Chapter 4
At the table in the large communal kitchen, Libby sat Karim on her lap so he could eat his puffed rice cereal. Along with toys and tissues, her go bag was always stocked with food, powdered milk, and a bottle of water. She was always prepared. Always thinking ahead.
When Karim was settled and eating his breakfast, Libby logged on to Are Moana’s Wi-Fi on her phone, which she held behind Karim’s back.
If he saw it, he’d want it, and she disliked being glued to her phone in front of him.
She didn’t want him to grow up thinking staring at screens was the norm, but sometimes life happened, and she had to grab her media minutes whenever she could—especially as she needed to find them a new room, pronto.
Her quick research gave her several accommodation options, though none were within her price range.
She’d have more options after she visited the Tourist Information office in Avarua, the island’s largest district.
Deciding that she’d spend the morning there orienting herself, she used her remaining time while Karim ate to research Daniel Jones.
That foul-mouthed, so-called British hero would be Libby’s ticket back in the running.
She’d make Juliana eat her words about babies getting in the way of a woman’s career, and she’d also prove her wrong for thinking baby-hormones would make Libby “soft” and “no longer have the guts” to expose the truth.
Well, whatever the truth was about Daniel Jones and Isabella, Libby would find out.
The internet connection was slow, but there was enough juice to bring up the latest on Daniel Jones—which wasn’t very much, apart from him not being seen in public for weeks.
There were rumors and conspiracy theories about him being too depressed and tormented by his accident to leave the house.
There was no mention at all of his traveling overseas.
How had he gotten out of England undetected?
Libby swiped through dozens of photos of Daniel Jones sprinting across a finish line, his face contorted with effort and determination.
Then a few hundred more of him on a podium, a gold medal around his neck, and of course, there were a whole bunch of him doing his trademark victory dance—the lightning strike.
But it was the several million photographs of him and Isabella together that really got Libby interested.
Glitzy red carpet images. Early morning strolls with coffees in hand.
Shopping trips at exclusive London stores.
The usual. A picture painted a thousand words, and Libby had worked for Hot Gossip long enough to know what the articles would be about without having to read them.
Cranky and Isabella were a very good-looking couple, especially when he smiled. Bright, vibrant, and happy. A world apart from what she’d seen of him so far. Grumpy, miserable, and hostile.
Working for Hot Gossip had put her on the front line for a few nasty confrontations—once, a cop she’d exposed for selling drugs to minors at an exclusive Beverly Hills school had spat at her as he’d been pushed into the back of a police car—but that was work and she’d grown a thick skin to deal with that kind of crap.
But on the flight, she’d only been friendly, and Daniel Jones telling her to shut up had stung.
Sure, he’d been through trauma, but deep down, he was just another arrogant celebrity who thought he was better than everyone else.
She’d come across plenty like him, and as Juliana used to say, “It’s always open season on celebrities. ”
Which meant Daniel Jones and Isabella were fair game.
“They earn millions,” Juliana would say. “It’s our job to bring overly entitled famous people down a peg or two. You just need the guts to do it.”
Yeah, Libby had guts. Juliana was wrong to think motherhood would change that.
So… Where was Isabella?
Like a bloodhound sniffing a trail, Libby ran a search on her, too.
Nice. It seemed that Isabella’s Christmas song was a hit, set to reach the top of the UK charts, and she was making a splash in LA too, photographed numerous times shopping on Rodeo Drive with the TV actress Alicia Hunter.
Alicia and her movie star husband, Xavier, were one of Hollywood’s top power couples, so congratulations to little ol’ Isabella from England for infiltrating their A-list clique.
Had Isabella been too busy with her new friends to accompany her injured fiancé halfway around the world?
A spoonful of mushy cereal landed on Libby’s knee.
“Careful, honey. Eat nicely.” But Karim’s messy eating was a sign to disconnect. Reluctantly, Libby slid her phone back into her bag. “Good boy. You’ve eaten so much already.”
