Page 97 of Anyone But the Superstar

Bell, part of the protective sequined cat cocoon hugging me, breaks off to answer my nine-year-old niece playing Barbies on the floor nearby. ‘I’m pretty sure that was a movie star.’

‘No shit?’ Chase is the next to step back, Bell slapping his arm.

‘Don’t curse in front of your niece.’

‘It’s OK, Aunt Bell.’ Mary lowers the astronaut Barbie while keeping Prince Charming Ken upright. ‘Daddy says I should only listen to half of what Uncle Chase says—’ she moves Ken as she talks, as if he’s the one saying it ‘—and repeat none of it.’

Thomas winks at his daughter, looking smug.

Chase shrugs. ‘That’s pretty sound advice, actually.’

‘Thomas.’ Alice tilts her head back to look at her husband. ‘Did you know that was a celebrity when you punched him?’

His smile flattens. ‘No.’

‘I see.’ She tilts her head. ‘And now that you have punched him, and in front of our daughter no less, are you feeling any kind of remorse or regret?’

The only change in his expression is a slight flare to his nostrils. ‘Only that I didn’t hit him harder.’

‘Damn, T-money.’ Chase claps Thomas on the back. ‘That’s so gangster of you.’

Alice, probably attempting to look disappointed, rolls her lips. ‘Well then, I’m sure the ensuing lawsuit won’t feel quite so challenging as long as you have no regrets.’

‘If he’s going to sue anyone,’ I manage without tears, my voice raw, ‘he’ll probably sue me.’ Especially as Felix’s lawyer-slash-manager arrived in time to pull his client out of the condo and away from Thomas’ fists.

Sinking onto the sofa, I jerk my head at Mary and pat the cushion next to me.

Taking her cue, and her Barbies, Mary saddles up next to me, Mother taking the other side.

As if gathering around for a bedtime story, Chase drags two kitchen stools into the living room for himself and Bell. Thomas sits on the chair with Alice perching on the armrest beside him.

Mike Hunt and King Dick Moore cuddle in the sunlight.

‘So.’ Wrapping one arm around Mary and resting the other on my mom’s knee, I take a deep breath to clear the remnants of my emotional tsunami. ‘In the past year, I have gained enough credits to graduate with a master’s in digital art, become a certified yoga instructor, taken an internship as a storyboarder, fallen in love with a movie star and found out I have a half-sister.’ I look around the room, meeting everyone’s shocked eyes before asking, ‘What would you like to hear about first?’

‘Hey Mom?’

Having shocked my family – or most of my family – with the reason why I came to Houston and all that’s happened since I got here, I was persuaded to pack up and leave the condo.

A good choice seeing as the paparazzi are now swarming the building and I hadn’t wanted to stay anywhere that reminded me of douchebag Felix.

Mom, unpacking her Louis Vuitton roller bag into The Post Oak Hotel’s three-bedroom suite dresser, turns to me. ‘Yes, dear?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about my dad earlier?’

I know about my half-sister because my mom told me about her and who my real father was after my brothers discovered that the man who raised me used my illegitimacy as a reason to steal my inheritance. But I never asked any questions afterwards, too busy reeling from the news.

Now, having purged myself both emotionally and verbally, I sit cross-legged on the bed feeling strong enough to hear the answers I’ve spent the past year running from.

I tilt my head up to hers. ‘About who myrealdad was, I mean?’

She sighs, her gaze fixed on the perfectly folded clothes she places in the drawer. ‘I want to make something crystal clear before I begin.’ Closing the drawer, she faces me, holding my eyes until I register her conviction before continuing. ‘When I say the affair was a mistake, I am in no way referring toyou.’ She moves forward, sinking elegantly onto the foot of the bed. ‘You are one of the very best and most precious things in my life and I wouldn’t change anything if it meant not having you.’

Swallowing back more tears, I nod.

Sighing, she smooths her hand across the bedspread. ‘Believe it or not, your fath—I mean,Stanleyand I used to get along.’

I do find that hard to believe, but I keep that to myself.