The Queen Of My Heart: Falling For An 'It-Girl' Read online

  The Queen Of My Heart

  Falling for an 'It-Girl'

  A.Goswami

  Free Lesbian Romance Novel by A Goswami

  Hello Dear Readers,

  Please don’t forget to download your free 300-page Lesbian Romance Novel by me that I would like to give to you as a thank you for reading and enjoying this book.

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  Chapter One

  If I was supposed to feel intimidated by the BMW 7 series, then I would say it had done its job.

  I had never sat inside a car that looked and moved like a spaceship on wheels. The last foster family I lived with owned a Toyota pick-up truck, which my little foster brother had named Mr. Rickety, and I don't think I need to tell you why.

  But the BMW was nothing like Mr. Rickety.

  And I was guessing my new foster family was also not going to be anything like my last one.

  The driver that Mr. Hammer had sent to pick me up from my now former foster family, was kind enough, and also old enough to be my grandparent, which I liked.

  Yeah, I have a thing for grandparents, wait, that came out all wrong, what I meant was, since I never saw mine, I had an affinity for them.

  I also had a thing for staying quiet, and left undisturbed, which the old driver wasn’t able to comprehend by my one-line answers to him.

  “We’ll be at your new home within minutes. I used to live in this area, you know before I got this job. I still miss it sometimes,” the driver rambled on, as I looked outside at the lower-income suburbs of Los Angeles.

  How could someone miss this place? It was run down, crime-infested, and reeked of sweat and poverty.

  I felt like asking the man why he would say such a thing, but decided against it, when I realized it was too much work to be sociable right now.

  I was anxious

  Moving day was always like this.

  You had no idea, or barely any idea who had picked to foster you. A few days before moving day, you were asked to pack your bags, and say goodbye to people you had either come to love or hate and then wait until the case worker landed at the doorstep to transport you to a new place like you were goods in transit.

  Maybe that’s what I was. Goods in transit, eternally, never reaching a place of permanence.

  After 15 minutes of driving down the state highway, the driver took an exit, and I saw the Malibu coastline emerge in the distance.

  Malibu.

  I still couldn't believe I was going to live in Malibu, California.

  As the excitement in me started to build up, I took a deep breath, and cut it down before it could develop into something more dangerous, like wishful thinking.

  Malibu was just a new, temporary port where I was arriving, and soon, I would be stamped, checked, and dispatched to a different port.

  Better not get too excited, Alice.

  Realizing we were going to reach soon, I unlocked my phone, opened the camera app, and looked at myself through the selfie camera.

  Nope. You don’t look like you belong here.

  I ran a hand through my light blonde hair, and when that did not work, took out a comb from my backpack, and aggressively started combing the disheveled, wavy mess that was my hair.

  No matter what you do, Alice, you’ll never look like you belong here.

  A few more minutes rolled by, and soon, the beach was glittering under the afternoon sun on my left, and on my right, cliffs topped with massive mansions of multi-millionaires, stood majestically, peering down at me with judgemental eyes.

  “Not very long now. In about 30 more seconds, you will be able to see your new home!” The driver did his best to make it sound like it was actually my home, but who was he kidding.

  It wasn’t my home.

  It was a factory.

  Goods In-transit, remember?

  “There it is!” said the driver, pointing at the biggest mansion in sight, perched on the top of the steepest cliff.

  “Fuck!” I whispered to myself.

  Now, I don't usually curse, but when I do, it is always justified.

  And the mansion justified it.

  It came into view as the car turned a bend, and the road ahead curved and fell slightly to the left, affording an almost top-down view of the cliffs ahead, which were sprinkled with a mix of modern, and Mediterranean villas and mansions, placed like cherries atop the flaky chocolate cake that was the Malibu cliffs, and the largest, most flashy and in your face mansion out of all was the one that the driver was pointing at.

  Only half of it was visible, while the other half was hidden away behind a line of palm trees.

  Palm trees lining the edge of a cliff. Let me say that again, palm trees, in a grove, lining the extreme edge of a damn cliff!

  Through the trees, I could see an infinity pool, landscaped, manicured, lush green gardens, glass doors glinting in the distance, and light gray walls, with slanting traditional roofs, tiled with dark gray slabs of stone or whatever it was that they tile roofs with, and five massive chimneys.

  It was a secluded piece of paradise, nestled against the shoreline, with nothing but the narrow state highway separating it from the vastness of the Pacific ocean.

  I frantically took out my phone to click a picture.

  The kind, old driver chuckled.

  “You are not a tourist who won’t be visiting again. You’ll be living in that house. You can take as many pictures as you want later!”

  ∞∞∞

  If the BMW had intimidated me, then the mansion almost drove me to a panic attack.

  The massive textured walls of the living room dwarfed me, and the vast, empty spaces between two pieces of furniture made the house feel cold and distant.

