All That Matters Page 2

  “Oh, and Harper?” I turned back to see Nicolas with a smirk on his face. “I’m only twenty-two. That isn’t ‘too old’.”

  This time I was the one to snort, while my mind went over whether he’d meant that in the ‘you’ve just insulted my age’ or ‘there’s still a chance between us’ kinda way.

  “I’ll try to remember that, Officer Donahue. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Harper Hudson.”

  I had a grin from ear to ear when I entered the large foyer of the mansion. The marble flooring was cold on my bare feet, instantly covering my skin in goose bumps, and I cursed under my breath for losing my brand new shoes in the sand during the mad dash on the beach.

  I tiptoed in the dim light up the grand stairs, ignoring the curious looks from the maids, who were up for God only knows what reason this early in the morning. I was used to all the stares, so it didn’t bother me.

  “Well, well, well, look who has just arrived home. Rather early for you, isn’t it? The sun’s not even up yet.” I turned to see my brother leaning against his old bedroom doorway with a dirty smirk on his face.

  “Hawke? What are you doing here?” Yeah, I know what you’re thinking; being celebrities meant my parents had some kind of pass to give their children all such ridiculous names that were long enough to be their own sentence.

  Hawke Helios Colt Zephyr Hudson is the younger of my two older brothers. He is twenty-four, plays in the NFL for the Miami Dolphins, and is also the only member of the family who didn’t pursue a career in the entertainment industry. We looked the most alike; well, before I’d gone and dyed my hair, that is. Tall, with blond hair, a blend of gray and olive-green eyes, and a killer, athletic body to match, my brother was a heart-stopper.

  “I’m still welcome to stay here when I please, baby sis. Question is will you once Mom and Dad get a load of these bad boys.” He flashed me a large orange envelope he had hidden behind his back.

  “What’s inside?” I questioned. My throat dried up; in my head, I knew the envelope could only contain something bad.

  “Photos,” came my brother’s swift response.

  There was one thing I didn’t understand: why would somebody send photos? That was so Dark Ages. Usually, when I did something that was considered insubordinate, it went viral all over the Internet within minutes.

  “Harper,” My brother’s voice lowered. He hopped off the wall and straightened himself, and he looked disappointed. Maybe Upset? Worried? Jeez, I couldn’t tell. “I went through them. They’re pretty bad, the worst yet. Mom and Dad are going to completely flip.”

  “So, why do we need to show them?” I questioned, slightly irritated. Was he going to show me the stupid photographs or just stand there and make me feel like shit?

  “Harp, they want money and lots of it. More than the media will ever offer, which is why I believe they sent them here first.”

  “Just show me the damn photos, Hawke.”

  I reached out, ready to snatch the envelope straight out of my brother’s hand when a dark figure I’d been trying to avoid suddenly appeared, causing me to immediately drop my hand back beside me. What the hell was everyone doing up at three in the morning? My body instantly cringed as Vivien appeared out of the shadows, dressed in her long, silk robe, and made her way toward Hawke and me.

  “I’d like to see these photos, thank you. Hand them over,” my mother ordered once she stood before us. “Good grief, Harper, why on Earth are you standing in front of Hawke dressed like that? I’m sure he’s the last person who wants to see you in a see-through, wet shirt and a skimpy skirt,” she continued, giving me a look of disgust. Like she could talk, dressed in nothing but a robe. “Don’t tell me. You’ve just gotten home, haven’t you? Christ.” With a shake of her head, she turned to face my brother instead. I didn’t bother with a reply; no matter what I’d say, it wouldn’t change her opinion of me.

  Vivien Gardner, aka the evil queen, a beautiful, flawless, much-loved starlet, was nothing like the person she portrayed to the world. Behind closed doors, the Grace Kelly look-alike was a cold, horrible and bitter woman who simply resented the fact I’d been the one to survive and not my sister. Since Quinn’s death, my relationship with my mother was almost non-existent. We lived under the same roof and she managed my career, but we barely spoke to one another and if we did, it was nothing more than quick, snappy remarks.

