A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Stalking Is Love

Billie stepped out through the main entrance and gulped as much of the nippy Fleckney air as she could; lifting her face to the heavy white clouds shrouding the sky; hoping to bring relief to her tingling flushed skin on her throat and her cheeks. She might have exited his room with her head held high; but she'd started shaking long before she made it downstairs.

Had she just accepted a date invitation from an actor, a half-Holyoake, and a beefcake?! What is this 'nonsensical torrent of whimsy and persiflage' à la Scorpion and Felix?

"Morning," a squeaky voice greeted her.

Billie stared at a youngling of nebulous age and gender standing at attention next to a splitter van. The person had a mop of stylishly dishevelled curls of a stunning, robin's chest orange; coincidentally identical to that of Billie's sisters. Billie, meanwhile, was definitely more of a bullfinch, with her muddy, warmer tone.

"I'm Terry, your guide." The person rocked sideways, trying to see the door behind Billie. "Um... Has there been a delay? Ms. Bondarenko said she'd walk towards the gate; and to pick her up on our way out. But the rest should already be down, innit?"

"They're coming," Billie answered. "They must be finishing their breakfast."

"Oh, right," the one called Terry muttered. They quickly looked at their phone in a bright rainbow case, some glossy bits and bobs clinking on a chain attached to it. "We're picking up the rest of the crew in Fleckney Woulds. I wouldn't want to be late. Is– Who is here in the Hall?" they quickly corrected themselves.

Billie was rather inept in guessing people's true intentions, but even she could see that the person in front of her was interested only in one of the tour-partakers. Billie studied Terry's extra wide, khaki trousers with a pattern of tiny magenta octopuses; an oversize coat of salmon pink; a checked, yellow and blue shawl, thrown roguishly around their neck; and neon yellow bovver boots.

"Mr. Billingsley will be out soon," Billie said with a certain sense of superiority. She might have been in Terry's fanperson's shoes just recently; but Billie could officially announce that she'd been cured. "He's already had his breakfast. It's Ms. Moretti, his publicist; and Mr. Dair, that we're–"

She didn't finish her sentence, because at the sound of Dair's name, the one called Terry emitted a breathy 'oh' and clutched their phone to their chest.

"I can't believe I'm meeting him," Terry murmured, their gaze fixed on the door. "In the flesh! I mean, I've gotten his autograph and a photo with him at last year's Comic-Con, but they don't give you much time with the stars! Still, totally worth the three hundred quid!"

Billie blinked slowly, processing. The probability of Terry's interest was definitely tilting Dair's way. After all, Billingsley wasn't the one who'd played a villain in every modern cinematic franchise worthy of Internet-fuelled frenzy and overpriced convention appearances! Billie could tolerate only that much of the nonsense, so she simply scrolled through Dair's photos in one of those film databases online. There had been a lot of images of him as various monsters and, perhaps, extraterrestrials; his face covered in make-up of pretty much every colour in a crayon box; with horns, and without; his scars hidden under scales, or put on display; his body clad in mediaeval armour, or something 'spacey,' or not much at all. Again, Billie knew nothing of pop culture in toto; but even she could tell that some of these were born on pages of comic books, and some belonged in a galaxy far, far away.

"Oh my god, I'm so nervous," the guide exhaled. "At Comic-con I pretty much had a panic attack just before it was my turn. He was super chill about it, but I basically tripped and fell into his arms. God, those arms!" Terry released a shuddered breath. "He's... scorching! And he smells so good! It's his sister Paloma's brand, Myrtifolia. Vegan and sustainable, ethically produced in Tuscany. He's been their ambassador for six years now."