Girl in the Attic: Ashes and Rose Petals Book One

By ID Johnson

A contemporary mash-up retelling of Cinderella and Romeo and Juliet.
Ella Sinders is content to toil away as a graphic designer for the company owned by her absent father. She spends all her time in the attic of his large home, taking orders from her stepmother, fear of what lies outside of her own front door keeping her from wandering afar—until an accidental phone call opens her eyes to the lies she’s been told. Now, she’s desperate to reach the man on the other end of the line to see if they can build a life together. However, the discovery that the one she’s falling for is the son of her father’s sworn enemy complicates the situation even more so than her stepmother’s deception.
Rome Verona wants nothing more than to make a name for himself amidst the glitter and gold of LA’s elite. His father might be a big name movie producer, but Rome wants to build his own legacy. When an accidental phone call leads him to the daughter of his father’s nemesis, Rome will do whatever it takes to find Ella and set her free, even if it means giving up everything he’s worked so hard for.
Can these star-crossed lovers overcome the obstacles and find the happily-ever-after they deserve?
If you like high-drama romances with lots of twists and turns and plenty of opportunities to suspend reality, then you’ll love Ashes and Rose Petals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ID Johnson
• Release date: Feb 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9791220265713

ID Johnson

ID Johnson wears many hats: mother, wife, editor, tutu maker, and writer, to name a few. Some of her favorite people are the two little girls who often implore that she "watch me!" in the middle of forming finely crafted sentences, that guy who dozes off well before she closes her laptop, and those furry critters at the foot of the bed at night. If she could do anything in the world, she would live in Cinderella's castle and write love stories all day while sipping Dr. Pepper and eating calorie-less Hershey's kisses. For now, she'll stick to her Dallas-area home and spending her days with the characters she's grown to love. After 16 years in education, Johnson has embarked on a new career, one as a full-time writer. This will allow her to write at least one book per month, which means many of your favorite character will have new tales to tell in the upcoming months. Look for two spin-off series of The Clandestine Saga, one staring Cassidy Findley and another involving backstories for your favorite characters. Johnson will also produce several new historical romance novels and a new sweet contemporary Christian romance series as well.

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Johnson

Chapter 1

Bird in a Cage

The bird was back. Perched outside of the attic window, it chirped a cheerful song, fluttering its wings and tapping its beak on the glass. Ella Sinders found herself distracted again. The bright blue feathers, the same shade as the sky behind the visitor, beckoned her to come outside, to feel the crisp spring air, feel the grass beneath her feet, gaze at the clouds as they rolled by, and forget all of her troubles.

But that wasn’t an option. Not only did she have more work to do than it would be humanly possible to get done in two lifetimes, she literally could not go outside. The door was locked. The door was always locked. Other than sticking her head out the small window and basking in the sunshine that way, there wasn’t much of an opportunity for her to enjoy the great outdoors.

I’m sorry, little birdie, she said, refocusing on the computer in front of her. I can’t play right now.

The bird sang its song again, and Ella hummed along as her fingers flew over the computer keys. The design she was working on was coming along. She thought her father would really like it. She just had a few more touches to add, and then she’d be ready to submit it for approval.

So focused was she on her work and the song she was humming, she didn’t hear the door open until it closed with a sharp thump, and then the key scraped against the lock again. Alarmed, Ella turned to see who it was. Relief washed over her when she saw it was only her friend, Mary Baker, the only one of the household's workers allowed to come into the attic while Ella was working. It wasn’t because she was the most trustworthy of the group; it was just because Ella’s stepmother, Teresa, disliked Mary almost as much as she disliked Ella, so she sent her up to the attic to do the dirty work.

Sorry to disturb you, Mary said, ducking her head. She was a tiny woman, thin, pretty, with a brown mop of short hair.

Oh, don’t be silly. Ella giggled and turned back to her work. You’re not disturbing me. I just thought you might be… someone else.

Don’t worry. Mommy dearest is laying out by the pool, as are her worthless daughters. Taking a few steps closer to Ella, she whispered, I hope all three of them burn to a crisp.

Trying not to laugh, Ella shook her head. Be nice, Little Mouse. No need to lower yourself to their level. The nickname was more for Mary’s size than the fact that her hair was such a mousy shade of brown. That and she seemed to attract the creatures.

Mary sighed, going about her dusting. I don’t understand how you can be so sweet, Ella. They’re awful to you. Only letting you out of this attic for dinner. I don’t know why you don’t say something to someone.

