Chapter 1
Declan
Eight Weeks Until Finale
Brian Burns: Tell me about yourself.
Declan King: Right, I’m Declan King, I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m a boxer.
Born and raised in Manchester, and now I live in London.
Brian Burns: And why do you want to be on Summer of Love ?
Declan King: I’m looking for that perfect girl, you know?
I’ve been around the ring a few times, taken a few beatings, and definitely taken an L when it comes to love.
But I’m ready to put my gloves back on and get back out there.
Who knows, maybe the love of my life is waiting for me in paradise.
Declan closed his eyes against the harsh light of the main cabin, forcing a deep breath into his lungs.
The beginnings of a headache formed at the base of his skull as a bead of sweat dripped down his back.
Hot and faint and wanting nothing more than to get to his seat, Declan glowered at the petite woman further down the aisle struggling to load her carry-on into the overhead bin.
He let the breath out slowly, watching as the woman finally won the battle with her luggage and settled into her seat.
The line moved forwards again, and Declan reached his still-empty row.
He swung his suitcase into the overhead bin, wincing as a familiar, sharp pain shot up his left arm.
Declan didn’t remember much of his title fight against Alexei Petrovitch, but he’d heard the story from his brother and father, had seen the replay on TV.
It still felt disconnected from his body, like it had happened to someone else.
The most important night of his life, and all he could remember were flashes: his wrist bent at an impossible angle, white bone poking through skin, his hand hanging limply.
It had been nearly four months and his chest still constricted uncomfortably at the memory, a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes.
He had the fleeting, mad thought to grab his bag and run off the plane.
Instead, he bit his lip and shoved himself into the aisle seat.
His phone rang and he struggled to pull it out of his pocket, annoyed that the simple task was still difficult for him.
‘What?’
‘Hello to you too,’ drawled the voice on the other end.
‘Sorry,’ Declan said, softer.
‘I didn’t see it was you, George.’
‘On the plane, then?’ she asked, feigning nonchalance.
Declan had met Georgia Hastings on a red carpet seven years earlier for an event neither of them could remember, and they had been inseparable ever since.
The next eight weeks apart would be hard on both of them, and listening to her voice brought on another wave of panic.
He scanned the line of passengers, absently determining an escape route.
‘I, uh—’ He swallowed.
‘I’m making a run for it, actually,’ he tried, but the joke was feeble.
‘You’d better not; I worked way too hard to make you Summer of Love material.’
It had been Georgia’s idea to audition for the stupid show.
She’d sold it as a two-month holiday, just a girl, her best mate and a bunch of fame-hungry strangers.
Declan had gone along with it, like he did with all of Georgia’s schemes.
He’d wanted to drop out when she had, but she hadn’t let him, reminding him that he needed more followers and the UK’s top reality show was the perfect way to get them.
‘But honestly,’ she continued more seriously, ‘how are you feeling?’
‘Incredibly hungover,’ Declan said, closing his eyes and willing the throbbing behind them to dissipate.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘I wouldn’t be your best mate if I didn’t get you good and drunk before your big day,’ Georgia said, and Declan could hear the smile in her voice.
‘Buck up, Decs, and get excited. This will be huge for you. When you win, I bet you’ll leave even more famous than me.’
‘Oh boy,’ Declan said, without a hint of enthusiasm.
He continued quickly, ‘Enough about me. How are you? Think you’ll survive without me?’
‘Maybe.’ Georgia was silent for a long moment, then: ‘James messaged me.’
Declan counted the few stragglers left in the aisle, worried.
He’d spent too many late nights counselling Georgia through her break-up with James to believe he could talk her out of a bad decision quickly.
‘It’s funny,’ she continued.
‘You’re not even out of the country and he’s already crawling back into my DMs.’
Declan rubbed his eyes – talking about James was no cure for a headache.
‘What did he say?’
‘That he still loves me, and he’s done with the cheating if I am.’
‘You didn’t cheat,’ Declan said automatically, and Georgia gave a tired laugh.
‘As if that matters.’
