I ask the driver to take me to Malibu to “see the sights” before driving me back to Ava’s house. It’s nearly sunset, and as Alfred said, the area’s beautiful. And just as he said, there’s a string of lovely—and huge—beach homes along Broad Beach road near Zuma. The neighborhood’s certainly fit for a rock star.
“Could you stop here please? I’d like to walk for a while,” I tell the driver. Asking him to wait, I get out and stroll down the street until I find a point of beach access. I don’t want him to see me knocking on doors on the street side.
After pushing through a particularly sticky access gate covered in private property signs, I walk along the high tide line, checking out the back sides of the exclusive mansions. The beach itself is lovely, and nearly deserted. The Pacific water feels cold on my toes, contrasting with the warm breeze, but I’m not here for a beach day—I’m here to stalk a celebrity. And I have no idea what I’m doing.
This is idiotic. How am I supposed to tell which house is his?
And then I spot the red Spanish tile roof. The style of the home is different from the modernistic wood and glass structures surrounding it. Is this what Alfred was getting at when he mentioned the style of home he “admires?”
Heart pounding and half-expecting a beefy bodyguard to challenge me, I approach the house and climb its back stairs. The chime of the doorbell sounds like an electric guitar chord. That has to be a good sign, right?
I think no one’s going to answer when, finally, a small woman in a crisp blue uniform opens the door and asks in heavily accented English, “I help you?”
I put on my most innocent smile. “Yes. I’m a friend of Nox’s. I was out for a walk and thought I’d stop in to say hi. Is he home?”
“No. No Mr. Nox here,” she says as she starts to push the door closed, her eyes wide with alarm.
My hand stops her from succeeding. Though she claims he doesn’t live here, the fact that she called him “Mr. Nox” lets me know I have the right house.
“Oh, well, when will he be back?” I ask in a cheery voice, refusing to be dissuaded. Again, I could just Sway her, but I’d rather not.
“No,” she repeats, sounding a bit more frantic this time. I’m thinking maybe his staff is forbidden to answer the door and this lady broke the rules. She’s obviously panicking now and trying harder to shut the door on me.
Well, I tried. Besides, she’ll feel better about her “mistake” if she doesn’t even remember it, right?
Focusing my eyes on hers, I will her to answer me. “What’s your name?”
“Marta,” she answers in a dazed way.
“Marta, please tell me where Mr. Nox is. Is he home?”
“No. Mr. Nox leave for Mississippi this morning. He comes back three months.”
Shoot. Three months is far too late for me. I’ll be back home in Atlanta by then and preparing for my wedding. I can’t believe I’ve gotten so close, yet I’m still so far from finding out if this guitar-playing, panty-influencing Nox is in reality my beloved childhood friend.
“Thank you, Marta. You can return to your work. And you will not remember meeting me or having this conversation.”
“Okay,” she answers woodenly, which makes me feel bad all over again. I’d hate to see the human brain on glamour. A CAT scan would probably resemble a person on some sort of mind-bending drugs.
Walking back down the beach toward where I left the car, I try to figure out what comes next. After graduation next month I’m sure Pappa will expect me to fly back out here and get down to work on my modeling career. And then in June, it’s off to Altum and my “destiny” as a royal bride. Unless I stand up to Pappa before then and tell him I won’t go through with it—that I’m enrolling in art school instead.
Just imagining that conversation makes me shiver in the hot California sun. I have no doubt Pappa’s reaction to such a declaration would be... not good. He’d probably lock me up until June and drag me to Altum in handcuffs, if necessary.
I can’t risk that. I really want to graduate. I want to see my classmates, to see Carter again. And I can’t make any progress toward changing my future if I’m a hostage in my own home.
No, I’ve got to keep my secret plans a secret. I’ll have to pretend to go along with Pappa’s design for my life and for my impending wedding. But I know now for sure—I can’t really go through with it.
Even if my new husband—ugh—was to move out to California with me, even if he allowed me to attend art school in addition to modeling, I have a whole new reason now for not wanting an arranged marriage.
I have to find out the truth about Nox Jerrik before becoming someone else’s wife. Because if he’s still alive... everything changes.