Page 1 of Wilde Secrets

ChapterOne

Harper

Hiding in the bathroom during the charity gala her sister was performing at was not her finest moment, Harper Holden had to admit. But at least it was the nicest bathroom she’d ever seen. The acres of marble and gold fittings gleamed under lighting that wasn’t too bright, nor too dim.

Goldilocks lighting.

The walls were papered in deep maroon and gold wallpaper, giving the space a vague impression of old-money glamor, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. An actual crystal chandelier. In a bathroom. There was even an anteroom with dressing tables and velvet-covered chairs.

“I thought this kind of thing only existed in LA,” Harper said softly as she slowly turned on the spot to take it all in.

There were so many mirrors she couldn’t move without glimpsing her reflection. Everywhere she looked, she saw herself in the red strapless dress that hugged her curvy figure like a second skin. The shiny satin fabric of the skirt fell to the floor in a silken waterfall, and her toenails that Isla, her sister, insisted she paint to match the dress, peeked out from her strappy gold sandals.

Harper tugged at the bodice for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Despite the strapless bra that was an absolute feat of engineering to keep her generous breasts contained, she still feared a wardrobe malfunction. Satisfied that she wasn’t about to give half the charity gala attendees a look at her breasts, she gave her reflection a satisfied nod.

“You look good,” she said to her reflection.

And she did look good. Really good.

Her hair had behaved for once, swept up into some complicated updo courtesy of the hairdresser Isla had insisted they hire for the event. Harper’s blond locks were held in place with what felt like a hundred pins and an entire can of hairspray, but somehow didn’t feel like plastic when she touched them.

Her makeup was subtle, enhancing her golden-brown eyes, and for once she hadn’t smudged her mascara halfway down her cheeks.

She sighed. But it didn’t matter. Harper had never fit in with this crowd, and she never would. Tall, buxom, and curvy, Harper Holden stood out in the LA pop music scene where waif-like women sported cheekbones that could cut leather. And she stood out here in Boston, just as much as in LA.

Women like her sister, Isla, with her hit albums and her face on magazine covers were what the industry wanted.

“It’s just the way it is,” Harper said to herself, picking up her evening bag.

The door to the ballroom opened, a blast of sound flooding the quiet space. The clicking of their heels on the marble floor warned Harper of the few seconds she needed to dash into a stall and shut the door. Peering through the slight gap left between the door and its frame, Harper watched as two women strutted in on impossibly high stilettos.

The only thing worse than hiding in a bathroom at a charity fundraising dinner was being caught hiding in the bathroom. She could just imagine the tabloid headlines: 'Sister of starlet lurks in restroom’.

She turned the lock and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, hoping the other women would leave quickly so she could have a few more minutes to herself.

She wasn’t like these people. She wasn’t a celebrity. She wasn’t famous or rich or successful. Or married to someone famous, rich, or successful.

Harper was just her sister’s plus-one.

Which was why she was hiding in the bathroom in the first place. She had been so overwhelmed with all the people stopping to talk to Isla that she’d felt faint and tight in the chest, like it was getting hard to breathe. A sure sign of a looming panic attack.

She needed a quiet space to take a few minutes to calm her breathing and try to relax.

Closing her eyes, she waited, focusing on her breath and not paying attention to the women’s voices until she heard her sister’s name.

“Isla Holden? Isn’t she the one with the weird family thing going on?”

Harper’s eyes flew open, her fingernails biting into her palms as she squeezed her hands into fists.

“Weird family thing?”

“Yeah, you know. Did you know her dad is her manager?”

She stopped breathing, straining now to hear every word they said.

“Really? It might be nice to work with your family.”

“Are you kidding me?” There’s an inelegant snort. “No way. Isla’s got to be what, twenty-five?”

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