"Tell me about the new chapters." I said, still pottering around, getting myself sorted while Derek pulled up a second chair at the desk. "You say you opted for the life viewpoint rather than the career viewpoint."

He lounged back on his chair, watching me, his eyes following my movements faithfully.

"Yeah. I wrote about the Fam this time." His tone was matter-of-fact as if he didn't expect me to react. But how could I not?

Writing about the family meant writing about the McDonalds and the Venturis coming together. It meant talking about living in the same house together. It meant mentioning our relationship.

Didn't it?

My hands started to shake. "All of us?" I was trying to keep busy so that he couldn't see how his words had affected me. Derek folded his arms across his body and smirked.

"Yeah. All of you."

He wasn't unaware. He knew. He was playing with me.

"Including me." I tried to look unconcerned. I failed.

"Including you." He confirmed and his smirk widened. I got the feeling this was payback time. I stopped what I was doing.

"In how much detail?" I asked quietly.

"Enough." The smirk had gone now.

Was he serious? Had he really written about our affair?

"Including…?" I asked sitting down heavily on the chair beside him.

"Casey. It happened. I'm not going to pretend that it didn't." He wriggled himself up- right, running his fingers through his hair.

I felt sick. "Derek, you can't write about it. Mom and George will read it." They would read about us falling in love, spending time together, skipping classes together. They would know how he seduced me…or was it the other way around? I rather suspected it was. Oh hell! He couldn't do this…could he?

"Good. Maybe it's time they realise what they did." He was unconcerned, relaxed.

"Everyone will read it. You'll be the hockey guy who screwed his sister." I protested.

He chuckled. "Step-sister…and I already am."

"As if those four letters and a hyphen will make any difference to the press. Oh God! The press. Please Derek, don't do this to me. You'll make me the centre of attention. People don't know about me. You announce something like that I'll have reporters camping on my doorstep." I could feel tears brimming in my eyes.

Derek was unmoved.

"It was you that said I needed stuff about my early years. I'm just doing what you asked." Was he really that cold?

Did he hate me that much?

"I didn't ask for that Derek. I don't want to be dragged into your world. I'm happy in mine."

"Yeah. I know." I didn't miss the bitter tone.

Panic rose in me.

"Please Derek. Don't. You said you loved me once."

His eyes met mine.

"Please if you loved me then, don't hurt me now."

Because it would hurt. Instead of it being a topic brought up infrequently when I went home where I could hide and cry in private, it would be all over the papers, over the internet. I would have no peace. Anything to do with Derek was big news. And something this good…I would be the news story that never went away. Every time he hit the news, I would be mentioned. Everyone would know and my pain would be visible to everyone.

He stood up suddenly angry. "You're an editor, McDonald. Do your job!" And then he threw a memory stick onto the desk and stormed out of the guest house.

I cried because I couldn't help myself. I cried for what he had said, for who he had become, for what I had lost.

Still sobbing, I plugged the memory stick in and viewed the directory. The chapter listing was obvious, so I clicked on "Chapter one" and started to read.

I read for hours.


As the evening drew near I finished the last chapter and quietly shut down the laptop. The itinerary Lise had provided told me dinner was at 7.30pm with drinks from 7pm. I went into my room and saw that my bags had been unpacked and my clothes hung up. Opening the wardrobe, I selected a smart cocktail dress in a deep red colour and laid it on the bed then I crossed to the en-suite and took a shower.

When I emerged from my room, the door to Derek's room was open and I could smell masculine shower products in the damp air from his bathroom. But his bedroom was dark and he was nowhere to be seen. I checked myself in the mirror in my room again, noting the close-fitting dress, and matching shoes, and that my hair again seemed to be behaving as it bounced on my shoulders.

I looked good.

Even the unusual colour in my cheeks enhanced the look rather than detracted. No one would know the whirlwind that was my mind right now.

I left the guest house and took the little path to the main house, seeing my destination lit up in the room which opened onto the terrace. There were a few of the guests already there, including Derek. A waiter offered me a drink as I stepped into the room, but I took an orange juice in keeping with my new 'no-alcohol' rule. As I glanced across at Derek, I saw he was sipping clear liquid and I guessed it was a mineral water. He was standing with Archie, talking quietly and at my approach my boss looked up.

"Casey!" Archie greeted me with a kiss on my cheek. "Wow! My god! You look unbelievable. Run away with me now!"

"Archie. Your flattery is going to get you into trouble one of these days. Stop it!"

My friend chuckled. "Babe! It's only flattery if it isn't true, and I'm telling you now, you'll be the most attractive woman in the room tonight. Isn't that so, Derek?"

