That didn’t sound right for a loving power couple.Elliot was in no way the best example of a doting partner, but not even he had wanted to spend Christmas apart.He liked tradition and ceremony—when it suited him—and during the three years that they’d been together, he’d always insisted they go to his parents’ house in San Francisco.Libby hadn’t always been thrilled about it, but she wasn’t big on Christmas, and the one time he’d gone with her to Crescent City to visit her mom and dad had been enough of a disaster that tolerating his boring parents for a few days was the lesser of two evils.At least his folks believed men had landed on the moon and the world wasn’t flat—even if they hadn’t believed Karim was Elliot’s son.
Libby kissed the top of her baby’s head.It’s their loss.In three weeks’ time, Elliot and his dull-as-shit, hypocritical parents could sit around the table on Christmas Day and celebrate “family” all they liked, because she and Karim would be playing in the lagoon on this amazing tropical island paradise, much better off without them.
But how and where would Isabella be spending her Christmas?
From the looks of it, Cranky and his fiancée had a great relationship, but were they also riddled with awkward parents, childhood hangups, and skeletons in the closet like she and Elliot had been?
Everyone has a story to tell…
So, what was Isabella’s story?How had Daniel’s accident affected her?An accident like that with lasting scars must’ve been tough on everyone, so again…Why wasn’t Isabella joining him here?Would they spend the holidays apart?
The hair on the back of Libby’s neck stood on end.Something was going down between them.She couldfeelit.
And the best thing?If Isabella was getting to be known around LA circles and hanging out with Hollywood royalty, any article with her name on it would surely sell—toHot Gossipand to all the other celebrity news sites.Libby could practically hear Juliana rubbing her hands with glee as she asked her to name her price.
“Mamma, look!”Karim raised his empty bowl.
“You finished, honey.Good job!”She wiped his mouth and hands—and his T-shirt and shorts.Even his sandals had puffed rice stuck to them, but still, the mess did nothing to dull the buzzing of Libby’s story radar.“Let’s get cleaned up here.”
She wiped the table and washed Karim’s bowl and spoon and then gathered her bag, ready to kick some journalistic butt.She’d find out what was going on between Britain’s Favorite Couple.
But first, she had to brush Karim’s teeth, and her own, and get him some non-milk-soaked clothes, look for someplace else to stay, and take him to the beach.
“Need a poopy.”
Right.
And take him to the bathroom, too.
Thebathwaterhadgonecold by the time Dan woke up in it.After Motormouth’s intrusion, he’d reveled in the quiet she’d left behind, grateful to be alone.Although he hadn’t planned, or expected, to fall asleep.
He was shivering now, his body like jelly, and as for the aches in his bones… He could barely raise his hands.
What madness had made him think he could handle the journey out here?
Then Isabella’s text jabbed his memory.
The announcement.
The journalists.
The pity.
Somehow, Dan heaved himself out of the bath, gripping onto the sides in case he slipped.At this rate, a fall would probably kill him…or paralyze him from the neck down—like doctors had feared would be the case when he’d been in his coma.
You’re a very lucky man, Daniel Jones.
They were the first words Dan remembered hearing when he’d woken up in a hospital bed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky…
Some people—like poor Dad—weren’t so lucky to survive an accident, but the Great Daniel Jones had.
Why?
What tricks of fate and clusters of stars had aligned to make him still be here?
And why didn’t he feel more grateful for it?