Who? I never see anyone--except for you.

Your cousin Tim is allowed to see you. Does he know about your imprisonment?

Don’t be so dramatic. Ella didn’t wish to downplay the situation, but she knew Mary was right. If she had known what her stepmother had in store, perhaps she never would’ve come back from France. She knew she’d be taking an important job for her father’s movie marketing company, but she had no idea she’d never be allowed to leave the house.

Her father, Lloyd Sinders, one of the most successful, and thus wealthiest, movie marketers in the world, was overseas himself now and planned to be for the next several months. He had no idea that Teresa had her locked up. His wife had explained to Ella that the arrangement was for her own good, but Ella knew better. Teresa was still jealous of her mother who had died when Ella was seven. It was clear that her father still loved his first wife more than he could ever love Teresa. Though Teresa was a beautiful blonde with the nicest fake boobs money could buy, she didn't have the natural beauty Chantel Bisett had exuded on both the inside and out. Ella looked almost exactly like her mother, and it drove Teresa crazy. She had been a rival of Chantel’s when they were both models. Thus, Ella was locked away at least until her father returned. By then, Teresa must’ve hoped she’d decide for herself this is where she wanted to be.

Ella didn’t hate it as much as one might think. Of course, she longed to go out into the world, to feel the sun and the breeze. But she had no friends in LA. She’d attend school in France since she had been in grade school. Her Aunt Suzette had practically raised her after her mother died. It seemed her father, who professed to love her, also had trouble looking into the same eyes he missed so desperately since his wife had passed away.

Her two stepsisters, Anna and Drew, who were aspiring actresses, spent every night at dinner chattering about how horrible the world was out there. They were both beautiful, though Ella questioned their acting abilities. With the connections their stepfather had, they should have easily been able to get better parts than the commercials and walk on roles they were getting. Both of them complained that the world was a terrible, cruel place, one that would wad you up and spit you out. Why would Ella want to go out there if she didn’t have to?

Besides that, she didn’t look like the girls she saw in the photographs of actresses and models she worked on for the marketing campaigns. They were all blonde, with golden tans, big, fake boobs, and curvy hips. Ella’s dark hair, Mediterranean coloring, and thin build made her feel inferior to these actresses and other women in every way possible.

Here, in the attic, she was safe to wear her baggy pants and T-shirts, not worry about makeup, and never have to concern herself with being compared with others. If the other women in LA acted like her stepsisters, she didn’t want to have anything to do with any of them.

No, her best hope at this time was for her father to come home so that she could speak to him about going back to France. She was much more comfortable in the little village she’d lived in with her aunt. She had friends there. That’s where she was most happy.

You have a phone. And email. Why don’t you tell your father what she’s up to? Mary asked, sweeping the barren wood floor with a broom.

Ella shook her head. You don’t understand, Mary. It’s more complicated than that. I don’t want to make Teresa hate me. My father will start asking questions before he believes me, and when she finds out, she’ll take both of those things away. My father will be back in a few months. I’ll talk to him then.

If he comes back when he says he will. He’s already extended his trip twice.

True. The bird was still fluttering at the window, and for a moment, Ella wished she had wings so she could fly away. I’ll be all right, Little Mouse.

The housekeeper shook her head, but she was giggling. I’m not as timid as a little mouse. Just because I have a way of attracting the little critters, that doesn’t make me one.

Ella laughed, remembering how funny it had been each of the times the mice that slept in the walls came out to follow Mary around, curious about her sweeping, Ella supposed. She was some sort of a mouse whisperer. I’m thankful that you’re so bold, Mary. It serves you well.

One of these days, after I’ve secured employment elsewhere, I’m going to accidentally leave this door unlocked. Then, you can escape if you’d like to.

Turning her head away from the computer to meet her friend’s eyes, Ella smiled. Don’t get yourself into any trouble on my account, Mary. I’m all right.

The moment you change your mind, you let me know.

I will. Ella turned back to the screen, doing her best to ignore the echo of the lock clicking shut, sealing her in the attic indefinitely, at the mercy of a stepmother who was anything but merciful.

Chapter 2

A Soapy Audition

What do you mean you’ve got a secret? the woman with the bright red lipstick asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

I mean… I’m your brother! Rome Verona said, doing his best to feel the line as if it were true. He looked across the room at the reader sitting behind the table, holding her gaze for a moment, his expression unwavering, until the man next to her ended the scene.

