Page 3 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

I nodded, knowing he was right. Miles had been with me since the beginning, the man who had seen something in me six years ago when I was just a maid with a mop and a dream that I thought never stood a chance of coming true. He had taken that broken girl and turned her into Angel, guiding me through the transformation with a steady hand, like Geppetto carving his Pinocchio from nothing but a block of wood. The mysterious beautiful woman with the voice from heaven he had created was now a pop star phenomenon, topping the music charts and singing to sold-out arenas all over the world. Miles was still the one keeping everything together, making sure that the world only saw what we wanted them to see.

“Alright,” I agreed, already beginning the process of shedding my stage persona. The wig came off first, and I ran my fingers through my damp blonde hair, feeling the relief of letting my scalp breathe again. Next, I carefully removed the mask, wincing slightly as it pulled away from my skin, leaving the scar beneath red and irritated.

Miles watched me for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Get out of here, and we’ll keep the mystery alive.”

I slipped into a pair of sweats, the soft fabric a welcome change from the elaborate costume I had worn on stage. My entourage was waiting outside the door, ready to cover me in a dark coat and hat, the usual disguise to keep my identity hidden. Security flanked me as we made our way through the back corridors of the venue, out into the cool night air where a car was waiting.

The driver didn’t speak as we left the venue behind, the streets of Orange County quiet this late at night. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past, the adrenaline that had fueled me through the performance beginning to fade. All I wanted now was the solitude of my hotel room, a place where I could be just me, without the weight of Angel pressing down on my shoulders.

The hotel was a towering structure, its lights glowing softly in the night. When we arrived, I stepped out of the car, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, bringing with it the distant salty scent of the ocean. As I walked through the entrance, I overheard a group of people talking excitedly on the sidewalk.

“They say Angel’s staying here while she’s in town. Do you think we’ll see her?” one of them whispered, their tone full of anticipation.

I smiled to myself, knowing that they might catch a glimpse of Angel if they stuck around long enough. Miles had already arranged for my decoy to be seen, making sure that the real me remained hidden. It was a delicate balance, one we had perfected over the years.

Once inside the penthouse suite, I finally allowed myself to relax. The room was luxurious, with an enormous bed, plush furnishings, and a view of the city that was nothing short of breathtaking. As always, it felt too big, too empty, and imposter syndrome began to settle over me. I made my way to the bathroom, eager to shed the last remnants of my famous alter-ago.

The shower was a blessing, the hot water cascading over me, washing away the sweat and makeup that had clung to my skin. I stood there for a long time, letting the water soothe my aching muscles, the steam rising around me like a comforting blanket.

When I finally stepped out, I felt refreshed and lighter, like a different person. My blonde hair fell softly around my shoulders, and my skin was clean and free of the heavy stage makeup. The scar on my cheek, however, was red and angry, a reminder of the mask I had worn for so long. I carefully rubbed oil into my skin, wincing slightly as I touched the scar. It was a part of me, something I couldn’t hide without the mask, no matter how much makeup I applied.

The penthouse was silent, the only sound—the distant hum of the city below. It felt suffocating, the emptiness pressing in on me, so I decided to go out. Somewhere I could sit, have a glass of wine, and just be me for a while until the last vestiges of adrenaline seeped from my system. Maybe then I’d be able to get a good night’s sleep for a change. Sleep hadn’t been a thing I’d been able to take for granted since high school, since before my parents died and everything changed.

I slipped into a simple sundress, something light and comfortable, and slid on a pair of wedge sandals. Makeup was minimal—a touch of mascara, a hint of lip balm—there was no point in trying to cover the scar.

When I exited the hotel, my driver, Joe, was waiting as always.

“Where to, Miss?” he asked, his tone polite and professional as he ushered me quickly into the dark sedan.

“A wine bar,” I replied, not caring which one. “Any bar, just somewhere quiet.”

He nodded and slid into the driver’s seat, hitting the locks as soon as his door had closed. I leaned back as we pulled away from the curb, watching as we wound through the hills of Southern California. The ocean was a dark expanse in the distance, illuminated by the glow of the moon and stars overhead. It was peaceful, and I felt myself beginning to unwind, just a little.

After a short drive, the car stopped in front of a quaint red brick building with the entrance draped in ivy. The sign above read Sunset Vines. The driver turned to me. “This place is supposed to be the best in Orange County. Will this do?”

I glanced up at the charming entrance and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be about an hour.”

Inside, the bar was cozy and intimate, with warm lighting and a rustic charm that immediately put me at ease. I took a seat at the bar, letting the atmosphere wash over me. It was a far cry from the noisy arena, and I welcomed the change.

The bartender approached, and I couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. Tall, with a lean, muscular build, he looked to be around my age, maybe a little older. His dark brown hair was neatly styled, and his eyes were the same shade, warm and inviting. Tattoos snaked up his forearms, visible where he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

“Just a glass of your best red,” I replied, offering a small smile.

He nodded, pouring the wine with practiced ease. “Rough night?”

“You could say that.”

He handed me the glass, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. I felt certain he’d noticed the scar since I was used to people’s stares, but if he did, he didn’t mention it. “Well, you’re in the right place. Sunset Vines has a way of making everything better.”

I took a sip, the wine rich and smooth on my tongue. “I hope you’re right.”

He turned to take the request of another patron who had just walked up, and I swirled the dark liquid in my glass, letting my thoughts drift as I relaxed into the moment.

After serving the customer, the bartender returned to me.

“So, what’s a beautiful woman like you doing here alone?” he asked, casually leaning over the counter. “I would have thought someone would be joining you.”

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