AndEmma who doesn’t let people walk all over her, except apparently right now when they look like her favorite movie starmakes a decision that I know I’ll regret entirely too soon.
2
Jonas Rutherford, aka a man in the midst of an epic fall from grace
I thoughtrock bottomwould be when the press got wind of the fact that Peyton and I had quietly gotten divorced. Thatdivorce in the Rutherford familywould be the biggest part of thisscandal.
My family founded and operates an entertainment conglomerate that pumps out the warm, fuzzy romantic movies that millions and millions of people across the globe watch twenty-four seven. I’ve been acting in them in some capacity since before I was old enough to remember. I’ve also been in every holiday parade at our Razzle Dazzle-themed amusement park since babyhood.
Being the basic face of our fairy tale has made the world believe that Ilivethat fairy tale off-set too.
Jonas Rutherford,divorcedfrom Hollywood’s sweetheart?
Scandal.
But it got worse a few days ago when my phone exploded with messages from everyone I knew that she’d gone public withwhyshe filed for divorce.
During a press conference where shealsoannounced she’d found a co-star for an epic project where she’d make her directorial debut.
The project that I should’ve saidyesto, and that me sayingnoto, for all the reasons she just shared with the world, led to our divorce.
That tidbit going public should’ve been my actual rock bottom in this ordeal.
But that was before I tossed my cookies in the bushes outside the wrong villa at the wrong resort where I’m attempting to keep a low profile while everything blows over.
Someone else will have a bigger scandal any day now, and I’ll get to go back to my normal life.
Not that I’m entirely sure what that is at the moment, but I’ll figure it out when I can leave my house without people asking me questions that make me feel like slime.
“Here,” my unexpected host says, sliding a plate of toast across the glass table to me in the small but well-stocked kitchenette with a window view of the ocean. “This might help your stomach too.”
She watches me for a second, her gaze wavering. And then she takes a seat in the wire-frame chair across from me and pulls her knees to her chest.
I can’t tell if she recognizes me or not.
Also can’t decide if I want her to or not.
I nod my thanks and debate with myself if I can stomach the toast and the ginger ale she poured for me while the bread was toasting.
Probably.
What’s the worst that happens if I try it and I’m wrong?
Already been there, haven’t we?
She takes a small sip of her own ginger ale, still studying me.
I need to get myself a ride back to my resort across the island. Back to my own villa, where I know the well-paid staff will be discreet and not tell anyone I’m there.
And where I have absolute faith that my fellow guests won’t bat an eye at me either, even if they recognize me and have seen the news in the past few days.
My host, though?
There’s something in the way that she’s watching me that has me on edge.
But the toast smells good.
Good enough that my stomach is insisting I try it or face more consequences.
