Chapter 7
For a few blissful moments, pain and betrayal dissipated into the air, and the roadblocks in Dan’s life turned to mist. As Libby and her kid splashed in the shallower water, he floated into oblivion with the sun on his face and the weight off his aching hips.
Coming to the Cook Islands had always been his dream.
As a child, he’d loved listening to his parents’ travel stories of when they’d toured Australia and New Zealand, living in a tent and out of backpacks, before eventually visiting the Cooks.
Their stories had always sounded so romantic, so…
adventurous. Long before Dan had even met Isabella, he’d thought of spending his honeymoon here, sharing this place with the love of his life—like his parents had.
Issy had taken some persuasion, though. Malibu had been her first choice for a honeymoon.
But that was too close to LA—too tempting for her to work.
They’d eventually compromised. December in the Cooks, January in Los Angeles.
Issy hadn’t been keen on staying in Are Moana.
She’d wanted a plush resort, while he’d wanted homely, where journalists would least expect them to be.
So they’d met in the middle, booked the first week at a luxury, exclusive resort on Atiutaki—where Mum and Zeezee currently were—and the rest of the time at Are Moana, where they could be left alone to enjoy together-time for a few weeks.
But… Los Angeles. Malibu. The whole showbiz shebang, that’s what Isabella had truly wanted, and now she had it—including the hit song and the Hollywood hunk who didn’t walk with a limp.
Dan flipped over and dunked below the surface, keeping his eyes open to see the bright underwater world. Aquamarine filled his vision. Tiny yellow fish flashed by. Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of sand from the lagoon bed.
Isabella didn’t like sand. It made her feet itch.
On holiday once in Corfu, he’d carried her across the beach whenever she’d wanted a swim.
The paps had had a field day. It had been funny at the time, romantic even, and he’d imagined the same romantic moments here too—without, of course, the reporters and their long lenses.
Reality crashed back into his mind. As he came up for air, his eyes stung.
That bloody press announcement. It was due to be made tonight, Cook Islands time.
Which would be Thursday morning in the UK, perfectly scheduled to hit the breakfast news.
People would talk and speculate over his and Issy’s separation—at work, on TV and radio, in queues at the supermarket—and her damn song would be played even in the deepest, darkest abyss.
Isabella wouldn’t use their so-called amicable breakup as a publicity stunt, but Dan wouldn’t put it past her people—her manager, her record label, her publicity team.
There was obviously some master publicity plan at play, prepped and poised to cover up any rumors buzzing around in Hollywood that she was shagging Xavier Hunter.
“It’s more than just shagging,” she’d said when she’d told him. “I love him, Dan.”
“He’s married.”
“Not for much longer. He’s been wanting a divorce for months.”
But surely Issy knew that if word spread of their affair, it would be her head on the chopping block.
She’d be made out as the marriage breaker, her career over, because the Hunters, and everyone making money off them, wouldn’t just sit by and watch their billion-dollar brand go tits up in a high-profile divorce.
Did Issy know she was playing with fire?
“Hey, Mr. Jones, what’s with the frown again?”
Giggles and splashes pulled Dan back to the here and now. Without realizing, he’d swum closer to Libby and her son, who were still playing some splashing game in the water.
“Cranky Jones!” the little kid piped up.
“Shhh, honey.” Libby winced. “Darn those little ears.”
Cranky Jones?
Yeah, he’d been cranky all right. And rude. And arrogant and downright miserable.
“I’m sorry about the nickname,” she said.
Dan blinked at Libby’s bright smile. It was the same smile she’d given him when he’d first sat next to her on the plane. The same smile he’d ignored.
“No need to apologize. I deserve it,” he said. “But in case you were wondering, the name’s Dan.”
With a sly smile, she wiped her wet hair away from her face. “Oh, I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Of course. The Lightning Strike. We spent a few months in England last summer, remember?”
“Why didn’t you say anything on the flight?”
“I thought I’d said too much on the flight.”
“You know what I mean. This will sound completely up myself, but I can’t buy a pint of milk back home without someone approaching me for an autograph.”
“And right there is your answer,” Libby said. “I took one look at you and thought you could do with a break from all that. So, instead I talked at you like a mom starved of adult conversation.”
She ducked back into the water, making her son squeal as she pretended to eat his foot.
