Sway

She’d be happy to forget…if the past would just stop hitting “replay”.

Ava Elliot never thought she’d become a couch surfer. But with a freshly minted—and worthless—degree from Julliard, and her dad squandering the family fortune, what choice does she have?

Living with her old high school friends, though, has its own drawbacks. Especially when her ex-fiancé Eric Wentworth drops back into her life. Eight years ago, she was too young, too scared of being poor, and too scared of her dad’s disapproval. Dumping him was a big mistake.

In the most ironic of role reversals, Eric is rolling in musical success, and Ava’s starting at the bottom to build her career. Worse, every song Eric sings is an arrow aimed straight for her regrets.

One encounter, one song too many, and Ava can’t go on like this. It’s time to tell Eric the truth, and make a choice. Finally let go of the past, or risk her heart for a second chance with her first love. If he can forgive her…and she can forgive herself.

Warning: Contains an actor whose kisses taste like chocolate, a pianist with scores of regret, and a sexy crooner who just wants his ex to cry him a river.

Sway

Melanie Stanford

Dedication

To my mom,

who introduced me to Jane Austen

in the first place.

Chapter One

I didn’t know my own feelings. A medley of emotions played through my body, unidentifiable and messy. The wind blew through the open cab window, curling my hair around my face, tickling my cheeks. I listened to the leaves rustle in the Royal Empress trees, the sound like a flute transposed to a lower octave.

“We’re here,” the cab driver said, stopping the car.

Slinging my bag over one shoulder, I exited the cab and stared at Kellynch Mansion—my childhood home. The camel-colored stucco, stretched windows, even the ridiculous marble fountain were all ingrained into my very being. It had been eight years since I’d been home. Each year that passed felt like stealing a chord from a melody, leaving the song more and more disjointed until eventually, the missing notes didn’t matter anymore. The song was better without them. And yet here I was, back, the melody whole again.

The cab driver had pulled my suitcases out of the trunk and was waiting patiently.

“Do you want me to help you bring them up?” he asked, eyeing the staircase leading to the oak front door.

“No, that’s okay.” I slipped him some cash, enough for the ride and a tip. As he drove off, I left my bags at the foot of the stairs and walked up, finger-combing my hair and adjusting my blouse.

I pushed the doorbell. No answer. I peered through the windows. Someone should have been there by now. They’d buzzed me through the gate so they knew I was coming. It took a few minutes before a shape appeared, distorted by the etched glass.

The door opened and Aunt Rose stood over the threshold. Her pale gray linen suit looked fresh off the Chanel runway, she had pulled her hair back into a low bun, and the pearls around her neck were as familiar to me as my own name.

“Ava.” She smiled, reaching her arms out in welcome. I stepped inside and into her embrace. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too.”

After a tight squeeze, she let me go, stepping back so she could assess the damage New York had inflicted on me.

“You look tired.” She shook her head, as if disappointed that lack of sleep had the gall to manifest itself on my face. Or that I had the gall not to cover it up.

She looked the same as always, except for some new wrinkles by her eyes and deeper lines around her mouth. Her forehead was still twenty-something smooth despite her fifty-two years, and her gaze could still unmask my faults and weaknesses, leaving me vulnerable.

I looked away. “It was a long flight.”

“Where’s your luggage?” she asked.

“I left it on the driveway.”

“You’ll have to bring it up. I’ll tell Walter and Beth you’ve arrived.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

As she headed for the stairs, I called out, “Wait. Where’s Reynaldo?”

Aunt Rose paused, her hand on the railing. “We’ll talk later. You should get settled first.”

I hefted my suitcases up the stairs, annoyed that Reynaldo was too busy to take care of them for me. Home all of five minutes and already Kellynch was corrupting me. I’d had eight years of solid practice doing things on my own. I shouldn’t need staff now.

My older sister was waiting inside the grand entrance as I lugged in my last piece of Vuitton.

“So you’re back.” Beth made no move toward me, no attempt at a hug or even a smile. “Just in time too.” A shorter woman I didn’t recognize stood beside Beth, her oversized chest jutting out of her halter-top like a mountain bluff.

“Nice to see you too, Beth.” I grabbed one suitcase and headed for the stairs.

