Aster Amirpour stirred in her bed, musing that she just might never leave. Her sheets were clean and of the absolute highest thread count; her pillow was lush and filled with pure, hypoallergenic goose down; her pajamas were woven from the finest Chinese silk; the temperature in her room was set exactly where she liked it, neither too hot nor too cold, but just right; and thanks to Ira and the maid service he’d hired, there were few visible signs of the police having ransacked the place in search of incriminating evidence while she’d been gone.
She flopped onto her belly, buried her face in her pillow, and nearly wept from the sheer joy of having an entire day rolled out before her to spend however she wanted. Maybe she’d go to the beach and take a long walk. Only this time, she’d pause long enough to appreciate all the small details she once used to ignore—the way the seagulls soared overhead, the way the sand rose and fell beneath her feet. After a week in the rage-filled environment of lockup, stripped of her freedom, her privacy, and everything else, she couldn’t imagine ever taking the small things for granted again.
The thought of jail was enough to send her mood plummeting. It was crazy how easily her emotions could shift. While she mostly fought hard to stay optimistic and upbeat, there was no avoiding the reality that the frivolous life she’d once enjoyed was now forever off-limits. Even if she were cleared of all charges, the small part she’d played in the Madison drama would forever live on as a piece of grisly Hollywood lore. She’d reached for fame and wound up with infamy. She’d wanted to be an actress, and now it was just a matter of time before some casting director went looking for someone to play her in the cheesy, movie-of-the-week crime drama that was probably already in development.
Her carefree days were over. Her entire future hung in the balance. And Aster, who had once been popular, loved, and surrounded by friends, had never felt so alone in the world.
Sure, Ira had assembled a great team of lawyers to defend her—but what if it wasn’t enough? What if despite their best efforts, a jury of twelve random people still decided they didn’t like what they saw and convicted her of first-degree murder? The thought of going to prison was horrible enough, but knowing she’d never get out—never breathe the ocean air, never ruffle her little brother’s hair—was devastating at best.
A trial date would soon be set, which meant she needed to make the most of every moment between now and then. While she still had no recollection of how she’d spent the missing hours between leaving Ryan in the Riad and waking up in the strange apartment, she was committed to using every spare second to conduct her own investigation.
Someone was setting her up—most likely Ryan Hawthorne. And while she had no idea why, she was sure that the key to proving her innocence and getting herself out of the mess depended on either finding a way to restore her memory, locating Madison, or finding a way to connect Ryan to the crime.
If it was a crime. Despite the blood evidence, Aster refused to believe Madison was dead. And yet, where could she possibly have gone?
Just the thought of all she was facing was enough to make Aster’s eyes sting with tears, but she refused to indulge in them. While bed was tempting, and undeniably safe, she needed to get up and out. She needed to reclaim her life.
She shoved her feet into her slippers and padded across the room. Her fingers were just circling the door handle, when she heard voices drifting from the living room.
Was it Ira? Or possibly even the maids?
She pressed her ear hard against the door and tried to make out the words, but they were too muffled to decipher.
With her heart frantically slamming against her chest, she scanned the room for some kind of weapon, something she could use to defend herself in case it turned out to be one of her most ardent haters bent on revenge.
Unfortunately, she’d left her phone along with her purse in the living room. And, of course, being the girliest of girly girls, the best her room had to offer was a spiked Christian Louboutin heel.
Wielding the shoe like a weapon, Aster turned the knob and crept quietly into the hall, where she paused, pressed flush against the wall, and listened incredulously as a male voice said, “Relax. We have the whole place to ourselves. I told you, my sister’s still in jail.”
Javen?
Aster shot around the corner just in time to catch her little brother, Javen, kissing a boy on her couch.
“What the hell?” she shouted, her words stifled by Javen’s surprised shrieks.
He leaped away from the boy and stared frantic and bug-eyed at Aster. “What are you doing here?” His hands fluttered wildly, raking through his dark hair and swiping at his lips as though erasing the evidence. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“What am I doing here? You seriously think you’re the one who gets to ask questions?” Aster loomed before him, shoe at the ready.
Javen balked. “Well, kind of, yeah. And could you please lower that shoe? You could seriously hurt someone with that thing.”
“Yeah, well, that’s pretty much the point.” Aster lowered the shoe to her side but refused to let go. Her heart was pounding, her pajamas were soaked with fear-induced sweat, and other than an initial bout of shock, her brother looked as cool, calm, and handsome as ever. “Why aren’t you at school? And who the heck are you?” She stared daggers at her brother’s friend, who was cowering on the couch, unsure what to do.