I could kill my boss.

Derek looked amused. "You know what they say about women who wear red shoes…"

Typical Derek. Red Shoes, no panties.

I kept my face neutral as Archie roared with laughter and inspected my behind.

"You know, Case. He may have a point."

"Fuck off."

That only made Archie laugh even more.

Lise came into the room and he excused himself and moved to join her, which left me with Derek.

I turned away from him, but he stepped closer.

"For what it's worth, he's right." A voice said in my ear, but when I turned to check that it was Derek he was already walking away.

Walking away to join Louisa who had just entered the room behind her mother.


Lise had put me next to Archie at dinner; between Archie and one of the younger members of Roswell's rich club. He was also the only singleton. I hoped this didn't mean that she was trying to match-make. A couple of times I caught her eye and my heart sank as I realised that was exactly what she was trying to achieve.

The guy next to me was called Rupert. He was attractive and about ten years older than me and he spent the whole meal trying to get into my pants. Even I could tell that.

"Casey, I understand you are the hottest editor in New York. Is that true?" he put his hand over mine.

"You can hardly expect me to answer that." I said, quietly. He grinned.

"Ah…but I can tell that Archie wasn't exaggerating." He said.
He had a bad selection of chat-up lines and it made me uncomfortable.

But I tried to remain polite, and Lise when she had introduced us had made it, unsubtly, clear that he was a good catch.

His approach was wrong though and equally, like I said, any guy trying to make it into my pants was fighting comparison with Derek – and a losing battle.

As the meal progressed, I glanced up from Rupert's attentions and saw Derek watching me. He had a conflicted look on his face, and I wondered why. Derek was sitting next to Louisa, no doubt by her design. She may only be twenty three, but I suspected there was a high probability of her hand being on his thigh.

I tried not to think about that. I wasn't allowed to think about that. What my step-brother got up to was his own business.

Too tired of his games to ponder the meaning of his stare for too long, I turned back to Rupert who had asked me a question and the meal proceeded.


When we left the table and mingled in one of the other reception rooms which bordered the terrace, I felt out of place again. The topics of conversation ranged from expensive foreign trips to large scale purchases. Even Henrietta and Louisa were talking about a forthcoming holiday to Monte Carlo where Henrietta wanted to top up her tan before the wedding.

As soon as I could, I slipped away from the gathering and made my way out onto the terrace. It was late summer and the weather had yet to turn, so the evening was mild. I found a quiet, sheltered spot away from the windows and stood watching the moonlight.

It was a clear night, and the moon kept the sky bright. Across the gardens a small fountain bubbled and it was all pretty clichéd. Amused, I leaned on the balustrade of the terrace and watched how the light changed the appearance of the garden, leeching the colour and adding a depth of its own.

After several minutes, I realised I wasn't alone, and sighed inwardly, convinced Rupert had followed me out onto the terrace. I turned my head slightly, but it wasn't Rupert.

It was Derek.

"Why?" It was the only phrase I could think of.

"Why what?"

"Why did you write that?" I had wanted to ask him all evening.

He chuckled. "It's my autobiography Casey, the story of my life. It's how it happened."

I turned fully towards him then, but I said nothing. We stared at each other.

A phrase from his autobiography stuck in my mind.

"It should have been the best of times. It felt like the worst. There were parties to celebrate my signing, my family and friends were all there. Only one person was missing. And that was the one that counted."

He had written about the family. He had written with humour and with love. There were many anecdotes which made you roar with laughter; the Venturis always were an entertaining bunch and Derek had a way with words. His English wasn't exceptional, slightly above average, but he wrote with character and a fondness for his subjects.

There were stories about each and everyone of us, most of which I had forgotten and all of which I enjoyed reliving. He was economical with his words, making each one count, as he painted a picture of his childhood and adolescence.

He mentioned me.

I was the annoying step-sister that we both remembered, and a lot of the anecdotes were things from our time together at school. Klutzilla was there, and the clash of the bands, the parties, the disasters…everything we went through until we went to university.

And then it changed.

Of his time at university he still wrote with humour. He mentioned his friends and stories of their escapades, some of which I knew and some of which I didn't. And, yes, he wrote about us.

The language he used was different, it was simple, unembellished. He wrote in detail about us falling in love, the time we spent together, weaving in the story of the hockey scouts and his signing. And he wrote of the climax of our love, and the horrific, catastrophic fall which ended it. He wrote of how I ended it, and of the aftermath.

The one thing he left out…was my name.