“Don’t bother. You won’t be staying long.”

The suitcase slipped from my fingers. I stared at Beth. I didn’t expect my sister to exactly gush over my return, but that had been pretty harsh, even for her.

“Ava, you’re home.” Dad interrupted our sisterly stare-down. He made his way down the stairs, his face split into a grin. It faded when he got close. “You look tired.”

I resisted a sigh. First Aunt Rose, now Dad. I couldn’t help the fact that the last few weeks had been rough. Or the jet lag.

“I have just the cream that will get rid of those under-eye circles,” Dad said, pulling me into a hug. I breathed in the familiar scent of his Burberry cologne, a mix of ginger, musk and the scent of woods. To me it meant comfort, and sadness.

I stepped out of his embrace and almost knocked into Beth’s friend who was sidling up to me. She puffed out her bleach-blonde hair, her eyes zeroed in on my dad. I stiffened.

“You’ll have to take your suitcases up yourself. We had to let go of Reynaldo, I’m afraid.” Dad grimaced. “I’ve barely managed without him. But Rose insisted—”

“Let Ava take care of her things first, Walter,” Aunt Rose said. “We can talk later.”

The foyer emptied, my family disappearing in a breath, leaving me alone.

I stood in the grand entrance. The marble floors, the huge vase of white and green hydrangea’s sitting on a glass table, the Louis XIV chairs. Everything looked the same. Being back even felt the same. Hollow and lonely, full of memories and regrets. If Mom had been alive it would have been different. Yet I still loved the house because of her.

I hauled my luggage to my old room but didn’t linger. Memories threatened to consume me there and I wasn’t ready to let them.

I found my family in the living room. Their conversation broke off when I appeared.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I said, sitting on the edge of a chair.

“How was your flight?” Dad asked.

I appreciated the fact that he had asked after me, but I wasn’t fooled. Something was up.

“It was fine. Why did you fire Reynaldo?”

Dad winced.

Aunt Rose shot me her warning eyes. She cleared her throat. “Your father has had to retrench.”

Beth snorted. “Retrench!” The stacked bracelets on her wrist jangled. “What does that even mean?”

It meant Beth and Dad had been seriously overspending.

“We’ve done the best we can,” Dad said, his voice teetering on the edge of a whine. “I let go of all our staff, sold my Bentley. Rose won’t even allow me any new suits.”

Beth walked to Dad’s chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m not redecorating my room anymore, even though the designs I had in mind were to-die-for. And I’ve stopped giving money to those charities we were supporting. I mean, how can we justify funding homeless shelters when we can’t house ourselves anymore?”

Wow. I’d forgotten what a different world my family lived in compared to most people.

Dad patted her hand. “You’ve done well, Elizabeth. I’m so proud of you.”

Aunt Rose gave me a look that I ignored. Beth had always been Dad’s favorite. If she murdered someone on live television, he would assume she was being framed.

“It’s not enough,” Aunt Rose said gently. “You are too far in debt for these changes to have any real impact.”

“Not enough?” Dad’s brows lowered, causing a determined crease on his forehead. If he were to look in a mirror right then, he’d stop frowning immediately to avoid the wrinkles. “We have no cook. No maid. No Reynaldo to run my errands, carry my shopping bags. It’s embarrassing.”

Beth’s friend leaned forward on the couch, giving my dad a deliberate view down her top. “Why don’t you just sell the house? Buy something smaller? Then you could afford—I mean, rehire all your help.”

“We can’t sell the house,” I said, glaring at this stranger who was bold enough to give my dad advice. This was my home. I grew up here. I hadn’t seen it in eight years and the thought of it disappearing forever made my heart clench.

“As if, Shelby,” Beth snapped, actually agreeing with me for once. Shelby shrank back into the couch.

“I will not sell Kellynch Mansion,” Dad said. “It’s out of the question.”

Aunt Rose fingered the pearls around her neck. “I don’t think you should let go of Kellynch. Renting is your best option. You can make a profit and eventually get the house back when your finances are in order.”

“Rent? To who?” Dad slapped a hand on the arm of his chair and Beth flinched. “No one would treat the house as it deserves.”