  Yes, it was gorgeous, and yes it was straight out of one of those expensive house tour videos I sometimes binged on YouTube, but the opulence was daunting, the marble, and the gold engravings on the knobs of doors, around the huge frames of oil paintings, and even on faucets in the washrooms was too much.

  My excitement suddenly turned to fear, as I realized how my loneliness would be so much more pronounced in a house like this.

  Yes, I was a weird kind of loner, who liked to be left alone, but also hated feeling lonely.

  Go figure!

  I looked around, and saw the massive glass doors at the other end of the living room, spanning half the length of the entire living area.

  The sun filtered in through the glass, while the deep blue infinity pool beyond the glass door shimmered illustriously.

  I could already see myself spending most mornings and evenings by the pool, in the little alcove next to it which also served as the lounging area with a mini bar, amidst the many lounging areas I had spotted while making my way from the main door to the living room.

  A woman served me coffee, along with muffins and pastries, which looked like they had been imported from a remote village in France.

  I looked at the food with hesitation, before gingerly picking up a chocolate pastry topped with cream, and taking a bite.

  “Fuck,” I whispered for the second time within twenty-four hours.

  Must be a new record!

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of boots on marble, and I almost dropped the pastry to the floor.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw a man dressed in a black leather jacket and ripped jeans with leather boots striding towards me, while a pretty blonde woman hurried behind him with a beige leather-bound folder in her hand.

  “Alice!” his deep, baritone voice bounced off the stucco walls of the living room and sent shivers down my spine.

  Alice, if you had a dollar for every time you were intimidated today!

  I stood up, as if I was suddenly introduced to royalty, and almost bowed.

  What the hell, Alice?

  “Keep sitting, dear,” David Hammer took off his jacket, and handed it to the woman who I assumed was his assistant.

  I sat right on the edge of the couch, half of my bony ass hanging off the seat.

  “Welcome,” Mr. Hammer looked straight at me with half a smile.

  I had seen David Hammer a lot over the years, mainly on TV, and in magazines, and once when I had won tickets to the premiere of his movie ‘In Deep Trouble’, and every time, I had been left thinking; if only I wasn’t so gay.

  The man was a stubbled, southern hunk of a man, with a genius film-making brain inside his skull. He was arguably the most powerful man in Hollywood, and maybe the most good-looking as well.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you like the place?” he made a lazy, sweeping gesture with his hand.

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Really? I think it is too much. Restricts creativity. You want to be a filmmaker as well, right?”

  “Yeah, it has been a dream ever since I was a kid.”

  “Great, you are in the right house, then. I look forward to talking with you about films and film-making.”

  “Oh, that would be such an honor, Mr. Hammer,” I couldn't help but smile. But the next second, I pulled back the smile and went back to an expressionless face.

  Temporary Home. Factory. Goods In-transit. Don’t get attached. I repeated the words in my head like a mantra.

  “Is her room ready?” Mr. Hammer asked his assistant, who was standing by his side like one of the guards outside Buckingham palace.

  “Yes, all her stuff is already there.”

&
nbsp; “Great…great,” The second ‘great’ was barely audible as Mr. Hammer mumbled to himself.

  “Listen, Alice. I am very happy to host you. I know the transition process for kids under foster care can be a traumatic experience.”

  My mind went back to the time my case worker dropped me at a wooden house in the middle of the Californian desert, with rats scurrying in and out of holes in the exterior walls.

  Traumatic? No kidding.

  “But that won’t be the case in my house. I don’t usually live here most days, as I have another house in the Hollywood Hills, near the studio, but you don’t have to worry, the head housekeeper, Mr. William Bates will look after you. He is a trusted man, and almost like a family member.”

  I nodded.

  “You will be living and going to school with my daughter Diana. She is…mostly nice,” Mr. Hammer looked at his assistant with a cheeky smile, “but I think she’ll mostly stay out of your way. Or let’s hope she does…eh? She is too self-involved and self-centered to really care for much. So I think, you will mostly stay off her radar, well, unless you start dressing better than her. I can't promise you will be the best of friends, but she won’t bother you,” Mr. Hammer lit a cigarette, and moistened the tip with his lips, “and if she does, you tell me, okay?” he said as an afterthought, before putting the cigarette between his lips.

  “Is she here?” I asked, feigning interest in his daughter, as I thought that was the polite thing to do.

  “I don’t know. Is she here?” he looked inquiringly at his assistant.

  “I’ll have to ask William.”

  “If she is, then ask her to come. I want to introduce her to Alice.”

  The assistant nodded, and walked away, probably in search of the head butler, William Bates.

  Mr. Hammer’s phone rang, and he picked it up.

  He mouthed, ‘I gotta pick this’, and went outside to the pool area, leaving me alone with the mammoth house once again.

  My mind started analyzing the conversation I had just had with Mr. Hammer.

