If he’d never got on that stupid horse in the first place, he would’ve been on his way to the Cook Islands anyway—with Isabella.
On their honeymoon.
“I totally loved the UK.”Motormouth next to him started up again.“And I loved London.We stayed with my good friend, Rick.We met at night school in LA a few years ago, and it was great hanging out with him again.But don’t worry,” she added, “I’m not going to ask if you know him.It’s wild when people ask that, isn’t it?”She chuckled.“Like London is some tiny village.It took me days to get my bearings.Rick would say, Let’s meet on Oxford Street, the Tottenham Court Road end, and I’d be like, Eh?I’d see it on the map, but then I’d take the wrong exit out of the subway.So, I ended up walkingawayfrom Oxford Street, toward Leicester Square, and…”
Oh.Good.God.
Dan closed his eyes, his brains banging against his skull.
This journey had already been so painful, riddled with mistakes and delays.At Heathrow, his first-class ticket had been downgraded to economy due to some error beyond everyone’s control.Seeing as Dan had to get on that plane or risk those journalists catching up with him, he’d squeezed his six-foot-four frame into the standard-class seat.No problem.It was a twelve-hour flight to Singapore for his connection.He’d watch a couple of films.Eat, zone out, and be ready for the next stage of his journey.But then they’d sat on the runway for hours, and he’d missed his connecting flight to New Zealand.Had to wait eight hours for the next one, only to be given another standard-class seat.But even though his legs and hips were screaming to stretch and lie down, Dan had kept his cool.Mostly.Until he’d arrived in Auckland for the flight to Rarotonga.
An incoming storm.
More delays.
Another standard-class seat.
And this time, it was next to an irritable child and a motormouth who wasn’t picking up on hisI don’t want to talkvibes.
The plane began to taxi.Air stewards ran through the safety briefing.
“Anyway, I eventually found my way back and figured out how things worked.The London street names are cute, though.They carry so much history…”
Earbuds.Where the hell were his earbuds?He patted his pockets.
“So, you here on vacation?”
“Yes,” Dan muttered, finding only painkillers and tissues.
“How long are you staying?”
“A month.”He searched for his bag under the seat.
At least this woman didn’t know who he was.Journalists shooting questions at him every time he opened his front door were bad enough, but the general public could be just as vicious.Always with their phones.Always ready to post on their social media.And the pity!
Danhatedit.
And it would only increase when everyone found out about Isabella.The beautiful, shining star of the British music industry, the woman who’d have been his wife if it wasn’t for his accident.If it wasn’t for—
Motormouth’s child whined.The sound drilled into Dan’s sore head, making his bones hurt even more.
Or was that because he’d been thinking about Isabella?
Blocking her completely out of his mind was hard.Back home, her new hit song played everywhere.Every time he went online, every time he switched on the TV or radio, there it was—Give my love a home this Christmas…It had even been playing in the cab on the way to the airport.
Maybe flying out to his honeymoon location wasn’t the best move.But seeing as he’d gifted the whole honeymoon package to his mother and aunt, Dan could only think that spending time with them on a hot beach would bring him comfort.Not that they knew anything about his last-minute decision.He’d needed to escape, and they’d understand.
“We’ll be flying soon, honey,” Motormouth said to the boy, who was still whining.“He’s not normally like this.Maybe something’s bothering him?Do you have a pain somewhere, honey?Does it hurt here?Or here?Or maybe you want a snack?You didn’t eat much earlier.”There was rustling and bags being opened and closed.“Maybe you want one of these, baby?”
The child squealed no.
“But you love grapes.They aresoyummy, aren’t they?”Motormouth made some ridiculous chomping noises and nudged Dan’s elbow.“Here, take one.Please.”
Dan glanced at the tub of green grapes.“No, thanks.”
“Fake it,” Motormouth whispered, her glittery lashes fluttering like worn-out butterflies.
Dan couldn’t be arsed to fake anything, least of all his enjoyment of having to sit next to this annoying woman and her awful child.Stifling a huff, he pinched a grape between his fingers and popped it into his mouth like one of his pain meds.“They’re nice, kid.Now do as your mother says and eat them.”
