It’s blowing up.
I have messages from my mom, from Sadie, from my sister, and half the town.
What the heck.
I click on Sadie’s message. She’s forwarded me an article from a shady yet popular tabloid.
The headline reads,Ronan Masters Caught in Scandal with Nannies.
My stomach churns as I click on the link, and I see a photo of Ronan and me taken during our dance at the Christmas ball. Our arms are wrapped around each other. We look in lust. Heck, we look in love.
Judging by the story, the writer believes the lust part.
I tell myself that everything will be okay. No one knows anything. How could they? It only happened last night.
I read the next headline.
The Nanny Tells All. My Affair with Ronan Masters.
My mind spins. I never spoke to a reporter. We didn’t have an affair, only a night. And how did they find out anyway? I haven’t told anyone. Will Ronan think I talked to a reporter?
Panic bubbles. What if he doesn’t believe me? I scroll down to see a cell phone photo taken of Ronan sleeping in bed. It’s creepy and invasive.
I scroll farther and see a picture of Tiffany, the nanny Ronan fired, looking wholesome and pretty. And I realize with a small fraction of relief that the nanny tell-all the tabloid refers to isn’t about me. It’s about Tiffany. I speed-read. In the interview, she claims she had sex with Ronan.
It’s a lie, of course. He fired her for taking photos of him and Belle. He told me that his manager had ensured she wouldn’t go to the tabloids. His manager was obviously wrong.
But the image of Ronan dancing with me, the new nanny, looks bad. In the photo, it’s obvious that I’m besotted, and he doesn’t look indifferent either. When we were dancing, I hadn’t realized just how low his hands were on my back, skimming my buttocks in my red dress. It’s a gorgeous dress, the most beautiful I’ve ever worn, but no one seeing me in it would believe I’m a small-town teacher who normally lives in jeans and painting smocks.
It only gets worse, and like a car crash, I can’t look away. Below the interview with Tiffany, I find an article that’s all about me. It details my broken engagement, speculates how I want to trap Ronan, and decides that he’s got a thing for nannies. It makes me, him, us—sound sordid.
Nausea rises. The door from the porch opens and closes, and I look up at Ronan. His eyes are stormy.
“Ronan, I—”
“I need to talk to you,” he whispers in a hard voice, his eyes on Belle, who is curled up on the couch beneath a cream knitted blanket that looks like an Irish sweater. She’s still facing the movie, but I suspect she’s fallen asleep.
He turns and strides toward the kitchen. I follow him on legs made of jelly. My phone that contains the disastrous tabloid article and all the messages of concern is clasped tight in my hand.
He turns to me when he gets to the island and rubs his neck.
“We have to leave,” he says. No emotion. No explanation.
“What?”
“Belle and I. We have to go. Now. Back to LA.”
Panic shoots through me. “What? No. You said you’re staying through Christmas.”
“Things have changed.”
“The article,” I say.
“You saw.”
“Several people forwarded it to me. Ronan, you have to understand. I had nothing to do with it.”
He shoots me a fierce look. “Jesus, Poppy. I know that. Don’t you think I know that? It was Tiffany. Apparently, the nondisclosure agreement and threats of a lawsuit weren’t enough. My manager said he’d handled her, but he was clearly mistaken.Fuck. I’m not used to the press mattering.”