She tried to give Karim her full attention, but her mind raced with so many questions.
Did Isabella have work commitments preventing her from being here?
Were they planning to spend Christmas apart?
That didn’t sound right for a loving power couple.
Elliot was in no way the best example of a doting partner, but not even he had wanted to spend Christmas apart.
He liked tradition and ceremony—when it suited him—and during the three years that they’d been together, he’d always insisted they go to his parents’ house in San Francisco.
Libby hadn’t always been thrilled about it, but she wasn’t big on Christmas, and the one time he’d gone with her to Crescent City to visit her mom and dad had been enough of a disaster that tolerating his boring parents for a few days was the lesser of two evils.
At least his folks believed men had landed on the moon and the world wasn’t flat—even if they hadn’t believed Karim was Elliot’s son.
Libby kissed the top of her baby’s head.
It’s their loss. In three weeks’ time, Elliot and his dull-as-shit, hypocritical parents could sit around the table on Christmas Day and celebrate “family” all they liked, because she and Karim would be playing in the lagoon on this amazing tropical island paradise, much better off without them.
But how and where would Isabella be spending her Christmas?
From the looks of it, Cranky and his fiancée had a great relationship, but were they also riddled with awkward parents, childhood hangups, and skeletons in the closet like she and Elliot had been?
Everyone has a story to tell…
So, what was Isabella’s story? How had Daniel’s accident affected her? An accident like that with lasting scars must’ve been tough on everyone, so again… Why wasn’t Isabella joining him here? Would they spend the holidays apart?
The hair on the back of Libby’s neck stood on end. Something was going down between them. She could feel it.
And the best thing? If Isabella was getting to be known around LA circles and hanging out with Hollywood royalty, any article with her name on it would surely sell—to Hot Gossip and to all the other celebrity news sites.
Libby could practically hear Juliana rubbing her hands with glee as she asked her to name her price.
“Mamma, look!” Karim raised his empty bowl.
“You finished, honey. Good job!” She wiped his mouth and hands—and his T-shirt and shorts. Even his sandals had puffed rice stuck to them, but still, the mess did nothing to dull the buzzing of Libby’s story radar. “Let’s get cleaned up here.”
She wiped the table and washed Karim’s bowl and spoon and then gathered her bag, ready to kick some journalistic butt. She’d find out what was going on between Britain’s Favorite Couple.
But first, she had to brush Karim’s teeth, and her own, and get him some non-milk-soaked clothes, look for someplace else to stay, and take him to the beach.
“Need a poopy.”
Right.
And take him to the bathroom, too.
The bathwater had gone cold by the time Dan woke up in it. After Motormouth’s intrusion, he’d reveled in the quiet she’d left behind, grateful to be alone. Although he hadn’t planned, or expected, to fall asleep.
He was shivering now, his body like jelly, and as for the aches in his bones… He could barely raise his hands.
What madness had made him think he could handle the journey out here?
Then Isabella’s text jabbed his memory.
The announcement.
The journalists.
The pity.
Somehow, Dan heaved himself out of the bath, gripping onto the sides in case he slipped. At this rate, a fall would probably kill him…or paralyze him from the neck down—like doctors had feared would be the case when he’d been in his coma.
You’re a very lucky man, Daniel Jones.
They were the first words Dan remembered hearing when he’d woken up in a hospital bed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky…
Some people—like poor Dad—weren’t so lucky to survive an accident, but the Great Daniel Jones had.
Why?
What tricks of fate and clusters of stars had aligned to make him still be here?
And why didn’t he feel more grateful for it?
A constant dark cloud had loomed over him long before Isabella had dropped her bombshell news.
Had he driven her away? She’d been turned off by his injuries.
Wasn’t that just basic evolution and laws of attraction?
The female of the species chooses the strongest and fittest male.
Until three months ago, Dan could barely walk unaided, let alone do anything else with his body.
Could he really blame Issy for cheating on him?
For better or worse, in sickness and in health…
That bloody horse had struck before he and Isabella had spoken their vows, but sticking by each other went without saying, didn’t it?
