The Rock Star's Wife

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-412-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Kenna, this one is for you. Thanks for all your support. I hope you love your namesake.

  THE ROCK STAR’S WIFE

  Their Wives, 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  "No, not a chance."

  "God you're so bloody negative you should run a photo booth." Kenna looked at the man in front of her, whose crossed arms created a 'do not touch' aura and sighed. Loudly. "Grief, anyone would think you were my dad, not my husband."

  Nico Vassos Hughes—known to a great deal of the world simply as Hughes—folded his arms over his chest. "It's not on, Kenna and you know it. You're my wife."

  "Wife, not chattel. Grief, Nico, I had a job. A high powered job I loved."

  "You have a job now, a high powered job. That of my wife."

  She noticed he didn't add, 'one that you love'. Just as well, she couldn't honestly agree with that, not at that moment.

  "It should be enough." His accent usually turned her on. Greek, English and a hint of the Caribbean. Now it annoyed her. Hell, he annoyed her.

  She snorted. "Tell me what's high powered and all consuming about that? You're rarely here, and when you are, the front door should revolve with the number of people that come through it." Shit, I sound a right cow. "People who have no idea I exist and if they do catch a glimpse of me think I'm the housekeeper or the woman who does the flowers. They ask who I am. You're Hughes's who?"

  "You are the one who does the flowers." His tone was humorous—or was it humoring her? "Beautifully."

  Kenna managed not to scream, but it was hard going. She grit her teeth narrowed her eyes, tightened her hands into fists, and counted to ten. Twice. Backward.

  "Nico, you're an absentee husband. Yes, before you say it's your job, I know it is, and yes, I knew that when I married you. However, what I didn’t know and you failed to tell me was you didn't expect, no that's not right, you had no intention of letting me be involved with that—that ninety nine percent of your life. I'm not even on the edges. I'm hanging over them into the abyss of invisibility by the tip of my fingers. I do not exist for most of the time. I have to carry on doing nothing for months on end, and then wham bam you're back for however long, and I'm expected to rearrange my life around you. Oh as long as we don't go out, don't show we're together and don't act like a normal couple. And don't you bloody dare say we're not a normal couple. I sodding well know that." She took a deep breath and made herself calm down. "No normal couple would dream of living a life like this. And hellfire, now I've lost my ability to talk without cussing. Don't you understand? It's not enough. I've totted up how much time we've spent together in the last year. Do you have any idea how many days, let alone nights I've seen you? No, sorry, not seen you. That's easy. I just need to turn on the TV. Let's say been able to talk to you face to face, touch your skin, and feel flesh and blood."

  He leaned against the wall, a silent figure with messy blond hair, blue-green eyes that usually sparkled but at that moment smoldered, dark clothes and oozing sex appeal. Kenna did her best to ignore his sensuality and concentrate on his shortcomings. He looked for all the world as if she were reciting the shopping list, and it had nothing to do with him.

  "What do you reckon, Nico? One month, nine weeks? Go on tell me how often. Or do you not care?"

  "It's my job."

  "Seventeen days."

  "Hold on a sec, that's not—"

  "I added—"

  "It can't be."

  She ignored his interjection. "It up. Seventeen bloody days. And even less nights. Even less than one month. Just over two weeks. One of those weeks we were allegedly on holiday in Barbados. You spent half of it in a studio."

  "I had to—"

  "I know what you said you had to do. I'm not deaf. Neither am I stupid." I am a shrew though. A shrew at the end of my tether. "But seriously, if I don't do something I will be stupid. My brain will have atrophied through lack of use." To say nothing of my pussy.

  "Take up salsa dancing, or cookery classes. You do not work. We agreed."

  We did? Not that she remembered, not in so many words. It had been more like 'unless you really want to carry on working, It's be better if you were around when I got time to just be with you'. She hadn't expected that time to be so limited.

  You'd be vilified," Nico went on, "accused of taking a job someone else needed. It wouldn't do."

  "Argh, how out of date are you. Why not? It's not as if I want to be a pole dancer. I want—"

  "And I want to hear no more of it. Enough. You knew the score. We are not going to change the rules." He pushed himself up off the wall and ran his hand through his hair. The wavy locks fell straight back over his forehead. "Now how about we go for a drive?"

  "With the top up and you in disguise? No thanks."

  "So be it." He shrugged, seeming not at all bothered by her refusal. "I have to leave tonight anyway."

  "You might as well go now, then. Never let it be said I get in the way of you and your job." Yeah, definitely shrew central.

  "I never will." He turned and the door banged behind him

  So that's that, then.

  He hadn't even asked what she wanted to do.

  ****

  'Hugh…es. Hu…gh…es!" The chanting was usually all he needed to get into the right frame of mind, to put on his public persona and show all was well in Hughes's world.

  Not this time. Nico smiled but it was mechanical, and he knew fine well if he looked at himself in a mirror the expression wouldn't reach his eyes. Behind him, Ella and Ramona, his younger twin sisters, frowned. He was damned sure he heard Ella call him an asshole and tell him to bloody well move.