A decent boyfriend would have accepted Georgia’s explanation that she and Declan had only ever been friends.
But Georgia already knew that, and she’d heard what Declan thought of her ex’s pathetic excuse for cheating on her.
‘Just block him,’ Declan said instead.
‘Don’t engage.’ He couldn’t help but feel responsible for Georgia’s heartbreak and found himself desperate to prevent it from happening again.
One of the reasons he’d decided to go through with the show was so he wouldn’t ruin any of her future relationships.
With Declan linked to someone else in the tabloids, Georgia would be free to find love elsewhere.
‘You know I can’t do that,’ Georgia said.
‘Even with all this shit, I can’t cut him off.’
Declan couldn’t understand Georgia’s unshakable attachment to someone who had hurt her so badly.
The kind of love Georgia had for James, the all-consuming and irrational kind, always seemed to end in devastation.
Declan had no interest in ever trying it out for himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally.
There was another long pause, then Georgia cleared her throat.
‘Just don’t find anyone to replace me, yeah?’
she said. Her tone was light, but Declan knew she meant it.
‘Nobody could replace you, George.’
‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to end your call.
We’re about to take off.’
Declan looked up to find a flight attendant leaning over him with a firm smile fixed on her lips.
‘Could you give me a second, please?’ Declan asked, and she nodded before moving on.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Georgia said brightly.
‘You’re going to absolutely smash this!
No one is better at working a crowd than you.
Then you’ll come back and punch people and it’ll all be grand.
Okay?’
Declan couldn’t help but smile.
‘Okay.’
Georgia hung up, as always, without saying goodbye.
Declan caught the flight attendant’s eye again, waving his phone in her direction and making a show of putting it away.
She smiled humourlessly back at him.
The final passengers had found their seats during the call.
Declan was relieved that no one else had been assigned to his row, a small mercy in his chaotic day.
He watched the flight attendant go to shut the main cabin door and saw her nearly get trampled by a man in his haste to get on the plane.
He apologised profusely before stumbling down the aisle and stopping in front of Declan, sheepishly nodding to the window seat.
Declan stood, glanced at the man’s long legs, and begrudgingly muttered, ‘You can have the aisle.’
‘Cheers,’ the man said, looking relieved.
‘Sure you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’ As he said it, he noticed a woman he recognised as a producer peering at them from a few rows down.
He grabbed his backpack and slid to the window seat, slamming the armrest down between them.
‘Thanks,’ the man whispered, sitting and eyeing the producer too.
Studying his profile, Declan could admit he was attractive, but he didn’t seem like the usual type for Summer of Love .
There was no sign of hair gel or spray tan, no tacky sunglasses, no pungent scent of desperation.
Instead, he had soft brown curls that fell into his face and sharp cheekbones hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses.
If this was the competition, Declan would be fine.
‘I’m Declan,’ he said, smiling wide and putting out his hand.
The man’s eyes flicked to Declan’s face for only a moment before returning to the front of the plane.
He took his hand, giving it one quick shake and muttering out, ‘Oliver.’
‘You a contestant?’ Declan asked.
Oliver gave a minute nod, still looking intently ahead as the flight attendant explained the safety protocols.
‘Last-minute addition,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth.
Declan grinned, deciding the psychological warfare could begin early.
‘No kidding,’ he deadpanned, giving Oliver an obvious once-over.
Oliver adjusted his glasses, finally turning to look at him properly.
Declan’s breath caught as his lips pulled up in a brilliant smile, his eyes the most striking shade of green Declan had ever seen.
Their gaze held for a second too long, and Declan, uncomfortable, was the one to glance away this time.
‘You a gaffer, then?’ Oliver’s smile didn’t drop, but the look in his eyes hardened a little.
‘I’m Declan King,’ Declan said, immediately annoyed by how petulantly the words came out.
‘I have no clue who that is, mate,’ Oliver said, turning back to the front of the plane.
‘Thanks for the seat, though.’
Declan stared at him, feeling a familiar heat creep up his neck and realising he had signed himself up for far more trouble than he’d anticipated.