Beth shook her head. “We can’t rent Kellynch. This is our house. Our stuff. I don’t want strangers putting their nasty hands on our things. Or sleeping in my bed. It’s absurd!”

I sighed. Renting was better than selling, at least. “Is it really that bad?” I asked Aunt Rose.

Her mouth tight, she nodded. She wasn’t happy, but she’d always been the responsible one. Dad relied on her. When Mom had died, Dad had coped by throwing himself into his work and ignoring everything else. Including his three daughters.

Aunt Rose, my mom’s sister, had stepped in. Despite living in nearby Los Feliz, despite a job, a husband and a life of her own, she took over the running of the house, the finances, my sisters and me. Thirteen years later and nothing had changed.

“We’ll screen,” I said. I hated the thought of strangers living in the house as much as Beth, but if there were no other options… “Put an ad in the paper and find someone respectable—”

Dad jumped from his chair, knocking it over. “You expect to find respectable people in the
paper
?” He shook his head in outrage. “I’m not going to advertise to the entire state of California that the Elliot’s are having financial trouble.”

“I’ve already made some discreet inquiries. I’m positive I can find someone who will treat Kellynch as you do.” Aunt Rose patted his shoulders, a mother consoling a child.

“They’d better,” Dad said, clearly not in love with her plan.

They continued to argue but I stopped listening. I knew I shouldn’t be so selfish, but this wasn’t exactly how I pictured coming home after eight years.

Chapter Two

The walls of my bedroom at Kellynch have been six different colors. For the first three years of my life, they were a cheery yellow. I don’t remember it but I’ve seen pictures of my tiny baby-self asleep in a bassinet, the walls like lemon meringue. Like most girls, I developed a love of pink and princesses and all things sparkly. Mom had my room repainted to my exact specifications, complete with a filmy canopy over the bed and unicorns in every corner. Then came my lavender phase around age ten. I was too old for pink and thought that pale purple was much more mature. At twelve, I was all about pistachio.

Two years later, Mom died and my walls went through transformation number five. I painted them myself, changing the pale green to stark white. I didn’t cry while I painted, or slap it on in a fit of rage. I painted because I had to. My room became blank and cold. A symbol of my feelings, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

A light knock sounded on the door and Aunt Rose popped her head in. “May I?”

She never used to ask to come in, even when I became a teenager and guarded my privacy like I guarded my mother’s Cartier necklace.

“Sure.” I looked away from the blue paint—transformation number 6—to my Aunt. She sat next to me on the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry you had to come home to all this.”

So was I. Although, I suppose I couldn’t blame them entirely. I’d always taken the money for granted, almost as much as Beth and Dad. Not once had I protested about my paid-for tuition at Juilliard or my apartment near campus. I always accepted the monthly checks Dad sent, and spent them, though I’d never gone into debt myself. The only difference between them and me: I’d earned a little of my own teaching piano.

“What happened?” I asked. “Did Beth buy the entire Hermes fall collection?”

She ignored that. “I’ve tried to curb their extravagances. I’m afraid I pushed too hard and they went underground.”

I wanted to laugh. It was easy to imagine the lengths they would go, all in the name of shopping. But this wasn’t funny. “Dad’s an adult. He should be able to handle himself.”

She sighed. “Your father has never been very good with money. Your mother was the one who handled financial matters.”

I fiddled with the hem of my shorts. “I’m sure you did the best you could.”

Aunt Rose put her arm around me but I didn’t return the gesture.

“Isn’t there something else we could do? What if he sold the beach house? Or the villa?” It was ridiculous that Dad owned three properties but was in so much debt. He had to think smaller. Losing Kellynch would be unbearable, but surely he could sell our Malibu beach house, at least.

“I suggested that, but Walter won’t let go of his properties.” She dropped her arm from my shoulders. “If I can find a renter here, I’m hoping he and Elizabeth will move to Malibu. He owns the beach house outright and the utility costs are much lower than Kellynch. After a few years, the rent should be enough to pull him out.”

I bit my lip. Looking for my own place had just become priority number one.

“It will be hard to say goodbye to Kellynch.” Aunt Rose glossed over the inches of my bedroom. “It’s not even mine but I feel a part of it. And there is so much of Julianne here. Your mother loved this house.”