  Ramona poked him in the rear. "Get your butt into gear mate, or you won't have a butt to move. Or a shirt, your kecks," she used their childhood name for trousers, "arms, hair on your head, anything. The security guys are having a bloody hard time holding the screaming hoards back. Ella and I value our skin, even if you don't value yours. Shit, Nic, you know we're the most hated women on the planet as it is. Don't make it easy for them, please."

  "You're not, or probably not. Kenna is. Or would be, oh hell, okay on three. One…two…three…" He moved, scribbled his name a few times on goodness who knew what, smiled and waved at the crowds behind the straining security men, and then dived into the limo that waited, engine idling, next to the curb. Ella and Ramona had preceded him and as he tumbled into the interior, the door slammed behind him, just as the security line broke and people—mainly women, but a few guys as well—ran forward. The car moved. Ella fell back into her seat and let her breath out in a long whoosh.

  "I thought this sort of thing died out in the Sixties."

  "Not when it's Hughes," Ramona said. "What's all that about Kenna?"

  "Nothing. Everything, nothing, oh forget I mentioned her." Nico shook his head and looked out of the window as the car sped off down the road and left the crowds behind. Why had he mentioned Kenna? Okay she'd been on his mind, and no one
could find hair or hide of her, but even so, to say anything to his sisters was stupid. They'd grab the tidbit and run with it. Nag and tease and ferret out what was going on. And he hadn't really thought that through to discover the answer himself.

  "Not a chance." Ella settled herself and put on her seatbelt. "Believe me, you are gonna talk. Two against one. Why not start now?"

  Nico scowled, and blew hair out of his eyes. Damn, I must get this trimmed. "Why?"

  "Well, we'll get it out of you sooner or later, and the sooner you tell us what's riding the black dog, the sooner we'll stop nagging and you can sort it out. So, I'm guessing it's something to do with your wife."

  "I don’t have a wife."

  Ramona's jaw dropped. "Sure you do, even if you won't admit it. We were there. Are you trying to tell us the ceremony wasn't legal? That the dreadlock wearing Rastafarian reggae singing Minister Macnamama Fosset was a fake? That you've been living in unwedded bliss for what, three years and counting? Bloody hell, Nico, what is the world coming to? You're a cohabitee." She roared with laughter. "And what's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing if it were true. I'm legally married and my wife has left me."

  Ella twisted in her seat. "Say that again, slowly."

  Sisters, who'd have them?

  "You heard," Nico said irritably. "My wife, the woman who said of course she understood how important my work is, the woman who now says I don’t need her, don’t value her and there's more to life than sewing a fine seam and waiting for her absent husband to make one of his rare visits, has decided she doesn't want to be part of my life anymore."

  "Well, let's face it, Nic, she never really was, was she?" Ella said. "No, don't flare up, think about it. Yes, I know she agreed to it, but people and circumstances change. We need to move forward."

  "She has. Without me."

  "Plus, brother dear," Ramona said, "there is more to life, as she said. But if she doesn’t like to come with you, what else can she expect?"

  Nico felt his cheeks warm. He grunted.

  "Nico?" Ella poked him again. "She did say she didn't want to travel with you, didn't she?"

  "She left all her cards and the house key. She didn't take anything I've given her." He ignored Ramona's hiss and Ella's question. "It's as if I don’t exist for her any more."

  Chapter Two

  If someone had told her she'd be sitting here in a corner, half hidden behind one of the imposing pillars that held the ceiling of the old theatre up, Kenna would have told them their brain was addled.

  There was no way she was into self-torture. She had enough pain without adding to it. Her new motto was 'don’t look back', and being there definitely came under the heading of looking back with a vengeance.

  Yet here she was, still not sure why, and waiting along with several hundred other people for the concert to start. The box office staff at the Newcastle theatre had been apologetic about the lack of a view. But as they said she was lucky to get a seat at all. That had been a return and she'd been in the right place at the right time. They'd been sold out for months, and this seat had suddenly become available. After all, half a view was better than no view at all, wasn't it? Plus, the person who returned it didn't want any money. It was, in effect, a freebie. They were so pleased and enthusiastic, Kenna didn’t dare say no. She had intended to go outside and hand the ticket over to anyone who looked like they wanted to be inside and weren't. Instead she'd found herself going through the revolving doors, buying a bottle of water and a bag of sweets, and walking up the stairs with lots of excited fans.

  Maybe I could put it under the heading of finishing with the past so I can look to the future, instead? Somehow though, it didn't ring true.

  Before she'd entered Kenna had dodged the illegal program sellers, ignored the stall selling lucky charms, 'signed' photos, key rings, and to her jaw-dropping amazement, nipple clamps with 'Hughes Who?' stamped on them. She told one persistent guy to stuff his scarf where the sun didn't shine.

  Now, Kenna smiled her 'no thanks’ to a very polite program seller, a legal one this time, showed her ticket to the attendant and found her seat. Half behind a pillar; as she'd been told.

  Unfortunately, the half was a bit of a misnomer. She'd have to be a stick insect to hide behind it. And she wasn't. Or cut her boobs or bum off. Neither of which was practicable. At that moment, Kenna wasn't so sure that luck played any part in the reason why she was there. A horrible mistake, maybe. Put it down to an unexpected trip to the town, a night with nothing specific to do and a ghoulish nature. Sleeping dogs should be left to rest and all that.

