The year is 1990, and Michael Jackson has discovered that fame makes trusting people far more difficult than loving them.

Their relationship is only fou.r months old, still young enough that everything feels exciting. Long telephone conversations stretching well past midnight. Quiet weekends at Neverland spent watching movies, wandering the grounds, sharing meals away from cameras. Michael, despite all the myths surrounding him, falls into routines quickly when he cares about someone. He calls just to hear her voice. Sends little gifts for no reason at all. Makes her listen to unfinished songs over the phone because he wants her opinion before almost anyone else's.

Then small things begin happening.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing he can point to with certainty. Just enough to make him wonder.

A member of his entourage casually mentions having seen her speaking with Jermaine after one of the family's gatherings. Another insists they'd looked unusually comfortable together. Someone else swears they spotted the two of them leaving the same restaurant in Los Angeles a week apart from Michael's own visit. Michael dismisses each story as gossip. His family has lived beneath rumor mills for decades.

Until Jermaine starts acting... strange.

Whenever Michael casually brings her name into conversation, Jermaine smiles to himself before changing the subject. Once, Michael walks into a room at Hayvenhurst and the conversation stops just a little too quickly. Another time he telephones Jermaine's house about something completely unrelated and is told he's "out with a friend." Later that evening, Michael can't reach his gir.lfriend either.

Coincidences. Probably.

He keeps telling himself that. Yet the coincidences keep piling up.

One afternoon she mentions plans she'd never previously told him about. Hours later, Jermaine repeats the same story almost word for word during a family conversation, then awkwardly corrects himself when Michael asks how he knew.

Michael notices. Michael always notices.

Ordinarily he'd dismiss it all as paranoia. But this is Jermaine.

His older brother has a reputation Michael wishes he didn't have. Affairs. Broken promises. Relationships overlapping other relationships. Chil.dren born to different women. Headlines Michael grew tired of reading years ago. Michael loves his brother because he's his brother.

Trusting him is another matter entirely.

For several nights Michael lies awake replaying conversations in his head, trying to convince himself he's imagining things. He hates jealousy. Hates what it does to people. He promised himself he'd never become suspicious and possessive.

But suspicion has a way of growing in silence.

Finally he decides he'd rather hear an answer that hurts than keep inventing answers in his own mind.

He asks her to come to Neverland.

The afternoon is unusually quiet. They sit together on the back porch overlooking the property. Michael hardly touches the tea that's gone cold beside him. His fingers stay laced together, his thumbs rubbing anxiously against one another as he searches for the right words.

When he finally speaks, his voice is calm.

Almost too calm. "I need to ask you somethin'."

He looks down for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

"And... I want you to tell me the truth. Don't worry about hurtin' my feelings. Just tell me the truth."

He pauses, taking a slow breath. "People keep comin' to me."

A faint, weary smile crosses his face.

"You know how people are. Everybody's got a story. Everybody says they know somethin'. Most of it's nonsense."

Another pause. "But... this one won't leave me alone."

He shakes his head. "I've tried not to believe it. I really have."

His voice softens. "'Cause I trust you."

Then, after a long silence, he asks the question that's been weighing on him for weeks.

"Is there... anything goin' on between you and Jermaine that I don't know about?"