Chapter One
“Look, Marshal, I know I’m supposed to be flying out to New York this afternoon, but—” Dante Lucas sighed as the man on the other end of the line sounded off. Technically, it was Marshal's job to sound off. He was Dante's agent, but that didn't stop him from being irritating.
“Yeah,” Dante answered, his blues eyes rolling back, as his agent pointed out, yet again, that he might be a hot commodity now, but that could all change at the drop of a hat. “I know, I know, I might have to sell my beloved fedora.” He chuckled as Marshal finally loosened up a little. It was a bright, open smile that had been known to light up a room when he flashed it.
Dante Lucas was the music world’s darling—the new prince of crossover. He’d taken R&B and pop fusion to new heights, caught the eye of many a record label, and was just starting to climb to the top of charts and fans' hearts. And currently, he was supposed to be packing for a meet and greet, all the way across the country, with the world's leading tour directors. The problem was, Dante didn't think he was ready for a world tour, yet. He wasn't some young punk who didn't know how the world worked. He'd been toiling in the small time for twenty years and knew how to pay his dues. So, he'd been hesitant when the chance was offered. He thought the fans deserved more than one hit single before he expected them to shell out money on a concert.
He opened his mouth to voice these very concerns to his agent when a strange sound distracted him. It was nearing sunset, on a surprisingly deserted stretch of Crystal Cove’s beach. His friends in the industry had always wondered why he hadn’t found a place in Malibu or Beverly Hills, but he preferred the quieter, more natural feel of Crystal Cove. He’d even rented one of the historic cottages that sat right on the beach. He kept walking, the warm sand scraping at his feet, until he heard the noise again. He was closer now and realized the noise had the distinct sound of a human voice. A voice calling for help.
“Look, Marshal, I’ll have to call you back, all right?” He didn’t wait for a reply, simply ended the call and slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his board shorts. He scanned the beach, slipping off his dark sunglasses to get a better look. Then he spotted something. About twenty yards ahead, and slightly offshore, a man was struggling in the waves. He was covered in seaweed, like he’d been dragged under, and was crying out for help. Dante swore under his breath and took off across the beach. Before long, he skidded to a stop and took off his hat, revealing a short crop of strawberry-blond hair. He tossed the hat and his sunglasses back on the beach before rushing into the cool water and swimming out to the struggling man.
“It’s okay,” he tried to call out, but almost ended up swallowing a mouthful of water instead. He sputtered and coughed and then swam on. It wasn’t far, but the tide and heavy waves made the swim that much more difficult. He was breathless by the time he made it out. He looked back toward shore and gasped. The two of them were much further from the beach than where they’d started. Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his shoulder and almost drag him under. “Stop struggling,” he yelled. “I’ll get you back to shore, but you have to trust me.” The man nodded vigorously and took his hand off of Dante’s shoulder. Large and frightened brown eyes met his own and Dante asked, “Are you all right? Can you swim at all?” The man was much more solidly built than he and he wasn’t sure he could handle getting them both back to shore without help.
“I think so,” came a soft answer.
“Just…shit,” he grumbled, realizing there was no easy way to do this. “Just hold onto my shirt, but don't pull us down, okay?” He waited for the man to nod and then started back for the shore. He'd only thought the swim out had been slow. It seemed to take hours for them to make any progress and the light started to fade. Eventually, though, the water shallowed out. Dante was exhausted and nauseous, but he managed to get his feet under him and pull the larger man to the shore. Then he collapsed next to him, breathing hard and feeling like he might pass out.
It only took a moment for him to sit back up. He heard the man coughing and gasping for air, so he pushed himself over and began stripping off the seaweed and patting his back. “Are you all right?” he asked, gasping a bit himself. “Man, what were you doing out there?”
“I needed some seaweed samples for a report I'm writing up,” the man answered and then tossed a dripping piece away from him. “It was just right there by the shore, but then…swoosh,” he finished, gesturing out toward the ocean. “Must have been some kind of riptide or something. Then I got all tangled up and couldn't tell which way the shore was. If you hadn't come along…” He let the horrible thought dangle in the air for a moment and then took his first real look at the stranger who’d saved him. His stomach dropped and his mouth followed soon after.
“You’re…you’re…”
“Dante Lucas. Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the birth certificate,” he quipped, trying to diffuse the shock. “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“I'm assuming you have one,” Dante added with his trademark charming smile.
For the first time, his new companion seemed to lighten up and nodded. “Hugo.”
“Hugo?”
“Hugo Tagliatelle.”
“Like the pasta?” Dante pointed out with a chuckle.
“Yeah, like the pasta.”
Dante got to his feet and then stuck his hand out to help Hugo up. Once he was to his feet, they shook hands and Dante got a better look at his new companion as well. Hugo was a mess and yet, there was something endearing about him. “Well, Hugo Tagliatelle, perhaps we should get cleaned up.”
“Oh no, that’s all right,” Hugo sputtered. “I’m sure you have more important things to get back to.” His mind pictured some glorious mansion on a hillside and dripping seaweed all over ten thousand dollar rugs.
Dante tried very hard not to grimace. He did have important things to do, especially if Marshal had his way, but none of it was more important to him than saving someone’s life. “Nah, least I could do is offer you a towel. Come on,” he added and waved Hugo up the beach. “It’s just up there.” He grabbed his hat and sunglasses along the way.
Hugo ran a hand through his salty, wet hair. “You live in one of the beach shacks?” he said in disbelief. Then he jogged a bit to catch up.
“Well, this week,” Dante said, trying to sound serious. It was not one of his strong suits. “I'm just kidding. I like it here. It's quiet. People leave me alone. I can swim every day and go hiking too if I want. What's not to like?”
A wide grin crossed Hugo’s face. “That’s what brought me here too.”
