I immediately looked down at my hands, jittering my fingernails on the laminated table. I tried to ignore him and concentrate on breathing. “Hi, Stephen.”

“I saw the piece you did in Variety. Riveting stuff.”

The implication was clear. Say anything else, give a hint of what Stephen was really like, to anyone, and he’d make my life a living hell. He knew where I lived, he knew where I worked.

“Thank you,” I said, throat tightening. He tipped his hat and moved to the opposite side of the table.

Yumi was there to take his place. She sat next to me and hovered in my personal space. “Cassidy, I know I’m supposed to be pissed at you about the Variety thing, but I have something to tell you too.”

I glanced up at the source of the voice. My eyes focused on her, slowly.

She blew out a breath. “It was me.”

All I could do was blink. “What do you mean?”

“While you were gone, I talked to Rose.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “I mentioned how I didn’t understand why you would go visit Alex and do that interview after what he’d done, and she told me that he had been framed as a person he was not.”

I cut my eye across the table and saw Stephen, turned away and chatting with Peter, thankfully.

“When you were getting ready for the Oscars and I let Alex in—”

“Please stop talking.”

My eyes were back on the table. I really did not want Stephen to overhear this. And as much as I wanted to know about Yumi’s involvement in everything that had happened, I knew that if I learned any more of it, I would blame her just as harshly as I did myself.

“I only did it because I care about you and thought—”

I made a hard gesturing motion for her to stop. She hesitated, but obligingly shut up and sat down. Peter clapped his hands to start the meeting.

It was about the Pacific leg of the tour, but I couldn’t focus. Yumi was the one who leaked. No wonder she had been so adamant that Alex was guilty. Peter snapped his fingers in my face to get my attention again as he spoke. “We had lined up some local talent for Australia,” he said, “like we did for your Asian shows. But because of some conflicts with our Oz team, we have had to restructure. You’ll now be traveling with a fellow Big Disc client—and one of my new clients as well. Stephen St. James.” The rest of the room clapped politely, their gazes in Stephen’s direction, but I couldn’t move. My stomach felt like ice.

“Stephen, any words?” Peter asked, opening the floor up to him.

Stephen stood. I continued staring at my still hands, but in my periphery I could see his long torso and his elegant, tapered fingers hooked on the loops of his jeans. “I’ve always admired you ladies for being able to travel the world. As y’all know, I’ve been under the Big Disc umbrella for a while but my old manager always wanted me to stick to the Southern states. I convinced Peter here to take me on so I can expand my reach. I know I’m more country than usual, but I’ll be promoting my new album, which is more of a rock crossover.”

Peter added, “It hasn’t been announced yet, but Sing It is going to let Peter Vincent Management have first pick of any winners starting from season three.”

Merry said, “That’s great, Peter,” and the meeting ended on many congratulatory notes.

It took all of my willpower not to storm out. Was this why Peter had been avoiding our calls last month? He had been busy setting up this new contract with Stephen? When the rumor had come out that Alex had broken my arm, I could imagine that Stephen confided in Peter about what had happened, and Peter, in his infinite wisdom, had allowed the lie to persist. Maybe he even fanned the flames. Anything to keep his new paycheck in the public’s good graces.

The tour had been a godsend in that it kept Stephen away from me, in different states or on another continent. Even though there were only four Australian dates, it’d be a week of spending time alongside him. How was I supposed to deal with this? I felt the sting of betrayal deep in my marrow.

I arrived home to an empty house—Emily was still dog-sitting Penny—and dragged myself up to the master bedroom. All of the cushioned armchairs, soft carpets, sand-colored tapestries hanging all over the walls, dampened sound on the second floor. My feet made no noise as I placed one in front of the other, body weary, until I reached the bed. Anxiety consumed so much energy. I was spent.

Without Rose, I knew I wasn’t going to sleep well here. I curled up on the bed, kicked off my shoes, and hugged an overstuffed pillow. The colors outside the window burned from fire to dusk; light in the room faded softly, until the arms holding the pillow were bathed in soft blue. Thoughts jogged in my head, a repetition, a mantra: your fault your fault your fault.

What could I do besides wonder how I could have changed the outcome? If I’d never gotten in the limo with Stephen St. James. If I hadn’t trusted Peter so much. If I’d stood up for Alex. If I’d never gotten involved with Alex at all. Now because of my mistake, he and his family suffered; I would never forgive myself.

My cell phone rang—probably Emily asking if I was finally home so she could drop off the dog. I picked it up without checking the caller ID.

“It’s me,” said a voice. I shifted and sat up, still clutching the pillow.

“Edie?” I whispered hopefully.

“No. Rose.”

Her voice was lower and huskier than normal, and the reception wasn’t very good in this part of the Hills so it was an understandable mistake, but I berated myself nonetheless. “Oh. I was just thinking about you. I’m sorry about the interview, okay? I just needed to get the truth out there—”

She cleared her throat. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay . . .” I gazed out the window. The blue was gone now too, replaced with the incandescent yellow glow of outside lights burning to keep intruders away. My yard beyond that was dark and shifting, winds rattling the leaves on the trees lining the drive.

“I’m still mad at you about the Variety thing. But this isn’t about that.”

Her words buoyed my hope. “Do you want to come over?”

“I can’t. I’ve told you before, we just can’t.”

“You keep saying that, but I still find you in my bed almost every night. Who are you kidding, Rose?”

“I mean it this time.”

“Because of fans? Rose, listen to yourself. I am not asking for an epic romance or a forever thing. I’m just asking you to be with me for a while. I think we can be happy together.”

“No, not fans. Though yeah, that’s a concern. It’s my mom.”

“Clara?” I traced the stitching on the bedspread.

“She doesn’t know. Well, she knew Viv’s . . . um . . .”

“Relationship with you?” We hadn’t discussed it since that night in Copenhagen, the tenderness Rose had shown when we visited San Jose. The careful way Rose had carried her to the bathroom. The way Viv’s mother had whispered, I’m glad she found you, which didn’t mean anything to me until I belatedly realized the nature of their bond. Lorna knew, and she wanted Rose to be happy.

“Mom knew Viv was quote-unquote different. And she hated it. She thought it was contagious, learned behavior. Tried to separate us all the time. She was thrilled when Viv got sick.”