  Vivien ripped the envelope out of Hawke’s hand and tore at the opening in a dramatic manner, even though all she had to do was lift up the already-opened tab. My gaze bounced between the two of them knowing it was best not to interfere. Hawke, who carefully watched our mother flick through the photos one by one, anxiously chewed on his bottom lip like his life depended on it.

  I held my breath, searching for clues on Vivien’s face that might help me figure out exactly what was so scandalous about these photos. I didn’t have to wait very long.

  Her expression remained the same, annoyed that she’d been disturbed from her beauty sleep, until she flicked to the fourth photo, where it changed drastically. Her eyes widened, nose flared, and her jaw tensed. Her forehead, which was normally wrinkle-free from all the Botox injections she refused to admit she got on a regular basis, suddenly became inundated with frown lines. Large splotches of rouge red, seen only when she was extremely mad appeared, ruining her perfect, creamy complexion. When that happened, I knew I was in for it. My mind ran through all the recent things I’d done; there was nothing out of the ordinary I could think of. Snap-happy fans and paparazzi took unflattering photographs of me partying, drinking and smoking all the time. It was nothing unusual and nothing I wasn’t used to, but judging by the reaction on Vivien’s face, it had to be something huge.

  Just when I thought she was going to explode, she completely surprised me by doing just the opposite. My mom took a deep breath, looked up toward the ceiling, and whispered a few inaudible words before spinning around and rushing off with her hands covering her face. The photos fell to the ground. What the hell? Is she crying?

  I watched her figure vanish before dropping to the ground where the photos lay scattered. I bent down, scooped them up, and immediately gasped when I caught a glimpse of one.

  They were photos of me all right and an unrecognizable male; only I knew who it was. Shit. Shit. Shit. The first photo was of me in the back of a red Porsche, putting on a long, wavy black wig. Why didn’t I think to have the window up at the time? Stupid, stupid mistake, Harper! The second photograph was of me stepping out of the Porsche dressed in a super-tight, scandalous, silver dress adjusting my wig. I was barely recognizable with the wig and the heavy make-up on, but because the first photo clearly showed my face with no wig, there was no denying who it was.

  The third photo was worse. I had the guy, whose face was covered by shadows, pushed up against the wall outside a club. My hand cupped his groin while his hands were all over my ass… Nicolas Donahue.

  I quickly flicked through the rest. The next one showed I was leading him toward the Porsche. Another of him leaning against it with me down on my knees in front of him and hands all over his body, and the final two were of the both of us in the backseat of the car.

  Thank God, Nicolas’s face was somehow obscured in every photo and they hadn’t been smart enough to snap the license plate of the vehicle; I would’ve a hard time trying to explain the incident to the friend who’d let me borrow the Porsche otherwise.

  They were amateurs just after money; I was sure of it. Either way, my mom had seen them and she wasn’t one to hide this kind of thing from my father. And my father was the type of man to listen to everything the evil queen had to say, because he wanted to keep her happy. My older siblings would hate me even more than they already do. So, where did that leave me? Should I warn Nicolas and tell him about the incriminating photos? But he’d also hate me, and then I’d be well and truly alone.

  It was the first time in a long time that I’d really wanted Quinn with me. She had always been th
e more responsible one; she would’ve known how to fix this. My heart started to hurt thinking about her.

  “Harp.” Hawke’s voice broke up my thoughts. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t think they’re just going to let this one slide.”

  I nodded, unable to tear my eyes off the last photo. I knew he was right, but what were my parents going to do? Send me to rehab for troubled teens again, or a boot camp in the middle of the Canadian wilderness? I knew they existed. Would they cut me off from my allowance, since my mother controlled all my finances? Would they kick me out and send me away? Would they ever forgive me this time?

  My head was spinning like crazy. I felt sick and needed to lie down before I puked up all the alcohol I’d drank earlier. I left Hawke standing there and headed toward my room, needing to take something to calm me down so I could try to work out how I was going to explain this to Nicolas. Getting lectured and receiving some sort of ‘punishment’ from my parents was inevitable, so there was no point worrying about that. Nothing was severe enough to make me completely forget everything else in my fucked-up life, anyway. No, the most important thing to do was to warn Nicolas; he didn’t deserve this. He doesn’t need someone like you ruining his life...