“I’m Dylan,” he mumbled. Then, shifting his focus to Javen, he added, “Whoa, dude. I thought you said she was cool?”
“I didn’t say she was cool, I said she was in jail.” Javen rolled his eyes at his sister and sank back onto the couch beside his friend.
But Aster could barely focus on that. She was too busy gaping at the open bottle of Veuve Clicquot and the two half-full glasses sitting on the table before them.
“Are you seriously drinking my champagne?” She glanced between them, wondering what upset her more—that her little brother was ditching school and drinking—or that he was taking full advantage of her incarceration. Or maybe it was far worse than that. Maybe she feared her parents were right, that she really was a bad influence, and it was her fault he was here.
“We were thirsty.” Javen shrugged, though he was clearly losing some of his bravado and finally starting to look as worried as Aster felt he should be.
Still, she forced herself into silence, forced herself to take a moment to calm down and catch her breath. Truth was, she hadn’t seen Javen in over a week, and she’d missed him far more than she was willing to admit. Besides, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have done the same thing at his age. Difference was, she would’ve been more careful. She never would’ve gotten caught. But what was worse was the realization that she was reacting just like her parents, and nothing good ever came of that.
She dropped the shoe to the floor and claimed the chair just opposite them.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Javen glared. “Well, you should be.”
Aster held his gaze until he looked away. Her brother was scared. It was right there in his eyes. His tough-guy act was clearly an attempt to impress his friend. And while Aster wouldn’t embarrass him any more than she already had, there was nothing wrong with drawing a boundary around that kind of behavior.
“Don’t push it,” she said. “Sneaking in here to drink and make out, what were you thinking?” She shook her head, torn between loving him and wanting to protect him, and all-out throttling him. It was a toss-up, but in the end, loving him won.
“Would you rather me do this at home?”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. That was the last thing she wanted. Her parents loved Javen, but they weren’t the most modern of thinkers, and she shuddered at what they might do if they ever learned he was gay. Of course there always existed the slim possibility that they’d do little more than love him and support him and wish him the best. Though the odds of that happening were so slim, she wasn’t willing to take the chance.
“How long have you been coming here?” she asked. “And don’t lie and say today was the first time, because we both know it wasn’t.”
“Would you believe it was only the second time?”
Her eyes met his. “No, I wouldn’t. And what about school?”
“We sneak off campus for lunch.” He shrugged.
“You haven’t been caught?”
He made a face, while Dylan remained frozen beside him. “Attendance is all computerized now, so . . .”
The shrug that followed conveyed the words he’d failed to say. Her brother was a computer whiz, which meant he’d probably hacked into the system. Looked like there were now two criminals in the family. She figured the less she knew about his illicit activities the better.
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re out?” he asked, his entire tone changing as he looked at her with concern.
“Nobody knows,” she finally admitted, figuring she might as well lead with the truth. “And I’m hoping you’ll keep it that way.” She shot her brother and Dylan each a stern look.
“I’m willing to keep the secret if you are.”
She grinned. She wanted so badly to hug him, but not wanting to embarrass him, she said, “I’m guessing you two haven’t eaten?”
Dylan shook his head, seeming to finally relax.
“Because the thing you should know about drinking is that it’s never a good idea on an empty stomach.” Aster reached for the room service menu and quickly looked it over. “And while I didn’t give you a key card so you could sneak in here for a school-break sexcapade, that doesn’t mean I can’t buy you both lunch.” She shoved the menu at them. “What’ll it be?”
Javen glanced between the menu and Aster, his face flushing when he said, “Um, Aster?”
She quirked a brow and waited.
“Could you bury the phrase ‘school-break sexcapade’?”
Aster grinned and headed back to her room. She had a big day ahead, an important interview with Trena Moretti to prepare for. While she wasn’t sure she was ready, it was important to move quickly. It was just a matter of time before the press learned she was out on bail, and once that happened she’d be hounded worse than any A-list celebrity.
“Order me a kale salad,” she called over her shoulder, desperate to eat something healthy after all the starchy food she’d choked down in jail. Then, thinking if there ever was a time to indulge in a treat it was now, she added, “Oh, and make sure to get some truffle fries on the side. I’m going to take a quick shower, a very quick shower. So don’t get too comfortable while I’m away.”