Wonderful. Thank you, Rome. He smiled, nodding his head and taking some notes. We'll be in touch.

Thank you, Rome said, trying to look confident as he nodded and waved, heading out the door to his right.

Once he was out in the hall, he took a few deep breaths. He’d done fine. The audition had gone as expected. The only problem was, the audition was for a role in a soap opera, not exactly the big break he’d been looking for.

Rome brushed his dark blond hair out of his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket, stopping to thank the girl behind the reception desk, who was batting her eyelashes at him. He ignored it, used to girls flirting with him. Stepping outside, he called his best friend, Balthasar Pierce, to let him know how the audition went.

Bart answered on the first ring. Well?

Hello to you, too, Rome chuckled, pulling his keys out of his pocket to unlock his Mercedes. It had been a present from his parents for his twenty-first birthday. In the last four years since they’d given it to him, he’d dreamed of making his own way so that he could afford to buy his own replacement when he needed to.

How did it go? Bart asked. Did you get the part?

Climbing into the car, Rome answered, I don’t know yet. They don’t tell you right away. I think it went okay. I’ll find out in a few days, I suppose.

I don’t get you, man. Your dad owns one of the biggest production companies in LA. Hell, in the world. What are you doing auditioning for bit parts and soaps, Rome?

Shaking his head, Rome answered the same way he had the last twenty times he’d been asked the question. I told you. I want to do this myself. I don’t want anyone saying I rode my dad’s coattails to fame.

But this is Hollywood. Everyone does that.

Not me. Rome switched his phone so that it was utilizing his Bluetooth so he could drive. I don’t want to be that guy, Bart. You know that.

Yeah, I guess so. All right. Well, let me know what you hear. I would think after that big movie you just did, this should be easy.

Rome scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot and merging into traffic. Dad’s still pissed about that. Besides, the movie might be big, but the part was little.

He can’t have it both ways. If he’s not going to help you, he can’t be mad at you for doing what you have to do.

I know. And when I took the part, I had no idea that dad’s archnemesis was the one doing the marketing for that movie. Just because he doesn’t work with Sinders Cinema Marketing doesn’t mean that no one does. They’re the biggest marketing firm in LA. He got in the turning lane so he could head back to his apartment.

So why is he pissed?

He just hates anything and everything that has to do with Lloyd Sinders, that’s all.

That’s dumb. Your dad should put you in one of his movies.

Bart, we’re talking in circles now. I’ve gotta go. I’m almost home.

Okay. Are you going out tonight?

Probably. But I’ve got to call Mark and see what he’s up to.

Don’t forget he’s got new digits.

Oh, yeah. He’d written Mark’s new number down somewhere. It was probably in the pocket of the jeans he’d worn out to the club the night before. I’ll talk to you later, Bart.

All right. See ya.

Rome disconnected the call and pressed his code into the gate that was meant to keep unwanted people out of his apartment complex, not that it wasn’t easy enough to get in if one tried hard enough. He headed for his parking spot, hoping he could get this role so he could continue to live here. While he had money left from the last job, the movie Bart had mentioned, he needed to keep making more if he was going to stay independent and not have to go crawling back to mommy and daddy looking for funds.

A busty blonde walked by as he was getting out of his car. Hey, Rome! She pulled her sunglasses down and looked at him over the top of them. You going out tonight?

He’d seen her around, but he had no idea what her name was. She was pretty in that traditional California girl sense, but girls like her were a dime a dozen here. Maybe.

Well, I’ll be at Lucky Red if you wanna hang.

I’ll keep that in mind. He smiled at her, but as soon as he turned around, he rolled his eyes and the smile faded.

Rome headed into his apartment, planning to check his email, answer a few texts, and call his friend Mark. Going out on the town was a surefire way to forget about having to find a new role. He was getting older now, though. At twenty-five, drinking, dancing with hot, easy chicks, and the hangovers that followed, weren’t quite as appealing as they had been a few years ago. He was ready to settle down, get his shit together, maybe even get a long term role in a television show. And find the right girl.

And she wasn’t going to be hanging out at any of the clubs his good pal Mark dragged him to. Of that, Rome was almost positive. Because the girl he’d want to make his forever one day would have to have a little more substance to her than the chicks he met at clubs, like his last girlfriend, Candy, who’d had great boobs but no common sense. No, Rome was just about ready to leave that world behind.