  I went straight to the bottom drawer of my bedside table once I was inside my room. I had a stash of prescription pills hidden away in a small compartment right at the back. I’d managed to convince both my therapist and my parents that I’d stopped taking meds a long time ago, but unbeknownst to them, I was heavily dependent on them and knew someone who’d supply me with more whenever my stock ran low. Overwhelming emotions flooded my mind during the day while nightmares haunted my sleep; it was much easier to silence them this way.

  I pulled out the small bag I kept them in. They were the only things that kept me sane; that is, before they wore off and I went back to living with the shit memories of the past. Which was why I never allowed that moment to come; I’d take more until the numbing feeling returned.

  I popped some antidepressants, sedatives and a couple of sleeping pills into my mouth and swallowed, not bothering with the water. There weren’t going to be any nightmares tonight, I was sure of that.

  “Wake up, Harper!” I heard the angry voice command, shattering the undisturbed silence around me. Then my entire body began to shake. What the hell is going on? I groaned and rolled onto my back, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. A hazy figure of my livid mother began to take form.

  “For God’s sake, Viv. Let the poor girl sleep.” I heard my father call out from further away.

  “Don’t start with me, James. We have to sort this damn mess out!”

  “I know we do, but right now? She’s barely awake.”

  I just managed to sit up, still feeling fuzzy from the effects of the sleeping pills, and watched and listened as the evil queen stood over my bed with her hands on her hips, shouting at my father. Dad stood in the doorway, obedient as ever. That was the most he had the nerve to say to Mom before he backed away like a frightened animal.

  “She shouldn’t have been out until three in the morning then!” she snapped. “Tell your daughter to get out of bed and meet the rest of us in the family room.” And with that, Mom stormed out of the room with her nose high in the air.

  Dad turned to me ruefully. “You heard her; come on, little firebird.”

  I replied in way of a nod, too tired to answer with words. My father stood there looking as if he had something else to say, but he turned and silently left the room instead.

  I watched him go before I dragged myself out of bed and headed toward my connecting bathroom. I needed a cold shower to wake myself up; I hadn’t expected my parents to come storming into my room to wake me before the pills had a chance to wear off.

  Once I was dressed and felt a little more animated, I headed down toward the family room where everyone was told to wait.

  “Would you like some breakfast, Miss Hudson?”

  I turned to see Maria, one of our maids, smiling down at me from the top of the stairs. “Umm, some fruit with natural Greek yogurt would be great, thanks, Maria,” I replied. “Please, tell Pierre to make sure the strawberries and the stone fruit aren’t bruised this time; they taste funny when they are. And if he can only use fresh passion-fruit on the top; he knows how much I hate the canned stuff.” Pierre was just one of the amazing chefs who worked in the Hudson mansion. We had seven in total. Don’t ask me why, but my parents seemed to think that many were necessary.

  “I’ll get Pierre to fix that up for you right away.”

  “Thanks, Maria; you’re the best. I’ll be in the family room getting lectured by Maleficent and her minions.” She held back a laugh and was about to dash off when I remembered something else. “Oh, and Maria?”

  “Yes, young Harper?”

  “Can I also have an extra-strong espresso, pronto?”

  “Of course.”

  I didn’t realize when Vivien had said “the rest of us” she’d actually meant the entire clan. When the hell did everyone arrive?

  My mother, looking all evil and ready to cast a curse, directed me where to sit with her long, slender finger. Dad was sitting by her side looking somewhat troubled, which was typical for Dad.

  “Isn’t it lovely you found the time in your busy schedule of getting drunk or high to come and spend time with your family,” my sister sneered, looking at me with a smirk on her face.

