Chapter 21
Suzette hadn’t expected the ache to hit quite so quickly.
He’d only been gone mere hours, just it felt like forever.
He’d already stretched his stay by a full day, insisting on shuffling his Monday meetings in Los Angeles to allow for a mid-morning arrival.
She could still taste saltwater and laughter from their earlier kayak.
Still feel the heat of his mouth against hers under the shower afterward where, no, they had not saved water.
Her body was warm and languid from him; her heart was another matter entirely. It missed him dreadfully.
So she kept herself busy. Chatting idly with guests as they emerged from the water. Straightening some beach loungers that didn’t need straightening. Pretending she wasn’t dying on the inside.
There were still a few reporters lurking around the hotel and in town, but after she and Justin had given a joint interview right here on the beach, most had packed up and left.
As for the remaining stragglers … well, Anders and his team had done a fine job of keeping them at a distance.
She was still hyperaware that every move she made was probably being recorded through some telescopic camera lens, and the last thing she needed was to be caught in tears.
She was on her way back to the patio when she noticed the part-time server hovering near the steps — eyes wide, expression tight. Trouble. Suzette’s pulse ticked up.
“Everything okay?” Suzette asked.
The young girl bit her lip. “Um … could you come here, please? Table nine. They’re … asking for you.”
As they walked, Suzette braced herself for another entitled holidaymaker.
It took a few beats to recognize the woman she hadn’t seen in over twenty years.
Daleen.
She had not aged well. The thought flashed through Suzette’s mind before she could stop it, and she immediately scolded herself for the pettiness.
The once-perfect hair now a shade too blond, skin lined and leathery from a lifetime of sunbeds and self-righteousness. And, of course, she wasn’t alone. Two women flanked her, judgment simmering in their expressions. Daleen’s lips curled. “Well, well. And there is our sweet, innocent Suzette.”
Suzette’s heart thudded, a startled, instinctive jolt. Of course it would happen today — when she was already missing Justin so acutely her chest felt hollow. She swallowed, straightened, and stepped closer. “Daleen,” she said, cool and polite. “I believe you asked for me.”
Daleen lifted her chin, satisfaction glinting in her eyes. “Indeed. Actually, I need to speak to the poor man you’ve hoodwinked into thinking you’re someone special.”
The words landed like small, sharp stones against Suzette’s ribs.
“He deserves to know who you really are,” Daleen continued, her voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear.
“Innocent Suzette, who begged on street corners.” She reached into her handbag and produced a dog-eared photograph, waving it like a victory flag.
“And here’s proof for anyone who doubts me. ”
A cold, sinking dread uncoiled inside Suzette’s stomach.
This was it. Her past exposed.
Daleen was far from finished. “Look at you, acting holier than thou because you managed to snag yourself a famous man.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with theatrical disdain, chin angled high.
“Tell me, Suzette … how did you land JK Kenzie? Guess you seduced him with those Jezebel wiles. The same ones you tried on my husband.”
Her humiliation was immediate, visceral.
Earth, swallow me. Now.
Suzette saw the headlines flash through her mind as if an editor were already assembling tomorrow’s scandal sheet: “Hollywood A-Lister’s New Girlfriend Has Scandalous Past.”
Chairs scraped. Conversations stalled. And from the corner of her eye, she caught the unmistakable sight of cell phones rising, angling toward her like a forest of accusing eyes.
“And what is the great JK Kenzie going to say,” the hateful woman spat, “when he finds out his girlfriend begged on the streets … like a desperate woman selling whatever scraps of pride she had left?”
Her pulse hammered.
Run. Hide.
“Mrs. Bosch. Everything okay?” Anders appeared beside her, steady and silent as a wall.
She blinked. Justin had left her with protection. She could nod once and Daleen would be escorted off the property within seconds.
For one dizzying moment, she almost gave in.
And then she remembered Justin.
Remembered the way he’d looked at her when she told him the worst of it — steady, unflinching. The way he’d reached for her hand as if she’d offered him something precious instead of painful. As if her truth made him admire her more.
He didn’t judge her.
He didn’t recoil.
Something inside her clicked into place.
Suzette inhaled, slow and steady, grounding herself. She turned to Anders and murmured, “I have this.”
Then she faced Daleen.
And took a quiet, fierce satisfaction at the flicker of uncertainty that crossed the woman’s features.
“I did what any mother would do,” Suzette said, her voice carrying in the hush that had fallen. “If you want to shame me for that, go ahead. I’m done letting that moment define me.”
She let that settle for a beat, then stepped closer.
Calm, steady, unshaken.
“I lost my job because of your false accusations,” Suzette said, each word landing with measured precision. “It was your lecherous husband who approached me with an awful proposition — sleep with him, and he’d pay my rent. I told him to go to hell and filed a complaint with Pastor Cummings.”
Daleen stiffened. A ripple went through the onlookers.
“But you,” Suzette pressed on, “miserable, sour woman that you are … spread rumors about me and got me fired.” She heard someone gasp.
“And when it got to the stage that I couldn’t feed my child” — her voice softened but lost none of its strength — “that was when I stood on the street corner and begged.”
She reached out, snatched the photograph from Daleen’s hand, and lifted it high for everyone to see.
“And this picture,” she said, her voice steady and ringing with hard-won truth, “is proof that you left a newly widowed mother and her child to starve. You saw me, even took a damned photo … yet you drove away. The shame doesn’t belong to me, Daleen. It belongs to you.”
