The phone still buzzed in her hand as she took the stairs. The last time she communicated with her former boyfriend-slash-producer, it was with a string of hate-filled cuss words as she lay in the hospital, in post hip surgery pain, her head throbbing with a concussion.
She remembered every word she said but had convinced herself pain meds also played a part.
She let the call go to voicemail as she sorted through the vintage gowns, studying the pictures on the boxes, reading the details. She should ask the name of the grandmother. Haley labeled all the older, donated gowns with the donor’s name and information.
But she couldn’t concentrate. Matt Biglow had reached out. Why? She glanced at her phone to see he’d left a message.
Should she delete it? Listen to it and then delete it? The only reason she’d not removed him from her contacts was for a moment like this. If Matt texted or called, she wanted to know it. Just in case he was up to something. Legally he could do nothing with the reality show without her permission. But legalities never stopped him before.
In the dark, cool storeroom, Gemma gathered more vintage gowns and invited the women up.
“I do hope your grandmother’s is among these. If you find it or one you like, I’ll unbox it for you.” She excused herself “for only a moment” and disappeared into the office.
Leaning against the closed door, she breathed deep and listened to his message. More than likely she was fretting over nothing. Of course. He called to say he’s getting married. Or was getting out of show biz.Please, let it be.
“Gee Stone, long time no talk or text. Wow, you’ve gone up in the world. At least I think you have. Did I see you with Prince John?”
As if he knew she was listening, her phone buzzed with a text. On her phone screen was an image of her in Prince John’s arms, laughing. Those redneck rubberneckers. They posted pictures?
“This thing has gone wild. So, is it you? Sure looks like you. Can’t see your face really but I’d know that profile and those curves anywhere.”
Her face was partially blocked by her arm and her laugh, but to friends and family, she must be recognizable.
“You’re viral babe. #princessbride.”
Viral? Gemma left Matt’s text and searched the hashtag. Sure enough, there were pictures all over social media of her in Prince John’s arms. And there were hundreds of questions.
Who is she?
Where was this taken?
Anyone know her?
There was even a video clip on something called theMorning Showwith a reporter talking about this viral event.
There were hundreds of photos. Some before the fall. Some after. Some before the finish. Some after.
Even a video of Gemma charging the hoverers and calling them rednecks. This was a disaster. For the prince. For her. Because the one person, absolutely the one person who should not get ahold of this was Matt Biglow. Oh, he was seeing an opportunity here. And he would ruin her life all over again if he thought for a moment it would get him ahead.
Chapter Seven
John
He had a series of texts with his brother Monday morning in which he discovered scooping up Gemma to cross the finish line had reached the palace.
Spent the weekend at Hadsby. Came home to find you all over social media. What’s with the woman in the IG post?
Just a friend of Buck and JoJo’s. We were in a 3-legged race and fell. I carried her over the line. How’s Daffy?
Nesting. Starting to think of nursery decorations. We didn’t get to talk before you left. Are you okay with all this?
Please. I can handle my younger brother having a baby. Mum needs an heir, doesn’t she?
I just don’t want to make you remember…
That I lost a child as well as my wife? I’ll always remember but I don’t want to miss out on your joy.
Have you met Scottie yet?