  God I am a glutton for punishment. And cliché central.

  All around her excited voices rose and fell. People bobbed up and down, exchanged kisses, and drank wine out of the horrible plastic glasses, which was all the theatre would allow in the auditorium. At the end of each aisle the program sellers were trying hard to keep up with demand, and the ice cream sellers were down to a few lollies and weird flavored tubs. It was noisy, cheerful, and colorful and the air was full of expectation.

  Kenna felt as if she was in a bubble with only her and no one else about. Maybe she wasn't there? Perhaps this was all a nightmare and she'd wake up at home, snug in her bed, and realized she'd eaten too much cheese before she went to sleep.

  And maybe not.

  People's lips moved, but she couldn't make out the words in the racket. It was like feeding time at the zoo, one where the animals hadn't been fed for a week. Someone nudged her, shrugged and mouthed an apology. Kenna nodded. It was hot, airless and sweaty, and she could feel perspiration drip between her boobs. Most other people were dressed in skimpy tops and short skirts. She must be the only one there in a jumper and trousers.

  Lord what was she thinking about, coming here? Masochistsarewe.com

  It was no good. She had to get out of the theatre. There was no way she could stop and be pulled into the charismatic atmosphere that surrounded her. Kenna picked up her bag, pushed her jacket into it, and stood up.

  Just as the lights dimmed, the drum roll started and the woman behind her pushed her back down with a whispered, "Sit down for fuck's sake. I can see little enough as it is."

  Kenna sat with a thump that jarred her spine, banged her knee on the seat in front, and swore. It was bloody sore.

  She rubbed the maligned joint as she looked along the row toward the aisle. Unfortunately the pillar blocked one side of her completely, so there was no way of leaving without disturbing and upsetting a couple of dozen people eagerly waiting to see him. Resigned to enduring what was to come for at least the best part of an hour, she sat back, slumped down, and wondered if anyone would notice if she put her headphones in and listened to an audio book. Or counted the cracks in the plaster covering the pillar.

  Of course she knew she wouldn't do either. Although she was nowhere near half hidden by her pillar, Kenna was damned sure he wouldn't see that far back in the auditorium anyway. With a resigned sigh, she sat in her chair and decided if she couldn't beat them she'd best join them. As long as she took her jumper off and wiped the sweat out of her eyes. They were stinging and sweat and lenses weren't a good mix. She struggled out of the wooly, glad she had a strappy vest on, and wiped her brow.

  The woman next to her grinned. "Hot now and it'll be even hotter soon, eh?"

  "Oh yeah."

  "Got to love him." The woman let out a shrill wolf whistle. Kenna winced.

  "Oops sorry hinny. I forgot you'd be too close for comfort."

  "No worries, no harm done." She didn't think her eardrums had fractured. Not quite. Kenna drank a mouthful of water. It was no good. She'd have to take her lenses out. She rummaged in her bag, ditched the contacts (which luckily were dailies and didn't need saving) and shoved her glasses on her nose. They might slip down her sweat slicked skin, but they were better than stinging eyes. Not only that, if it all got too much for her, she could take them off and view the theatre through a shortsighted haze.

  Right the
n though, as everything came back into sharp focus, she couldn't keep her eyes off the stage. Circles of color swooped and created patterns of light, which moved in time to the pulsating rhythm.

  The drums struck a heavy beat, guitars joined in, and then a chorus began as two tall blonde headed girls dressed in shimmering red and gold silk danced onto the stage and shimmied in time to the music.

  The audience howled and set up the refrain everyone knew. "Hugh…es… let's have you, Hugh…es."

  People stood up and swayed arm in arm. The woman next to Kenna, resplendent in a pink and purple t-shirt with 'Hughes Who' written across it in fluorescent green script, dug Kenna in the ribs. "Ha'way hinny. Come on, link arms with me, the pillar's not much fun. Then you'll get a better view of him anyway."

  That was her worry. However Kenna stood up and smiled as the woman linked arms and swayed as she sang, or rather bellowed, in a very off key voice. "Hugh...es, get yer hot bod here…"

  "Damn I could do with a drink," Kenna muttered as her nerves took hold.

  "Here, have some of mine." The woman—‘call me Sam’—shoved five sealed plastic glasses of wine into Kenna's arms. "I've got plenty."

  If she drank all those she'd be on the floor. Mind you, maybe that wasn't a bad idea. She downed the contents of the first glass in three swallows. The slightly sweet wine coated her throat, and the aroma made her want to sneeze. However, Kenna reckoned at least she'd be less likely to mutter rude words out loud, and be a wee bit mellow. Or maybe the stuff would be fast acting and work the other way? Perhaps she'd best not drink anymore. Kenna took another swig of water.

  Sam glanced at Kenna. "Drink up, there's lots more wine under the seat. Hugh…es." She did her ear splitting whistle again. "Doesn’t he make you want to take your knickers off and say 'here I am, ready, willing and more than able'? I mean my Don's a good 'un, but Hughes…bet he's hung properly."