Page 1

Chapter One

The last days of May

There was not much in life that Alexandra Montgomery hadn’t experienced in her forty-six years spinning around on this planet, but there was certainly a lot she was missing.

Standing by the graveside between her brothers and her mother, she glanced down the line at their wives and the children behind them. Even her mother had her dad’s brother by her side. She wished she had that special someone, too.

That certain someone who would be reaching for her hand right now and squeezing her fingertips. Someone who would lead her away once the coffin was lowered and shield her from the media circus that was gathering, wanting their piece of her.

But she was a fool for even thinking it, wasn’t she? Sometimes, she wondered if it was the transaction she’d unknowingly paid. When the tour bus she’d been on all those years ago had crashed and her bandmates either killed or horrifically injured, she’d just walked away unblemished. Physically, at least.

Of course, she knew logically that was because she was the only one of them strapped in and wearing a seatbelt, but still, she wondered sometimes if there was an element of getting away with it, and she’d been forced to suffer in other ways instead.There had been a mental cost, hadn’t there? Nobody ever asked about that.

Not that there hadn’t been women in her life, there had been plenty over the years, but nobody who had stayed. And she couldn’t blame them, not really. The life she’d been leading didn’t really fit with most women. Women who wanted to show her off, walk out into the world holding her hand. And she wanted that too, wanted it more than anything, but the trade-off was the intrusion of the press, always wanting their pound of flesh.

Like today, at her father’s funeral, there they all were crowding around every available space to snap long lens photos of her in her grief. Well, she wouldn’t give them that. No, they could fuck off if they thought she was going to let them print pictures of her falling apart.

Standing there stoically, she kept her head down, face hidden below the over-sized hat and sunglasses.

“Alright?” Her brother Anton nudged her.

“Yes,” she agreed, furtively glancing at him. “I just want to be anywhere but under this spotlight.”

Their mother hushed them.

“Sorry, Mama,” Alexandra said quietly, checking her watch.

Her mother turned to her, the same eyes and cheekbones staring back at her, damp with tears that would fall at any moment. “You have somewhere else to be, Sasha?” she asked, using Alexandra’s nickname, her accent still heavy even after all these years away from her homeland.

The former Russian ballerina who defected to the West when she fell in love with an English businessman working in Moscow had never lost her love for her country. All three children bore Russian names and spoke the language perfectly. She wouldn’t have had that any other way.

“No, Mama,” Alexandra replied quickly. The last thing she wanted to do today was upset her mother. Her mother was fierce at the best of times, loving in her own unique way, but certainly not someone to have upset with you.

“As I thought.” Natalia reached out a hand to cup her daughter’s cheek, gently wiping away the tear that slowly slid and rested upon her cheek. Then she turned back to hear the priest speaking, and Alex was alone with her thoughts once more.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

Alexandra closed her eyes, tried to think of herself anywhere but here. Fragments of images flashed and slipped away: on stage, the lights blinding her from seeing the audience, the music taking her somewhere else. In bed with a beautiful woman. Anywhere but here, but it was impossible.

The soft touch of a hand against her arm brought her back to the world. A world where mourners were moving away, and her mother was shaking hands with the priest. Her brothers and their families lined up behind her, dutifully ready to follow her lead. It was over.

“Ready to go?” the familiar New York accent whispered from behind her. She smiled and turned to find her long-time friend, personal assistant and manager all rolled into one, smiling sombrely at her.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go. Before the Tsarina has you playing for the congregation.” Francine Carlson winked.

“Heaven forbid.” Alex smiled.

Francine linked arms with her and pulled her in as closely as anyone had done for months. “Mike’s got the car ready for our escape.”

Of course, she had a chauffeur. How else would someone as famous and recognisable as she was get around when she needed to travel? Mike was a safety net, in more ways than one. Ex-military, he often acted like a pseudo bodyguard whenever she needed him, which wasn’t often, thankfully. People generally didn’t bother her too much; it was the press that invaded her life.

Mike, though, was a godsend. His soft voice, with its Irish lilt, was calming. He had an attention to detail, too, that worked well alongside Francine’s whirlwind approach.

But primarily, he drove her anywhere she needed to be, and for that she was grateful. It wasn’t like she could just jump on the bus, was it? Not that that would ever be an option.

Not since the accident.