  Was I going to be bullied for the 368th time in a foster home? The way Mr. Hammer described his daughter, it seemed like she fit the mold of all the bullies who had either stuffed me in lockers, or in cupboards, or once when I was stuffed inside a washing machine, and then laughed at from outside by the bully and his friends, like an animal in a zoo.

  I took a deep breath, and noticed a picture hanging on the wall of Mr. Hammer, his deceased wife and the daughter.

  I felt curious.

  I walked up to the picture, which was bordered by a frame made of marble and granite, and it seamlessly morphed with the wall, without any protrusions.

  Standing in a lush green field, with a medieval castle behind them, the family was smiling at the camera.

  Mr. Hammer, a few years younger than now, was standing with his hands in his pockets, while his wife and the daughter were sitting on the grass, cross-legged and facing each other.

  I looked at the daughter, and found her irresistibly cute.

  She looked like she was in middle school, and the massive grin on her face, as she reached out with both her hands for her mother, told me she was completely lost in the moment, and did not care for cameras, or lighting, or how she looked.

  But I was sure all that must have changed now.

  She was a filmmaker’s daughter, raised amidst the storm that was Hollywood, and in a generation that was addicted to likes and mentions. I was almost certain her relationship with the camera had changed from when she was a girl in pigtails to now.

  Or maybe the pigtails remained.

  I had a thing for girls in pigtails.

  Footsteps derailed my train of thought once more.

  I turned around, and had my first sighting of her.

  Yep, her relationship with the camera must be super healthy.

  She walked in looking bored as hell, with joggers and a sports bra, and no sign of makeup, but even then, she looked like she regularly broke hearts, just for the fun of it.

  She was pretty, no doubt, and definitely not a good in transit like me.

  She was a rare element, an exotic good that was shipped alone, without sharing space with other cargo, headed to only one place, a museum where people would line up to see her.

  And she was definitely going to bully me.

  “Hi, I am Diana, you must be Alice,” It was a statement and not a question. Her father must have spoken to her about me.

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” I made my way to her, and she arched one of her eyebrows curiously.

  That is when I noticed her eyes.

  They were hazel, like two almonds set inside a shell, and they slanted upwards towards her temples, making her look more East Asian than American.

  I shook her hands.

  Intimidation counter of the day: Malfunctioning because of the heavy load.

  “Are you sure you are a senior? You look like a freshman.”

  “Yeah, I know, I don't look my age. Cons of being petite with a baby face, I guess.”

  “No, it’s good. You won’t age like me. I already look like I have had three abortions and a miscarriage.”

  Is she delusional, or just very insecure about her looks?

  “I think you look great.”

  “Thanks, I guess. So, you are going to be my foster sister, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, well, don’t expect me to be one. I can hardly take care of myself. I don’t need the extra pressure of making someone else feel at home.”

  Direct! She doesn’t mince her words, does she?

  “That’s okay, I mostly keep to myself. I have done this before.”

  “Done what before?” she pocketed her hands, and shrugged her shoulders, which made the curls of her hair do a little shimmy.

  “Moving into a house where people don’t want the pressure of making me feel at home. That’s why I never consider wherever I go…my home. It’s just a temporary place of residence until I turn 18, and can be on my own.”

  “Fuck, talking to you is going to be listening to a very soppy, sad podcast, isn’t it? I bet you have a sad story about everything .”

  I would have felt offended if it was my first rodeo. But when you compare it to being stuffed in a washing machine, it was more than bearable.

  “No, I try to give my sad stories a funny spin.”

  “So, you are funny?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I guess we’ll never know then, cuz I won’t hang around you to listen to your sad slash funny stories. You keep to yourself, and I'll keep to myself, and that way, we can roleplay two sisters who couldn't give a shit about each other, how about that?”

  “Works for me,” I agreed.

  “I see you guys have already met. Diana, Alice is going to be staying with us until the end of senior year, and that’s a long time, so I want you both to get along, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, we have already come to an understanding,” Diana said, and her father looked at her curiously.

  “Which is?” he asked.

  “I’ll pretend she is invisible, and she is going to be fine with it. Now, can I go back to my room?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know how you’re going to pretend she is invisible, when you will be taking her to school with you tomorrow,” Mr. Hammer said in his most authoritative voice.

  “What?”

  “Yep, and I don't want to hear a single word in protest. Take her to school, make sure she gets her bearings, and then, you can go back to doing whatever you want. But tomorrow, you do as I say.”

  Diana shot her father a dirty look, and then did the honor of shooting me one as well.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Hammer, she doesn’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “You stay out of this, Alice. She needs to learn to be a little more hospitable. Now Alice, go to your room and settle in. I’ll send William to give you a tour of the house when you are well-rested. I need to leave.”

  Mr. Hammer exited, leaving Diana and me in an environment

  seething with tension.

  “My life better not become hell because of you.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep out of it, Diana. I don’t want trouble.”

  “You better not,” Diana whispered her threat, and I hoped the washing machine in this house was as big as the house itself.

  Chapter Two