Just after Mom died, I would wait in the kitchen for my aunt to visit after work, eager to tell her about my day while secretly wishing it was my mom instead. We used to talk of my mom—her sister—and what we thought she’d be doing at the time if she was still alive. But we both knew that it didn’t matter what Mom would do if she was there, only things would be better.

I tried to picture my mom here at this moment, sitting on the stuffed leather chair by the window, a solution to the money problem ready at her lips. Mom had never been in my room when it was blue so it was hard for me to see her here. But then, if she was around, Dad wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with.

“What’s the deal with Beth’s friend?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Shelby Clay?” Aunt Rose’s face darkened. “I’ve warned Elizabeth about bringing that woman around, but you know how she can be.”

Willful? Stubborn? Incapable of thinking about anyone other than herself? Shame pricked my conscience. That wasn’t true. Beth was never selfish when it came to Dad. I was the one who ran away. Beth had never left his side.

“How did they even become friends?” Beth cared a lot about appearances and Shelby Clay was a few steps below her usual crowd.

“I have no idea.”

I don’t know why I bothered asking, Beth never confided in Aunt Rose. “It’s pretty clear what she’s after.”

Aunt Rose gave me a sharp look. “I think you’re right. She’s in her early thirties, divorced three times already. Your father is a magnet for someone like her, even with his financial difficulties.”

It wasn’t like Beth to be so oblivious. My older sister had her faults, but there was no way she’d want that girl to become her new mom.

“I spoke to Walter,” Aunt Rose continued. My eyebrows rose. “He wouldn’t listen either. Shelby is Elizabeth’s friend and he didn’t want to hear any more about it. Perhaps I should have been blunter.”

Good luck with that. Beth’s stubbornness was an inherited trait.

“But enough of this. I want to hear about you.” She put her hand on my knee. I didn’t know what to say or what I felt comfortable talking about, and yet it was nice that she wanted to know. I’d missed that.

“I’m fine. Looking forward to a fresh start.” Another fresh start. Or maybe restart was a better word.

“What about Juilliard?”

I walked to the window. “I didn’t get accepted into the DMA program.” I stared down at the pool below, the empty lounge chairs that would soon have strangers lazing in them. “Since I can’t get my doctoral, there wasn’t much to stay for.” I turned away from the window and faced her, a corner of my mouth lifting. “But I have my Master’s. That’s something.”

“It’s more than something. It’s remarkable.” Aunt Rose smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Ava.”

I looked down at my feet. “Thanks.”

“What now?”

“Oh, you know. Get a job. Find my own place.” Go anywhere but Malibu. “Lexi said something about an audition with her orchestra. I’ll find out tomorrow when I see her.”

“That’s wonderful. You have so many opportunities. I’m sure orchestras around the world would be glad to have you.”

Maybe. There was only so much I could do with a Master’s from Juilliard. Most of my classmates who hadn’t gone on to the DMA program were touring or recording CDs, but I had never wanted to take that path. Notoriety and fame weren’t things I longed for. My fingers tapped a silent tune on my leg.

Aunt Rose smoothed the creases of her pants. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out with—”

“It’s no big deal.”

She studied my face. “You were together a long time. You must be heartbroken.”

“It was mutual.” It had been eight years since I felt comfortable talking to my aunt about my relationships, I wasn’t about to start now.

“Are you sure? I mean…”

“It wasn’t right between Kaz and I anymore. We both knew it.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Well, if you need someone to talk to.” Her fingers fiddled with the pearls around her neck, the second time today her nerves were showing. We both knew I wouldn’t be going to her for relationship advice again.

She got up from the bed. “I’m so happy you’re home. I hope that we can…”

I couldn’t imagine an ending to that sentence that wouldn’t sound forced. Obviously she couldn’t either.

“Dinner should be ready in half an hour,” she said and left the room.

My eyes roamed back to the blue walls. I ran a hand over the smooth paint. Two years of stark white before a deep ocean blue had taken over. I’d chosen the color, but I couldn’t take responsibility for my room coming alive again. I hadn’t been the one to beat down the starkness in my bedroom, or within myself. Someone else had the credit for all that. But I wasn’t ready to think about him either.