He sat down on the couch, phone in hand, trying to determine whether or not to give it all one last hurrah--or two. He knew if he called Mark, his friend would talk him into it. With a loud sigh, he pulled himself up to go look for that phone number.

It took a while to find it. Eventually, Rome located a wadded up paper in the back pocket of his jeans. He smoothed it out and stared at the numbers. Was that a one or a seven? As he puzzled over it, his phone rang. He hoped it was Mark so he wouldn’t have to figure it out, but it wasn’t. His agent was calling. Doubting she had word about the role yet, he was reluctant to answer because she’d have more questions than Bart had. Still, he decided to get it over with. Taking the paper with him, he headed back to the couch. Hi, Marge….

Chapter 3

The Wrong Number is the Right Number

The promo poster she was working on was just about finished. Ella just needed to add a couple of more filters to get the lighting just right, and she’d be ready to send it to her father for his approval. There was just one thing--she had become transfixed on one of the supporting actors and hadn’t been able to concentrate on finishing. A check of the time told her that her stepmom would be in to check on her soon. She needed to be finished, or else she’d have to eat dinner alone in the attic while she completed the job. Since her cousin Tim was supposed to come over tonight, she wanted to get done.

But… there was just something about his face that kept her eyes glued to the man in the picture for far too long. He had light brown hair, a little long on top, that fell over one of his piercing blue eyes. The smile on his face was confident, yet not cocky like most of the other actors she spent her time staring at while working. She was pretty sure she’d never seen him before. A face like that would be hard to forget.

The urge to make him the focal point had to be overcome. He wasn’t the main star of the film, only a supporting actor. Still, the camera loved him. It was a shame he was off in the corner, next to a few of the other actors who had yet to make a name for themselves.

In fact, she didn’t even know what his name was. The two main leads were easy to recognize, even for someone who hadn’t watched movies or television in months and had been used to watching French TV before that. A few of the other actors and actresses looked familiar, too, but this one… she didn’t know who he was. But she wanted to find out.

The cell phone next to her computer rang. It was one she used to speak to clients, usually unhappy ones. Yet another job her stepmother thought she’d be perfect for. She'd convinced her father that Ella’s ability to speak four languages fluently made her perfect for the job. However, when these callers spoke French to her, it wasn’t in the true sense of the word. It was only because they were cursing at her. Usually, it was just a misunderstanding, and she was able to repair the damage. Lucky for her most of the business dealings between Sinders Cinema Marketing and the rest of the entertainment industry were usually on point.

Ella finished applying the final filter and let her work render as she answered the phone. Sinders Cinema Marketing, customer service division. This is Ella. How may I be of service? After all that, she was often surprised that they hadn’t hung up.

This time, she thought maybe the caller had disconnected the call because it was quiet on the other end for so long. I’m sorry--did you say… Sinders?

His voice had an alluring quality to it. A bit raspy, but energetic, as if he was one of those people full of life she often envied. She tried to picture in her mind what a man who sounded like that might look like. Her eyes went to the picture in front of her. He sounded handsome--like the man on her screen. Yes, that’s right. Can I help you?

He was quiet again for a moment. Huh. What are the chances? I’m sorry. I must have misdialed. Can you tell me… is your number 4072 or 4012?

It’s 4072, she answered, a bit disappointed that he was about to hang up.

All right. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I guess I can’t read my own handwriting.

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she wasn’t ready for him to hang up the call. Oh, you’re not bothering me. I get that, though. My handwriting is terrible. I try to type things whenever I can. She rolled her eyes. Like he cared….

She was surprised when he chuckled. I know, right? Who writes anything down anymore? We have computers in our pockets for crying out loud.

Yep. Desperately, Ella searched for something else to say. She didn’t have a computer in her pocket, though, because she wasn’t allowed to take the cell phone away from the table, and her stepmother had confiscated hers the moment she’d gotten back from France. It sounded so ridiculous. She was a grown woman! I also have a computer in front of me. There--she’d said something. Something stupid.

Yet, again, he laughed. Yeah, I guess you do. And you probably have actual customers to help.

Nah, we don’t get a lot of complaints, thankfully. She did realize that her stepmom was about to come into the room, though. If she was on the phone then, it better sound like a work problem. And she’d have to log this as something other than a wrong number. Her stepmom checked the call log very carefully every night to make sure Ella hadn’t called anyone she wasn’t supposed to. She’d have to make something up….

Your accent is lovely. Where are you from?