The only sound was the echo of waves and the distant cry of gulls.
And the click of cameras.
But Suzette was past caring. Past hiding.
Daleen’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came. Her minions stared at the ground, their bravado evaporating under the weight of the truth.
And Suzette finally — finally — felt free.
“And just for your information, Justin knows everything about my past. Every. Little. Detail. And because of the wonderful man he is, it doesn’t change how he sees me. So go ahead. Do your worst, Daleen. I don’t care.” She turned her head towards Anders. “Please escort them off the property.”
The man flashed her an approving grin. “With great pleasure, ma’am.”
“We’ll help,” two burly men, both rugby players on holiday with their families flanked Anders. Daleen sputtered something about defamation as she walked away but it only earned her a withering look from the staff and an unimpressed snort from a nearby guest.
As the trio disappeared down the path, a soft clap sounded.
Then another.
And suddenly the patio filled with applause — guests rising to their feet, staff emerging, their faces lit with pride and relief. The sound washed over Suzette, warm and unexpected.
Clarice Harmon stepped forward, elegant as ever, sunglasses perched atop her red hair. She reached out, lightly touching Suzette’s arm. “Dearie,” the woman said, her voice carrying across the patio, “it takes an extraordinarily strong woman to stand up to bullies.”
Suzette’s throat tightened. She managed a soft, grateful smile.
Clarice nodded once, firmly. “You stood tall. And you reminded all of us what dignity looks like.” The applause swelled again, rolling through the patio like a wave of triumph.
“Now, I insist you come and sit with me, and let’s enjoy a couple of those delightful strawberry G&T’s young Kobus is so great at making. ”
Suzette was midway through her second G&T, fully entertained by Clarice’s recounting of her three marriages — and what utter disasters her husbands had been — when a distant thump-thump-thump tugged at her attention.
A helicopter.
Her heart sank.
Not another hungry news channel. Word of the earlier confrontation had clearly spread, and no doubt someone wanted her “exclusive side of the story.”
Her suspicion sharpened when Anders strode onto the beach, two additional bodyguards joining him. She watched, trusting them to wave the aircraft away.
Except … they didn’t.
To her astonishment, they cleared a wide circle in the sand and braced themselves against the rotor wash, shielding their faces as the helicopter descended.
Suzette blinked, narrowing her eyes. Someone was standing on the skids.
The aircraft hovered barely a meter above the ground and—
Justin jumped onto the beach.
Her jaw slackened. How? He was supposed to be in the air. Starting up the coast of Africa by now. Not … here.
Jogging toward her.
“This day keeps getting better and better,” Clarice cackled.
“Justin?” Suzette whispered, scrambling to her feet.
She met him at the edge of the sand, winded by shock.
His eyes raked over her, frantic and searching. “Are you okay? I heard— God, Suze, I came as fast as I could.”
“What are you doing here?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be on your flight. What about your meetings tomorrow?”
“Anders said she was here.” His breath was tight, urgent. “Meetings can wait. I had to come. Make sure you’re okay.”
And something inside her chest shifted.
Justin put her first. He chose her over his schedule, his career, his convenience. He came because he thought she needed him.
Except … she didn’t.
She didn’t need rescuing.
She stood up for herself today.
Proved to herself she could.
But having him run to her anyway … that was … huge.
She took his hands. “I can’t tell you how much it means that you came.” Her voice softened. “But I’m okay. I handled it.”
“I know.” Justin’s mouth curved. “I watched it a few minutes ago.”
“You watched— Oh.” She blinked. “Oh dear. Someone filmed it? Posted it? Already?” Her voice pitched upward.
“You’re trending,” he said, pride glowing in his eyes. “My glorious fighter. You were magnificent.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Magnificent?”
His fingers skimmed her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.”
Someone called out, “Are you two going to stand there making cow eyes at each other all afternoon? Kiss the man, Suzette. He just jumped out of a helicopter for you.”
Suzette let out a startled laugh, but Justin didn’t waste a moment. He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her — deeply, tenderly.
The patio erupted in cheers behind them,
When Justin finally pulled back, he said, “I was about to take off. We were taxiing when Anders called. I told the pilot to abort. Fortunately, there was an available helicopter, and” — he grinned — “here I am.”
A laugh broke free from her, half breathless, half overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to come all the way back.”
“Yes, I did.” He pulled her toward a stone bench set amongst the dunes.
They sank onto the seat, the helicopter rotors finally winding down in the distance. Suzette leaned into Justin’s side, fingers lacing with his. The adrenaline had faded, leaving a tender quiet in its wake.
“I still can’t believe you delayed your flight for me.”
He tilted her chin up. “I’ll always put you first, my love. Don’t ever doubt that.”
She exhaled, a long, deep steady breath. “I believe you.” She rested her head against his chest, the thud of his heart steady beneath her ear.
Out there, the world might still be clicking cameras and spinning stories. But here, in the circle of his arms, it was just the two of them.
Everything else was merely noise.
*
The video went viral within hours. Headlines blazed across celebrity sites and social media.
“JK Kenzie’s Girlfriend Stands Up to Bullies — A Fighter With a Past of Courage.”
Clips of Suzette lifting the photograph and calling out Daleen’s lies were shared on repeat. Comment sections exploded with praise, calling her “a class act,” “a real woman,” and “the kind of heroine the world needs.”
Within a day, the hashtag #SuzetteStrong was trending worldwide.