The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox
Nate Reid looking moody outside a London bar.
Elisabeth frowned. Nate Reid, who in some shots looked barely a day over eighteen, was possibly the furthest from Frank Bernstein she could possibly think of. She couldn’t imagine her father was ticking all the same boxes.
‘He’s an asshole,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Didn’t you hear about his girlfriend dumping him? Turns out he’s a cheat with bells on.’ You can talk! her inner voice screamed.
Jessica shrugged. ‘He likes to party,’ she said smugly. ‘And I’d know. Because I’ve had him.’
‘Really?’ Christie’s eyes bugged.
‘He’s wild, all right,’ she said, giving Christie a meaningful look. ‘Very wild.’
‘Like how?’
‘Must we listen to this?’ Elisabeth interjected. ‘Get over him, Jessica.’
Jessica bristled. ‘I’m not hung up.’
‘Sure you are.’
‘Am not.’
‘Are.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Besides, I read he’s hot for Kate diLaurentis. Met her at Danielle Roman’s wedding.’
Jessica laughed nastily. ‘Come on. Isn’t she a granny by now?’
‘Hardly: she’s only a few years older than me.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’re a bitch.’
‘Takes one to know one.’ Jessica pouted. ‘Anyway, she’s married.’
‘Who?’
‘Kate diLaurentis.’
‘That hardly makes a difference.’
Christie Carmen looked between the two like she was watching a tennis match.
‘Will it make a difference to you?’ Jessica’s eyes flashed.
Elisabeth’s mouth went dry. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? ‘
‘Just asking.’
‘Well, don’t. It was a stupid question.’
‘Oh, sorry. I guess it can’t freak you out that for every single night for the rest of your life you’ll be sleeping with the same fucking person.’
‘Not if that person’s Robert,’ said Elisabeth loyally.
‘Bullshit.’
‘Get your own life, Jessica.’
Elisabeth’s cell shrilled, ending the spat. She checked the display under the table. It was Alberto. Despite herself, her heart leapt.
‘Hello?’ she said as neutrally as she could, slipping back inside. Once she’d closed the patio doors, she hissed, ‘What are you doing calling me? I could have been with Robert!’
‘Are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then we can talk.’
She put a hand to her head. ‘Bellini, we’ve talked before. Please. We must put a stop to this. Don’t make it harder than it already is—’
‘Somebody knows, bellissima!
Elisabeth was quiet. ‘What did you say?’
‘Somebody knows.’
Horror clawed at her. ‘Knows what?’ she squeaked.
‘Perhaps we were not so careful as we thought …’
‘Bellini,’ she snapped, ‘what exactly are you saying?’
‘I have received two anonymous phone calls,’ he explained. ‘I could not identify the voice, I think it had been–how do you say … modified. It could have been a woman or a man. Both calls came direct to me at the Desert Jewel.’
‘Well?’ Elisabeth demanded, panicking. ‘What did they say?’ She turned to check her sister and Christie were still safely outside.
‘My darling, it is not good news for us. You must tell St Louis–or they will.’
Elisabeth clamped her hand to her mouth. What? Was it someone she knew?
‘I can’t,’ she spluttered. ‘Just pay them, anything it takes.’
‘Bellissima, I regret that it is not so easy. I cannot capitulate, I have a reputation to consider.’
‘And my reputation?’ Elisabeth squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Have you thought about that?’
‘Of course, my darling, I am always thinking of you.’
She was shaking. They had been careful–so who the hell was it? More important, just how much had they witnessed? She felt violated.
‘How could this have happened?’ she whispered.
‘My darling, we could never have hidden our true intentions for ever. My desire for you is alive, panting at my feet like a beast. It is there for all to see.’
‘Then put it away!’
‘I cannot.’
Elisabeth felt a cool shudder. Something in Alberto’s voice wasn’t right. ‘Aren’t you worried about this?’ she asked.
‘Of course I am worried,’ he said smoothly. ‘St Louis is a powerful man and he is my friend. It would be much better coming from you than from these … thieves.’
Elisabeth shook her head. ‘I’m not telling him.’ Her eyes pricked with tears when the full force of her betrayal hit. ‘There’s no way. We’re getting married.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I love him.’ He’d never believe it. Even if Robert did find out, he’d never believe it.
Alberto gave a soft chuckle. ‘Then we have a problem,’ he said. ‘For I love you.’
‘Please, Bellini …’ She faltered. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘It is true. Elisabeth, mi manchi.’
‘You must stop.’
‘You must tell him.’
‘I can’t.’
A pause. ‘Do I mean so little to you?’
She reached for a stool and sank on to it, trying to steady her breathing. ‘Of course not,’ she said quietly. ‘I … I can’t stop remembering you.’
‘Then do this.’ His voice was gravelly.
There was a long silence. Each sat listening to the other.
‘You know what you have to do,’ said Alberto finally, softly. ‘Call me when it is done.’
The line clicked dead and he was gone.
Los Angeles
The sun woke Chloe, spilling through the blinds in lemon-yellow ribbons. Tentatively she blinked against the light.
A gentle snore was emanating from the other side of the bed. She rolled over, pulling the rumpled sheet up to cover her breasts. Shit.
‘Wake up.’ She nudged the man. When he didn’t respond she nudged him harder.
‘What time is it?’ he asked groggily.
‘Gone eleven.’
Sleepily the man stretched his