It was dark by the time they stepped onto the porch. Luckily for them, the light was already on. Dante opened the front door with a frown and then spotted a young, black man sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a beer. He shook his head and turned back to Hugo. “Come on in. He’s harmless.” Then he stepped through the door with a sigh. “Hey, Mike.”
“Harmless?” Mike complained. “Did you just call me harmless?”
“Well, mostly harmless.”
Mike huffed and then gave Hugo a surprised once over. “Who the hell is he and what the hell happened to you?”
“We went swimming,” Dante grumbled and stripped off his wet tank top. He threw it onto the back of a wooden chair and then reached into the fridge for a beer of his own. “That is my friend, Hugo,” he said defensively. “Hugo, this is Mike. What are you doing here, Mike?” he asked and downed a swig. Then he set the bottle down on the kitchen table, rather forcefully, and walked to the hall closet for a towel. When he came back, he tossed it to Hugo. “The bathroom’s right down the hall. I don’t think I have any dry clothes that’ll fit you, though.”
“That’s all right,” Hugo mumbled.
“Yep, you’re a big boy, ain’t ya?” Mike taunted.
“Shut up, Mike!” Dante growled and slapped him on the back of the head. He shouted down the man’s protest and said, “You’re supposed to be telling me what you’re doing here.” He took another sip of his beer and, out of the corner of his eye, watched Hugo slip down the hall.
“Marshal sent me. You know, when you didn’t call him back.”
Dante choked on his beer and then wiped the dribble off his chin. He quickly slid the cell phone from his pocket and tried turning it on, but nothing happened. As he held it up, salt water dripped out, making a small puddle on the kitchen table.
“Oh man,” Mike exclaimed, and then held a hand up to his mouth, trying not to laugh. As Dante swore under his breath and sat down next to him, something else caught Mike’s attention. He couldn’t hold in the chuckle at the sight of Hugo coming back down the hall in a bathrobe.
Seeing the pained expression on Dante’s face, Hugo said, “I found it on the back of the bathroom door. I hope you don’t mind.” He smoothed the plush terry cloth, nervously and then moved his hand to his drying head. The hair that had been plastered down by the sea water was now drying into a mass of dark curls. He tried smoothing them as well, but to no avail.
“Nah, man, that’s fine,” Dante assured him and then rubbed his brow. “It’s just…” He held up the ruined phone again. “It was in my pocket.”
Hugo’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, I—”
Dante stood and waved it away, his good-natured smile returning. “It looks good on you. Come on, have a beer with us.”
Mike raised a curious eyebrow and then shook his head as Hugo sat down hesitantly. “Look, man, I gotta go. You can use my phone if you want to call Marshal real quick.”
Dante clenched his jaw as he dug out another beer from the fridge. “Just tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“You’re supposed to be in New York tomorrow.”
Dante sat the beer in front of Hugo, who’d been quietly watching the exchange. “Yeah, I’m aware of that, thanks. Just tell him, will you? Now get out of here, Mikey.”
“All right, all right,” Mike replied, holding up his hands. “Don’t call me that, though. You know I hate that name.”
“Uh-huh.” Dante chuckled and sipped his beer as his colleague headed out the door. Then he sat back down, across from his new friend and raised his bottle. “Welcome to the life of a superstar.”
Hugo didn’t say anything, just opened his bottle and took a sip. He glanced around the modest cottage, with its rustic, drift wood furniture and antique looking appliances. He was still surprised by it and figured that, surely, Dante Lucas must have some penthouse in L.A. to go with it. “You really live here?” he finally got up the nerve to ask.
Dante nodded. “Yeah, most of the time.”
Ah, here it comes, Hugo thought.
“I spend a lot of time living out of hotels too, though. I have to travel a lot, even when I don’t want to. Mostly I like to write and record, do some small concerts here and there. My agent, Marshal, he wants me to do a big tour, maybe even multi-country. I don’t think I’m ready for that, you know?” He heard a strange sound and glanced down. “Hell, I’m dripping all over the floor. I’m gonna go change. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty to eat in the fridge.” With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving Hugo to contemplate all he thought he knew about the singer.
Dante Lucas had an image, one that included money, cars, and girls. He was the lovable bad boy and millions of people were starting to love him for it. Hugo had even found himself drawn to the man, though it had been against his better judgment. The strange thing was, he'd seen no evidence of anything like that public image that evening. He shook his head, falling deep into thought, as he waited for the singer to return. When he did return, the two of them ended up talking for a couple of hours, though Hugo was careful to avoid broaching the subject of his image. He thought it might be a bone of contention, that it was probably something crafted by people like agents and record labels.
After a while and another beer, Dante said, “You might as well crash on the couch. I’ve got some extra blankets. The beach is closed at night and it wouldn’t do to be caught wandering around in a bathrobe.”
Hugo chuckled. “I’m not sure it would surprise anyone.”
“So, you have a reputation too?” Dante hooted and then laughed at the look on Hugo’s face. “If the seaweed’s anything to go by…”
His friend nodded. “I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah, testing for levels of mercury or whatever. Look, tomorrow will probably be a long day. I’ve got to get to the studio and do a little tweaking on a new song. I’m sure my agent will be there to yell at me, too. I need some sleep.”
“The studio?” Hugo repeated quietly. He didn’t even really like his style of music, but something about the way Dante did it had him hooked. He was one of the most talented singers he’d ever heard.
Dante sensed his friend’s awe and snorted. “We’ll be there all morning. If you want to drop by sometime…”
“I’d love that.”
“Good,” he answered, an unaccustomed shyness overcoming him. “I hope you like it.” With that, he looked away, feeling embarrassed, and nodded toward the hall closet. “I’ll get you those blankets.”