Libby giggled, but then her smile faded. “I was sorry to hear that you and Isabella had to…um…change your wedding plans,” she added.
A patchy, disjointed memory of explaining about hiring Are Moana for his honeymoon jangled at the back of his mind.
Shit. He’d been so exhausted and in pain the other night…
What else had come out of his mouth? As Issy’s absence weighed heavily in the air, Dan rubbed his temples.
Okay, damage limitation. It was time to recite that wedding postponement statement. Here goes…
“Isabella and I—”
But wait.
There was a different statement now, and in a few short hours, everyone back home would hear it.
“About the honeymoon…” he began instead.
He might as well start getting some practice regurgitating the words that had been written for him.
“The thing is, Isabella and I are still very good friends, and we care deeply about each other. But sadly, with so much going on in our lives right now, we both felt we were going in different directions and have decided to part ways.”
There. Done.
Dan pushed up a smile, as if the end of their three-year relationship had been decided over a cozy chat with tea and biscuits.
“It’s great that you’re still friends.” Libby tucked a strand of purple hair behind her ear. “So…um…would you like to have lunch with us?”
“I—what?”
“It’ll be nothing fancy,” she said. “Just a few items from the grocery store that we’ll eat on the beach.”
Where was all the curiosity? The questions? The sympathy?
He scratched his head. “Uh, yeah, okay. A picnic sounds great, but how about I buy you and Karim lunch instead?”
“Oh, well, um—”
“Please. Let’s call it an apology—and a thank-you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Her eyes crinkled as she studied him, and then the corners of her full lips curled into a knowing smile. “Okay, Cranky. You’re on. We’ll eat our picnic for supper. Let’s go get dried off before the bomb goes off.”
“The bomb?”
She nodded to her child. “You think surviving a life-threatening accident makes you a tough guy? Nuh-uh. Come back when you’ve experienced a hungry toddler tantrum, then we’ll talk.”
And with that, she bobbed toward the shore, making siren noises as she pulled her son in the water behind her.
The unusual tug of a grin spread across Dan’s face.
Huh. So much for expecting to field a load of questions.
Clearly, living under the spotlight all these years had warped his brain, and he’d spent far too much time up his own arse.
Libby didn’t give two hoots about his accident, nor his broken engagement to the UK’s hottest popstar.
Why the hell would she?
She wasn’t one of those bloodhounds, grilling him for headlines. She was just a mom traveling with her son.
Still good friends? We care deeply about each other?
In Libby’s world, sleeping with a man while being engaged to another didn’t sound like “caring deeply,” but she’d let Cranky’s well-rehearsed bullshit slide. How could she ever poke at his bruise anyway after seeing him so broken and upset the other night?
“I loved you, Issy. I’ll always love you.”
Libby’s heart twanged for the poor sucker. But would his love for Isabella ever turn to anger and hatred, like hers had for Elliot? Or would he stand by whatever crap his publicity team churned out and act like they were still “good friends” until all the hurt went away?
“So, what looks good to eat?” Libby asked brightly as Dan perused the menu.
They were seated at a table on the sand, under a straw canopy at a beach hut café they’d found not far from where they’d swam.
Karim was playing at her feet with his toy cars.
“If you insist on buying,” she added, “we’ll have the most expensive dish they have. ”
Dan scanned the menu again. “That’ll be the yellowfin tuna steak.”
Libby bit back a smile. When he finally looked up, she was treated to an easy smile.
“Right, you were joking,” he said. “But the tuna does sound good if you want to try it.”
“Another time, thank you. We’ll have the salad, some fries, a slice of banana bread, and a banana milkshake.”
“Great. I’ll go and order.” As he stood, his knee knocked the table leg.
The corners of his eyes creased, and his breath hitched.
Anyone else, and Libby would’ve asked if they were okay, but it was clear by the way he held his pain so discreetly together that he’d hate any attention to his injuries.
She looked away, but as soon as he’d walked past her on his way to the counter, she turned back.
He wasn’t limping as bad as the other night.
The long sleep and the warm lagoon water had obviously helped, but his movements were far from fluid.
A stark contrast to the elite athlete he’d once been, shooting down a 100-meter straight.
When Cranky returned, his breath hitched again as he sat. Libby kept her eyes on Karim, who’d been playing quietly for a lot longer than she’d ever imagined he was capable of.