Backstage Girl

01 | overture

"Hi, Lou."

"Well?" Louise's impatient face filled her phone screen. "Have you told them about the letter yet?"

"They're not in."

"Bloody typical," Louise sighed, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes. "Let me guess. Rory told them he'd pay for a new couch?"

"It's a dining table. Twelve-seater, apparently."

Ella crossed to the fridge, taking out ingredients on auto-pilot. Miraculously, her father had already eaten through most of the cheese and meat that she dropped off last week, but there was some carrots and mushrooms left. And wine. She pursed her lips. Vegetable risotto, maybe?

"Seriously," Louise mused. "How much do you think Rory spends on their apartment? Thousands? Millions?"

"Too much." Ella propped the phone up against the wall. "But it's not like Mom and Dad ask for it. Their careers—"

"Died in the eighties?" Louise's voice was fond, though. "Never took off?"

"Weren't very lucrative." She chopped the onion into thin strips. "It's hard to be in the music industry, you know."

"Unless you're Rory."

"Well, he got lucky."

Louise snorted. "I'm sure he'd say it was raw talent."

Ella smiled. If it was anybody else, she would take offense, but Louise knew Rory almost as well she did; Louise's older brother, Max, had been best friends with him for years.

Max.

She pushed around her garlic dreamily. God, he was good looking. She hadn't seen him in ages, but even just thinking about his wild dark curls and green eyes was making her—

No.

She jerked herself out of her thoughts.

Bad idea.

And yet, she couldn't resist asking.

"How's Max?" Ella asked casually. "After..." She could feel her cheeks heating up, and she was suddenly fascinated by the garlic that she was sautéing. "You know."

Louise grinned. "After Max was caught on camera playing strip-poker with a bunch of models in Paris, you mean?"

"Lou!"

"What?" She shrugged. "I called Max to confirm. It's true." Her smile turned sly. "Why are you so interested?"

"I'm not."

"Liar."

Ella shoved the garlic around with a spoon, trying to ignore the fact that her face felt like it was on fire. She'd never actually voiced her little crush on Max to Louise, but her friend would have to be walking around with a blindfold over her eyes not to notice it.

Thank god Ella was able to deal with it now.

Growing up, Ella couldn't even get through dinner with Max; she would sit at their kitchen table — all frizzy blonde hair and braces and spots on her chin — and inevitably spill ketchup all over her top, or burn her hand on a hot plate.

She still cringed when she thought about it.

"I'm just happy Rory wasn't with Max in Paris," Ella said, deftly changing the subject. "Or if Rory was, he was smart enough not to get caught." She paused. "No offense."

Louise waved her off. "None taken."

Louise yawned, rubbing at her eyes. Her feet were stuffed into purple slippers, and Ella glanced at the clock, doing the mental gymnastics of calculating time change. It was past seven o'clock in Toronto, which meant that in London, England it was...