  Sierra Athena Rain was my older and only sister, since Quinn was gone. She was as cold and cruel as she was beautiful, much like our mother; she had our father’s dark-blue eyes and dark, wavy hair. At twenty-seven, she had a very successful career in the musical theatre world and was engaged to a hotshot director. The last time I’d heard, she was living in New York working on a new Broadway production with her fiancé.

  “Hello to you, too, Sierra. Did it just drop a few degrees in the room? It’s summer but I swear, it feels like winter in here,” I retorted.

  My eldest brother, Ryder, who sat beside her, let out a snort and was fighting to hold back a grin.

  Ryder Orion Leonardo Corbet was the eldest and was often referred to as the ‘Clint Eastwood’ of the family, meaning he could act, direct, write and produce. At only twenty-nine, it was a pretty remarkable accomplishment. He was also married to a supermodel and they had a three-year-old son named Chase. Incredibly, Ryder was the only sibling to share both our parents’ physical traits. He had our father’s dark hair and our mother’s unique-colored eyes; he was tall like Mom and lean like Dad.

  “Hey, Harp,” Ryder said, giving me a wink.

  “Hey,” I replied, aware everyone else in the room was watching me. The thought of it freaked me out; were they planning to have an intervention? Because the first sign of one and I was out that damn door. I didn’t care how angry it made Her Royal Evil Highness.

  I took a seat next to Hawke, the only one with a spare spot beside him, which I was most thankful for. I had the closest relationship with Hawke and felt the most comfortable around him.

  “Right, as you can tell, Har―”

  I tried not to burst out laughing when Maria, who stood in the doorway with my coffee, cut Vivien off. Mom flashed the maid a nasty glare and hurried the woman in.

  “Thank you, Maria.” I smiled smugly, knowing it was certain to piss off my mother more.

  Maria took the demitasse and saucer off the silver tray and handed it to me. “Your breakfast is on its way, Miss Harper.”

  “Than―”

  “No, Maria,” my mother’s sharp, stern voice cut in. “Harper can have it once we are done here.”

  I turned toward Mom and was met with one of her trademark evil glares. I matched it, but it had no effect on her; it was like having a staring competition with a wall.

  “Now, if you will excuse us, we have some rather important family matters to address,” Vivien added.

  “Oh, of course,” Maria replied, quickly turning to leave the room.

  “Close the
doors as you leave, Maria.” ‘Close the doors?’ It was an intervention; my mother never closed those things. Get ready to make a run for it, my mind warned.

  I was about to bring the small cup to my lips when the large, heavy, wooden double-doors clicked closed and Mom started up again.

  “Put that down for a moment, Harper.”

  “What? But Vivi―”

  “Now.”

  With a grumble, I obeyed, putting the small cup down on the nearby coffee table. There was no point arguing while everybody else was in the same room; they’d all just side with her.

  “As I was about to say, everyone had a couple of days free, therefore Sierra and Ryder decided to fly down so we could spend time as a family. Only we are once again forced to save our reputations and image because of your childish, inexcusable behavior, Harper. When are you going to grow up? You are eighteen now, for Heaven’s sake.”

  “Mom, I told you she needed more time in rehab when she was caught with alcohol the last time. One month wasn’t nearly long enough,” Sierra commented.

  As if she had any clue. I could spend an entire lifetime in rehab and not have it make a single indent on the issues I had.

  “Harper, we’ve put up with all the drinking, the drug-taking, the indecent exposure charges, and constant media storm circling the Internet. I’m sick to death of having to bail you out each time you get caught. We’ve tried everything to fix you and spent a great deal of money, for that matter,” Mom continued, and her eyes started to water. “I don’t know what else to do. And now, these photos, I can’t…”

  A tiny part of me hurt seeing Vivien crying, but I couldn’t find it in myself to comfort her; after all, when had she been there to comfort me? And splashing money around wasn’t going to fix the problems I had, why couldn’t she see that?

  “Firebird―”

  “Don’t, James,” Mom snapped, cutting him off by raising her hand to the side of his face. “Don’t start with the nicknames; I hate being the bad parent all the time. Tell her. Tell her what we’ve come up with. What she’s going to do.” And here comes the big punishment.