later.
Everyone else I ask is too busy right now, so I sit on the deck, taking in the view of the coastline and the large yacht moored beside jet skis, with a helipad nearby.
The security here is not intrusive—apart from the cameras—but from where I’m sitting, I can see there’s no other access to this part of the house.
No one can get near the boat or helicopter.
I wonder if they use the chopper to fly everywhere?
I need to explore the house and take notes of what I’m seeing to enrich the book.
Readers like to know all the small details.
I stand and yawn before heading along a pathway, hoping I don’t get lost. The house sprawls in all directions without any type of plan, as if parts of it have been added over the years.
I follow the path that winds alongside the infinity pool and into a shaded tropical garden.
It’s well maintained and obviously the work of a professional gardener as the plants are healthy even in this heat.
As I follow the path between a row of palm trees, the mournful sounds of an electric guitar drift toward me.
Intrigued, I stop to listen, assuming it’s Linc working on a new song.
The low moody guitar riffs pull me forward and I pass an indoor koi pond into a sun-drenched atrium filled with rare orchids.
I want to stay and admire the blooms but I keep walking, mesmerized by the sound, and discover the eldest son, Lucas.
Twenty-seven, barefoot and shirtless, he sprawls across a black leather chaise with a vintage Gibson in his lap.
He is the clone of his father, and looks up in surprise, stops playing and runs a hand through his tousled hair.
His unreadable gaze moves over me. I swallow hard. “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“I’m just messing around.” He smiles in a flash of white. “I know you, Alani, but you don’t remember me, do you? You haven’t changed. You have the same soulful eyes. I should write a song about you.”
Astonished, I stare at him. “Have we met? I have this theory that everyone is connected by their acquaintances.”
“Ah yeah, the six degrees of separation.” Lucas leans back and places his guitar beside him.
“In our case it’s true. I was two years ahead of you in high school.
I tried to get up the courage to ask you to the prom but those days I looked like a nerd when it was Oli who was into computers, not me.
For me it was always music. He’s always been the perfect son and I’ve always been a bad boy.
Heck, I spent more time suspended than I did at school.
” He smiles ruefully. “Do you want to sit down? You’re here to write my mom’s book and want a story. I guess I’m gonna be in it?”
Heat flushes my cheeks as I sit down opposite him. “Yeah, I’m guessing you won’t want all your secrets told. What you want made public is up to you.”
“Darlin’, one chapter wouldn’t cover my life.” He chuckles. “I’ll need an entire book.”
I smile. It’s hard not to like him; it’s as if I’ve known him his entire life.
This is the rebel son, the talented musician and songwriter.
Married and divorced in one year and in rehab the next.
“You are a little young to have your memoirs written. Maybe I’ll write yours when you turn fifty or so. ”
“If I make it that far.” He stares into space for long minutes.
“The time between when I’m not writing songs and just hanging around waiting for the next gig makes me feel like running away and never stopping.
” He sucks in a long breath and lets it out slowly.
“I hate living with my parents but it’s part of the deal.
I got stoned and trashed someone’s place.
Dad fixed it but I gotta stay here and be a good little boy.
” His gaze moves over me again. “Tell me what to do, Alani. You look like you know how to deal with this crazy world.”
I’m not sure how to phrase my next sentence. Life hasn’t been too easy for me either. “I ran away from my parents and didn’t speak to them until after I graduated from college. So maybe I’m not the best example of someone dealing with life.”
“Oh, tell me what happened?” He leans forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his intent stare locking on my eyes. “Sam never mentioned any problems. He always said you were the perfect child.”
I shake my head. “I was the perfect child and they gave me everything I wanted. I couldn’t want for better parents but then I discovered they’d lied to me for my entire life.
I guess I was resentful and angry. I find it hard to forgive people when they do bad things to me.
Writing autobiographies is a great way of dealing with anger.
Maybe you can channel yours into your songs? ”
“Yeah, I could do that but how does telling all about a paid client benefit you? Your name isn’t on the cover, is it?
” He raises one black eyebrow and stands.
He takes an acoustic guitar from the wall, sits back down and plucks at the strings.
Music flows from his fingers as if by magic. The sound is mesmerizing.
I drag myself away from the melody and look at him.
“Yes, my name is mentioned as the ghostwriter but, if you want honesty, I’ve come to the conclusion, after interviewing many people, that it doesn’t matter how wealthy or successful you are, it can’t make you happy.
A good relationship is the answer. Having a rock to lean on is the key to happiness, rich or poor. ”
“Man, I have so many women chasing me—but I don’t connect to any of them.” He meets my gaze. “None of them have meaningful conversations. Heck, most of them can’t walk past a mirror without stopping.”
I know exactly what he means. I’ve met many superficial, self-absorbed people myself.
I nod. “Exactly. In fact, finding someone who actually cares for the real you is more difficult than people realize. I can see what happens on the inside, Lucas. There are so many people out there just trying to get part of your fortune or bathe in your notoriety, publicity or fame.” I shrug.
“When I discovered this, I realized that my life wasn’t so bad after all.
I can do the job I love and avoid the fame and fortune that goes around being a bestselling author just because it’s not my name on the cover of the book—and I get paid a flat fee not royalties. ”
“That’s very interesting.” Lucas pauses, grabs a notebook and writes.
I watch him. He is absorbed in what he’s doing as if in a totally different world. After ten minutes, I go to stand and he looks up at me and holds up a hand. I smile. “I’ll go. I’m disturbing you.”
“No, you’re inspiring me.” He chuckles. “That’s not a pick-up line. I’m being serious here.”
I nod. “That’s a nice thing to say.” I sigh. “I do need to go. Your mom will be looking for me.”
“She’ll be rehearsing what she’s going to say to you.
” Lucas meets my gaze. “She is always performing, even with us. I’ve never been able to believe a word she says because she changes up the truth to suit herself.
Unfortunately people in this house tell lies.
But you can trust me. Come and have a talk if you’re worried about anything.
” He narrows his gaze. “For instance, they didn’t tell you about Jenny Stafford, did they? ”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Mom hired her as a ghostwriter, weeks ago.” Lucas clears his throat. “She just walked out one day and never returned.”
Is that a warning or is he messing with my head too? I frown, needing to get away. “That’s a worry. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Just one thing.” He gives me a long look, almost without expression, and waves his hand to encompass the house. “All this is an illusion. It’s what my mom wants you to see—so don’t dig too deep, you might not like what you find.”