Page 51 of The Naughty Week
We look so unlike our usual weirdo selves, I could almost laugh.
This isn’t the red-carpet style glamour I’d ever have expected around a superstar like Heath Mason. I used to imagine plenty of red-carpet encounters with him when I was fangirling through Nighttime Whispers over the years, revelling in my imagination and doing Connor’s head in. Yet, when the cab pulls up to the villa, set to take us to our vineyard destination, I find those previous fantasies don’t mean shit, not in the slightest. I don’t need glamour around Heath. The simplicity of him being him in a stupid disguise is way more than enough to have me grinning my head off – over the moon, in fact.
“I’ve chosen somewhere deluxe for us,” he tells me and Josh in the back seat, as though we would be expecting anything less for ourreward. “They do gorgeous whites, still and sparkling.”
“That’s for me, isn’t it?” I nudge his elbow. “You know I’m a sucker for sparkling. You prefer red.”
He holds his hands up. “Guilty as charged. But this is your treat, not mine.”
I lower my glasses far enough to shoot him a side eye. “Have you ever had this treat yourself? Have you been on many tours? Luxury red grapes and wine tasting?”
He looks ahead, through the windscreen.
“Once. Ages ago. It was good. Not the kind of thing you have to go on weekly.”
Things have a different feel to them after truth or dare last night. Despite wiping the depths aside with more filth, fun and games, and a load more frolicking, the veil has been ripped away – and it’s irreversible. I’ve seen much further into Heath Mason’s guarded soul.
Lone wolf.
That may be what Heath calls himself, and he’s introverted, yeah definitely, but a loner? I’d say he’s morelonelythan he’d care to admit.
I get a lurch at the memory of some of the admissions last night. The way he looked at me as he coughed up some of his true feelings and Josh burst out his in response.
I’d love to ask Heath more questions, about what he wants, what he likes, what he’d really be doing if he didn’t feel so handicapped by the spotlight and paparazzi. Would he be visiting more vineyards and going on more excursions if we were here with him on a more permanent basis? Would he one day feel comfortable ditching the cap and the shades, just a little bit at a time?
It’s only when Josh clears his throat to get my attention that I realise how intently I’m staring at Heath while he stares out at the road ahead.
Awkward.
I give a running commentary on the view outside and how amazing everything is. Fantastic streets and buildings, and views of the beach before we go inland and climb up towards fields of green.
“Here we are,” Heath says when the driver pulls up to the vineyard entrance.
I get out of the car and admire the huge rows of grape vines stretching up onto the hills above us, basking in the beautiful sunlight. There must be millions of juicy wine grapes up there. Absolutely millions.
Josh takes my hand as we head for the reception and Heath steps up to the counter.
“We’re here for the tour,” he tells the receptionist, and his voice has changed. His tone is lower, and it sounds weird for him, but the receptionist doesn’t notice, which figures. He is an actor, after all.
“Mr Christoff, yes?”
Heath nods, giving a half smile, not his regular one.
“That’s right.”
I don’t get it when he hands his credit card over. Mr Christoff, WTF?
“If you could wait out front,” the receptionist says. “The driver will be with you shortly.”
“Mr Christoff?” I ask Heath once we’re outside.
“My PR manager,” he says. “I use his card for public outings.”
The jeep is with us in seconds, and Heath steps up to speak to the driver. I use the opportunity to grab Josh by the hand and pull him close.
“Do you think Heath’s paranoid? A fake ID at a vineyard? Really?” I look around. “There’s nobody here.”
“Heath is just Heath,” Josh replies with a shrug. “I guess it’s been a long time since he’s been allowed to be himself in the great outdoors.”
