PROLOGUE
Halloween night
‘WOW,THISMUSThave cost a wee fortune to put together.’ Ellie MacGregor shivered in the brisk autumn breeze as she gazed out at the tiered terraces of the lavish art deco Manhattan penthouse. The staggering twilight view over Central Park was nothing compared to the Halloween decorations, which must have taken days to build and had turned the gothic apartment’s roof gardens into a horror nightmare worthy of a theme-park ride. With an hour to go until the guests arrived, the set dressers were still putting the finishing touches on a haunted forest lit by glowing torches, while the catering staff were preparing a cordon bleu banquet which included a Day of the Dead graveyard sculpted in fondant icing and a punch fountain resembling the River Styx.
All just for one night!
How much did all this cost? Probably more than I’d earn in a decade.
‘Haven’t you heard of Alex Costa’s Halloween Ball? He’s one of America’s hottest eligible bachelors. Him and his pal Roman Fraser vie for the top spot inCelebritymagazine’s list every year,’ Carly, the wait staff’s supervisor, supplied in her broad New York accent as she led Ellie past a corridor of groaning ghouls, their eyes lit a glittering green. ‘For myself I think Costa’s hotter—all that blue-collar sex appeal is just so...’ Carly sighed ‘...freaking raw. But Roman Fraser’s drop-dead cute too. He’s got that whole classic Ivy League thing going on and the search for his missing sister totally makes you want to mother him,’ Carly continued as she pushed through a door marked Keep Out or Prepare to Die.
‘What search?’ Ellie asked as they headed into the kitchens where the chilly calm outside gave way to frantic activity.
Carly stopped to stare at her. ‘Seriously? You’ve never heard the story? And you’re Scottish?’
Ellie shook her head, feeling even more clueless than when she’d arrived at La Guardia on her budget flight from Glasgow two days ago—after hitchhiking from the tiny Scottish island of Moira in the Outer Hebrides where she’d spent all of her twenty-one years.
She’d worked for two years in Moira’s pub—after having to return her late parents’ smallholding to the landowner—to earn the money to get here. She’d been looking for adventure, excitement, to see new things, meet people who hadn’t known her since birth and shake off the lingering sadness of losing Ross and Susan MacGregor so close together—Ross from a heart attack and Susan from a broken heart...
Mission accomplished, she thought as Carly launched into the fantastical story of Roman Fraser and his long-lost sister.
Something about a billionaire couple from America’s East Coast checking out a possible hotel purchase in the Highlands one snowy Christmas over two decades ago, a terrible car accident on a dark deserted road, the discovery of the only survivor, their little boy, Roman, barely alive hours later, and the baby who had never been found.
‘You sure you never heard the story?’ Carly asked, still looking astonished.
‘I might have,’ Ellie lied, so as not to look totally clueless.
The truth was, her job meant she often missed the TV news and the Internet only worked occasionally on Moira. Newspapers were already a day old by the time they arrived—so no one paid the news much mind. Plus from what Carly had just related about Roman Fraser’s fruitless search—which had netted the poor guy loads of gold-diggers looking to become a billionaire’s only relation—it had been launched a decade ago, when the guy had first come into his inheritance. She would only have been eleven years old.
‘You should check the story out on your break.’ Carly tilted her head to one side, considering Ellie. ‘You’re about her age, and you’re from Scotland. You never know, you might even be her. Her name was Eloise...kinda sounds like Ellie?’
Yeah, right.Ellie kept the thought to herself.
But seriously, why did every American she’d met so far think Scotland was a country of about twenty people, all of whom she would either know and/or be related to?
‘I was named after my maternal grandmother, Eleanor Fitzgerald,’ Ellie said, feeling ashamed as the guilt she had struggled with ever since her parents’ deaths three years ago pulsed under her breastbone.
The truth was, she’d always yearned to leave Moira, and she’d made her parents’ life hell because of it. The MacGregors had been good, kind, solid, dependable island folk and she their miracle girl, because she’d been born to Susan in her forties after several miscarriages. As a kid, Ellie had bunked off school in the tiny one-room schoolhouse to roam the island and daydream about faraway places, especially New York, which her dad had once told her was exactly three thousand miles away across the Atlantic Ocean. And as a teenager she’d been even worse, hating the small-island mentality, the days spent being home-schooled with three other teens whose ambition had been to grow up to be crofters or fishermen, and all those early mornings herding sheep when she’d wanted to be somewhere cool and sophisticated and decadent, having conversations about anything other than the weather or the price of lamb. Her parents had always been so patient with her, they’d never even raised their voices, just looked at her with that combination of panic and concern in their eyes, which had only made her more ashamed of her wanderlust after their deaths.
Her need to escape had caused them so much pain. And while she’d been bound and determined to see it through, to finally leave Moira and fulfil those long-ago dreams, as soon as she’d arrived in New York she’d realised running away from one life to find another might not be enough. She’d come here to shake off that feeling of not belonging. To be anonymous, fearless, intrepid. And while the canyons of skyscrapers, the noise and energy of the city had fascinated and excited her on one level, they had intimidated and terrified her on another. Maybe she wasn’t as brave and bold as she’d thought. Or as prepared for the dog-eat-dog ethos of the people who lived here? What if she didn’t belong here either?
‘That’s a shame,’ Carly said, jolting Ellie out of her latest day dream. ‘Imagine how awesome it would be to have Roman Fraser as your brother. You’d be the heir to billions. And you could totally hit on Alex Costa, because he’s like Roman’s BFF.’
Ellie nodded, although she didn’t think it was a shame at all.
The MacGregors had been good parents. And she’d had them throughout her childhood. Unlike Roman Fraser, who had lost his parents as a little boy. The shame engulfed her again. If only she’d appreciated Ross and Susan a bit more when they were alive. And as for hitting on Alex Costa? No, thanks. The guy sounded like an entitled playboy from everything Carly had said about him already—in lavish detail. And she was still a virgin—mostly through lack of opportunity, to be fair, but she was not about to throw herself at a guy who probably had to fend off supermodels.
Way to feel even more out of my depth.
And who spent a wee fortune decorating their penthouse for a party when there were people living on the street outside?
She might have a bad case of wanderlust, but she did have some scruples, one of which was not to mess up her big adventure before she’d been in New York City for at least a week. Which meant working hard tonight, so she could get more jobs like this before her savings ran out.
Carly stopped at a rack of elaborate costumes and pulled one out to hold against Ellie’s chest. ‘This should fit.’ She handed the costume to Ellie, which seemed to be of a demonic elf and only half there. The skirt barely reached past her knickers.
‘You can change in the restroom,’ Carly said, glancing at her phone. ‘We start serving when the guests arrive. But they always get here super early—to check out the décor and Mr Costa, even though he’s always super late. So be at your station in twenty minutes.’
‘But... Where’s the rest of this costume?’ Ellie began.