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"Honey, please come home."

Well, it didn't take them that long to find me.

I suspected Brad most of all. At a first glance, he was only a grape-coloured wrestler, with brains that couldn't even fill an eggcup. But I was beginning to suspect he was more the eavesdropping, secret agent in the works type. And it was thoroughly pissing me off.

"No," I replied, and with some unconcealed conceit I crossed my arms over my chest the way my mom had the day she refused an interview between me and Paul. I was in control now, and I was beginning to like it. "No, Mom. I won't come home. I want to be here, and I want to make music with Paul."

Brad, who was stood to my mother's left, made a gagging noise, but a swift nudge in the ribs dealt by Andy silenced him pretty quickly. My mom wasn't giving up quite so easy, however.

"Susannah." She formed my whole name with tight lips and a crinkle between her brows formed as she frowned. "I am your mother. And I'm taking you home right now." I had anticipated this. I'd also spent three and a half hours the night before building up my argument.

"I'd only be back here in a few months anyway," I returned. "When I'm eighteen, you can't do anything to stop me. Please, Mom. Don't make me resent you for the rest of my life for placing me months behind in my music career." I was impressed, I had to say. My words were far more effective out loud than in my head.

"Well, I…" My mother was crumbling, and in my head I punched the air triumphantly. "Susannah, I really don't think it's best for you to do that right now. I mean you have school…"

Already thought that one out. "I've got my SAT scores, Mom," I said. "That's all I really need. They can always send me my high school diploma in the mail." I had to win. I mean, it's not like they could just drag me all the way from L.A back to Carmel.

Andy placed a hand on my mother's shoulder as her face showed her surrender. "Now see here, Suze," he began, but then the door to my hotel room – which is where this whole intervention thing was taking place – opened and Paul's face appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Suze," was all he said, but my heart pretty much melted anyway.

"How did you get in?" Andy demanded, and Paul held up the key-card innocently.

My mom released an anguished wail before letting her head sink into her hands. "He has a key," she moaned. "He has a key, Andy!"

Andy's brow furrowed and he stood up, furiously. "Suze, we wash our hands of you," he announced, and my mom looked up in surprise. "I'm serious. You want to be a popstar, with your little manager boyfriend?" He tossed a dirty look at Paul, and I blushed. "That's fine with us."

My mom stuttered a feeble argument. "Andy," she said, quietly. "I don't really think…" But Andy was adamant.

"It's now or never, Suze," he said, in a low voice. "You come with us now, or we leave you forever."

I glanced at Paul worriedly, and his icy eyes met my gaze and held it, the way they had the very first time I met him. I was transported there instantly, the night he had handed me his card and the way he had made me feel. I couldn't give this up now. Not when it was going to be so amazing.

"I'm staying," I replied, with all the stubbornness I could master.

"Fine." Andy's voice was hard, and my hands trembled slightly as I buried them into my pockets. But I had to stick to my resolve. He got to his feet, strong hands reaching for my mother's much smaller ones and he led the entire family out of the room. It was only David, my youngest stepbrother, who thought to glance back worriedly at me before the door closed. The silence left in their presence was overwhelming.

"Suze?" Paul asked, from the doorway, and my lip began to wobble uncontrollably. "Are you O.K?"

They'd left me to it, just like I'd wanted.

So why wasn't I feeling any better?

I wasn't looking any better either, apparently, as Paul stepped into the room completely and enveloped me in a hug. I had to admit, it was kind of surprising. But nice, especially as I could inhale his suave, sophisticated scent without looking creepy. I buried my nose deep into his suited shoulder, and he smelt as divine as ever.

"They're gone," I mused, and Paul stroked my head gently. This form of affection was new for us, but I didn't mind one bit. I drank it up, trying to burn every second into my permanent memory.

"You don't need them," he replied, soothingly. "You've got more talent than any of them, especially that stepbrother of yours. I mean, what is he? A grape?" At that moment, I loved him more than ever, and began to sniffle in a half-laugh, half-cry kind of thing.

"See?" Paul asked, and he laughed – a deep, reverberating laugh – at the sound I was making. "You know I'm right." He let go of me, and I reluctantly stepped away back into the cold air of my room. "Please don't cry, Susie."

And with that, my tears stopped. I rubbed my cheeks dry as Paul reached for my hand and squeezed it.

"Don't cry," he said again. "You have me now."

In LA, Paul was more famous than ever. All he had to do was venture off the floor of the hotel we were staying on and he would instantly have ten or twenty photographers in his face. I wasn't exactly surprised that I hadn't heard of his celebrity status before. Nothing about the glamorous world of Hollywood ever made it to Carmel. The last celebrity Kelly and Debbie were gossiping about was Britney Spears, for God's sake. And she's been around forever.

So with Paul's fame in mind, I was a little trepid about going out to dinner with him the evening after my family had left. He'd offered it as a treat to cheer me up, but I wasn't exactly sure how much dining we'd get round to doing. Relentless flashes of white light in your line of vision tend to spoil your appetite.

Still, I dressed up nice – because who wants to be printed in a gossip rag looking like a tramp? – and waited patiently for Paul to come and collect me at seven o'clock, as arranged. He looked dazzling in his dress shirt, the dark olive shade illuminating his gorgeous tan. With a surprisingly jealous pang, I wondered how many women worked at his record label.

I also wondered how many actually worked there for their love of music.

He took my hand, his large brown fingers encompassing my own protectively, and he led me downstairs in silence. I mentally prepared for the onslaught of paparazzi – I'd only observed them from afar before, now it was time to face the music – and counted down in my head for the elevator doors to open.

PING!

Immediately I was greeted with a white light. I'd always been taught don't go into the light! but Paul dragged me into it without a word, and I trailed helplessly behind, trying to ignore the deafening shouts of reporters.

"Who's the mystery girl, Slater? Your latest squeeze?"

"Looks more like his daughter if you ask me."

"What's your name, honey? Give us a smile!"

In spite of myself I found my mind wandering to a world where I was Mrs. Paul Slater, executive of Juice, Inc. as well as multi-platinum recording artist. I had a diamond-encrusted wedding ring and designer clothes, and my hair was always twisted up into whatever sophisticated style was the fashion…

"Suze?"

We were sat in the limo now, and there was a gentle tinkling of classical music in the background that I was only just aware of. Paul was staring at me pointedly, and I realised he had been speaking to me.

"Yes?" I asked innocently. I prayed I wasn't blushing.

"Penny for your thoughts," Paul said, with a grin. That definitely coloured my cheeks, and I shook a veil of hair between our faces.

"Oh, nothing," I replied quickly, faking nonchalance. "I was just thinking how weird it was that the paparazzi thought we were together." I even snorted delicately, though I didn't think there was anything ridiculous about the idea. It sounded like a dream come true.

"I know," Paul answered, and he stretched his arms above his head. "They're always fixing me up with someone or other. It spoils the magic if they just print we have a professional relationship, right?" I nodded, my heart sinking. "Thank God I don't have to worry about any romance crap with you, right Suze?"

"Right," I agreed, nodding again.

Thank the Lord. Hallelujah.

Not.