My accent? Ella wasn’t expecting that question either. Oh, I’m from here… I mean, LA. But I spent most of my childhood in France. Until recently. I mean, I’m not a child anymore. I’m twenty-two. Not that you care. But… uh….

He started to laugh again, only this time, she sort of felt like he was laughing at her. But then he said, I’m so sorry. You probably weren’t expecting to play twenty questions with an idiot who doesn’t know his best friend’s phone number. I must’ve caught you off-guard.

Well, yeah, you did, actually. But it’s okay. I obviously don’t talk to people much.

No? Not even the people in the cubicles next to you?

Ella looked around as if she might actually see other people in cubicles. Nope. That would have to do. She couldn’t possibly explain her situation to a stranger on the phone.

That’s too bad. You’re lovely to talk to. In fact, I might just have to forget my friend’s number again sometime so I can call you back.

All of the blood in her body had to be rushing to her cheeks, they felt so warm. Oookay, she said, not sure how else to answer. He seemed nice, and she’d love to talk to someone other than her family and Mary. But for all she knew, he could be a psychopath. Or a fifty-year-old balding man who just happened to sound young.

Okay, he said, though he didn’t sound particularly confident. Have a nice evening, Ella.

You, too, uh…. She didn’t know his name. She wanted to know his name almost as much as she wanted to know the name of the man in the picture on her desktop that had just finished rendering.

Rome. My name is Rome.

Rome? That’s… a great name. She’d been to Rome, and she’d loved it. Now, she was talking to a guy on the phone named Rome who was intriguing, mysterious, and pleasant--much like the city he was named for.

I’ll talk to you later, Ella.

Bye, Rome.

She hung up and stared at the phone. The whole conversation had been odd. It was just a wrong number after all. Yet, she had goosebumps on her arms.

Shaking her head, Ella put the phone down and hastily sent the email to her dad. Then, she went into the call log and typed in, Received call from client at 4:57. Asked several questions about our customer service department, which I answered, but would not tell me his name. Said he would call back another time when he had more information. Call ended at 5:02. That would have to do.

The door behind her clicked open, and Ella’s breath caught in her throat.

"Ella? Are you done with the poster for The Way You Hurt Me?" Teresa wanted to know. She didn’t even cross the room, only stood in the doorway with her arms folded, tapping her foot.

Yes, Mother, Ella said, turning to face her. She’d been instructed to always call her Mother, and she had a feeling it was because Teresa wanted to brainwash her into forgetting her own mother and also assert her authority.

Did you send it to your father?

Yes, Mother.

Very good. You may come down for dinner then. But don’t start cutting up with your cousin. Tim isn’t just here to see you. He wants to see his other cousins as well. Do not monopolize his time, or you’ll find yourself right back here. Do you understand?

Yes, Mother, Ella repeated, following her to the door.

Change your clothes first. You’re not wearing that in front of guests. Really, how many times do I have to tell you?

Ella forgot that she was still wearing her baggy sweats and an old T-shirt. I apologize, Mother.

She quickly changed into jeans and a sweater her aunt had bought her in Paris a few years ago. It was about the only nice outfit she had that still fit her; she’d lost weight since she’d been living in the attic. Anything else nice, her stepmother had confiscated and given to her own daughters, if it would fit. Anna and Drew were much curvier than Ella.

Is this better, Mother? she asked.

It’ll have to do. She rolled her eyes. Ella followed Teresa down the stairs.

Mary’s words from earlier came back. She could escape. She could tell Tim what was happening. He was her mother’s sister’s son--he would help her. The only reason Teresa tolerated him was because he was a handsome, famous actor, and she thought he would help her daughters. But she knew Tim loved her best of all. He’d been worried about her recently, especially when she’d told him she’d broken her cell phone. Of course, that wasn’t true. Teresa had taken it from her. Yet another reason to escape.

But where would she go, and what would she do? Live with Tim? He was a bachelor who had tons of girls over. Besides that, Teresa had threatened more than once that she knew the head of psychology at the local insane asylum, and if Ella started babbling about being a prisoner here to anyone, he’d come and take her away. That in and of itself was reason enough for Ella to stay quiet. She wouldn’t put it past Teresa to do something so awful. No, Teresa Main-Sinders was an evil woman. So long as she left Ella alone to do her work, and there was nowhere to run to, Ella would have to stay.

Not to mention, she didn’t want to cause her father to have to choose between her and his wife. As crazy as Teresa was,