Monique narrowed her eyes before spinning on her heel to stomp away. Something told me I wasn’t going to like Monique’s next move any better than Ella’s.

Catching the glare of a camera lens, I tucked my hands into my pockets and headed over to the paparazzi, hoping to ask one of them for the photographic proof of Monique’s attempt to further disrupt my relationship with my family.

My need to protect Ella’s feelings reared up, shocking me with its intensity. I’d thought of her before Jeremiah—not my normal modus operandi these past few months. When had I stopped thinking about Ella? Why had I quit?

Because as my fame increased, her enthusiasm tanked, which hurt my pride, but, more, my feelings. I felt like she didn’t want me to achieve the success my brother-in-law Asher had. Like she didn’t think I was worthy of the adulation.

I rubbed my hand across the back of my neck, annoyed when the pap ran off. Not surprising, but now I had a new conundrum: How to get those pictures when I didn’t have anyone on my team with connections to the media?

I needed to call Ella. Futile though it would be. Ella might look like a sweet English sprite, but the woman held a grudge better than anyone I’d ever met. She said it was because she was a Scorpio. Whatever the hell one had to do with the other.

I stooped down and grabbed the papers Ella had dropped at my feet.

Ella. So many questions circled through my head. Did she know the sex of the baby? Most important in my mind was the question of whether she and the baby were healthy. Did the baby have Huntington’s, the disease that killed my brother and father?

I pulled myself up into my trailer. Gerard stood in the small kitchen, nibbling at his fingernails.

“Tell me, Gerard. How did Ella get these?” I slammed the papers onto the counter as I glared at my paunchy manager. He blanched and bit harder at his next nail.

“I-I don’t know. This is not going to go over well with the label.”

Ella’s shattered eyes popped to mind, followed by Jeremiah’s disgusted sneer. I grabbed the papers and moved to the living area and settled into one of the arm chairs.

I should have taken Asher up on his suggestion to chat with him about fame. Instead, I’d let my pride stand in front of my intelligence . . . and ignorance. Now Ella and Jeremiah were paying the full price, thinking I no longer wanted them.

That was a deadshot between the eyes. One I didn’t know how to fix—if I could ever fix it.