And now, for the sake of good public relations, he had to pretend they were still friends, regardless of what she’d done.
On Thursday, after the announcement, Isabella’s PR team would release another statement they’d written on his behalf.
Some such bullshit about how he and Issy still loved each other but were no longer in love.
The truth of Issy’s affair had to be guarded at all costs.
Fine by him. The last thing he wanted was to be hounded again by those same thirsty, obnoxious paps, plastering shots of him looking like shit all over the internet.
Poor Dan Jones. Once, he had everything, and now…
And now, he had his life—a life he had to rebuild, regardless of the aches and pains and nightmares, as well as the loss of the woman he’d planned to spend the rest of his life with.
Water dripped onto the floor as Dan pushed away from the bath.
He dried himself and pulled on the same hideous orange shorts from yesterday.
When his bag arrived from Auckland, he’d burn these fucking shorts—and that awful red top, too.
A ritual to mark the end of his journey to the Cook Islands and the start of his new life.
By the time Mum arrived tomorrow, he’d be stronger, more cheerful.
As close as he could get to Lovable and Friendly Dan Jones, the nation’s hero.
If only his stomach would settle.
He rubbed it now, feeling like he needed to hurl and get rid of whatever was swirling around in his gut.
But he was too weak.
Slowly, he pulled out the sick-ridden clothes he’d stuffed into his bag last night at the airport, dropped them into his old bath water to soak, and then lugged his body back to the living area.
Outside, the sun was trying to come out from behind thick gray clouds. He should get some fresh air, explore his surroundings, but he felt too rough, too shivery. Too sick.
He dropped onto the sofa and stared at the bed he should’ve been sharing with Isabella.
When they’d met three years ago, it was like fireworks had gone off inside him.
Her smile from across the room had been a true lightning strike.
They’d been at the swanky Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane, both attending the Sports Personality of the Year Awards, which he’d won.
He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her all night.
Then, after the ceremony, there she’d been, parting the crowded ballroom, gliding toward him, looking more beautiful in real life than on TV or in any of the photographs he’d seen of her.
“Congratulations,” she’d said. “Another award to add to your collection. Does it ever get old?”
“Stick around and find out,” he’d said.
The following year, he’d won three golds and broken the world record for the 100-meter sprint.
And Isabella had stuck around.
They’d moved in together, splitting their time between her central London flat and his home in Somerset, close to where he’d grown up—and where he’d spent the past six months recuperating, living a life so far removed from that first night at the Dorchester Hotel that no, he couldn’t blame Isabella for leaving him.
All that nursing and physio he’d needed after the operations to fix his hip and knee…
It wasn’t the life she’d signed up for, but still, the pain of Isabella’s betrayal shot through him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Dan lay down and hugged his knees.
His stomach.
The nausea had increased far beyond the usual Isabella-induced heartache. That pukey kid. He must’ve given him something. There was no other explanation for the way his stomach was cramping.
There was a light knock on the door, and as if his misery had conjured up the germy kid and his mother, they walked into the room.
Dan turned his back on them, too miserable and in too much pain to face them. This wasn’t how he liked to be seen by close friends and family, let alone people he didn’t know.
“We’ve just come for a few things, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” she said.
“And by the way, it was Mr. Hehu who made the mistake with the reservation. His daughter is looking for another place for me and my son, so we should be fully out by this afternoon. Mind if I leave our things here until then?”
“No, go ahead.” Dan clutched his stomach and shivered.
He’d feel better soon, once he slept off whatever that kid had infected him with.
By the time they came back, he’d feel more human.
He’d apologize for his rudeness on the flight and his general shitheadedness and make it up to her somehow.
But right now, he was too busy trying not to die.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m great.”
“Well…um…in that case… See you later.”
There was a shuffle and some childish babbling, a soft click, and then…silence.
Dan breathed a sigh of relief and then curled himself tighter into a ball, wishing he could disappear.