Declan couldn’t understand Georgia’s unshakable attachment to someone who had hurt her so badly. The kind of love Georgia had for James, the all-consuming and irrational kind, always seemed to end in devastation. Declan had no interest in ever trying it out for himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally.
There was another long pause, then Georgia cleared her throat. ‘Just don’t find anyone to replace me, yeah?’ she said. Her tone was light, but Declan knew she meant it.
‘Nobody could replace you, George.’
‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to end your call. We’re about to take off.’ Declan looked up to find a flight attendant leaning over him with a firm smile fixed on her lips.
‘Could you give me a second, please?’ Declan asked, and she nodded before moving on.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Georgia said brightly. ‘You’re going to absolutely smash this! No one is better at working a crowd than you. Then you’ll come back and punch people and it’ll all be grand. Okay?’
Declan couldn’t help but smile. ‘Okay.’
Georgia hung up, as always, without saying goodbye.
Declan caught the flight attendant’s eye again, waving his phone in her direction and making a show of putting it away. She smiled humourlessly back at him.
The final passengers had found their seats during the call. Declan was relieved that no one else had been assigned to his row, a small mercy in his chaotic day. He watched the flight attendant go to shut the main cabin door and saw her nearly get trampled by a man in his haste to get on the plane. He apologised profusely before stumbling down the aisle and stopping in front of Declan, sheepishly nodding to the window seat.
Declan stood, glanced at the man’s long legs, and begrudgingly muttered, ‘You can have the aisle.’
‘Cheers,’ the man said, looking relieved. ‘Sure you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’ As he said it, he noticed a woman he recognised as a producer peering at them from a few rows down. He grabbed his backpack and slid to the window seat, slamming the armrest down between them.
‘Thanks,’ the man whispered, sitting and eyeing the producer too.
Studying his profile, Declan could admit he was attractive, but he didn’t seem like the usual type forSummer of Love. There was no sign of hair gel or spray tan, no tacky sunglasses, no pungent scent of desperation. Instead, he had soft brown curls that fell into his face and sharp cheekbones hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. If this was the competition, Declan would be fine.
‘I’m Declan,’ he said, smiling wide and putting out his hand.
The man’s eyes flicked to Declan’s face for only a moment before returning to the front of the plane. He took his hand, giving it one quick shake and muttering out, ‘Oliver.’
‘You a contestant?’ Declan asked.
Oliver gave a minute nod, still looking intently ahead as the flight attendant explained the safety protocols. ‘Last-minute addition,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth.
Declan grinned, deciding the psychological warfare could begin early. ‘No kidding,’ he deadpanned, giving Oliver an obvious once-over.
Oliver adjusted his glasses, finally turning to look at him properly. Declan’s breath caught as his lips pulled up in a brilliant smile, his eyes the most striking shade of green Declan had ever seen. Their gaze held for a second too long, and Declan, uncomfortable, was the one to glance away this time.
‘You a gaffer, then?’ Oliver’s smile didn’t drop, but the look in his eyes hardened a little.
‘I’m Declan King,’ Declan said, immediately annoyed by how petulantly the words came out.
‘I have no clue who that is, mate,’ Oliver said, turning back to the front of the plane. ‘Thanks for the seat, though.’
Declan stared at him, feeling a familiar heat creep up his neck and realising he had signed himself up for far more trouble than he’d anticipated.
Chapter 2
Declan
The car ride to the villa was quiet and cold, the aircon blowing full blast against the Spanish summer. Feeling underdressed in his swim trunks, Declan did his best to ignore the goosebumps springing up on his skin as he peered out the window. It was his first view of Mallorca and his last glimpse of the outside world before entering the villa that would be his home for the next eight weeks.
Eight weeks. It was the first time he’d fully registered how long he’d be gone. Declan had always been good in press conferences, could play off reporters with an easy rapport, but those only lasted a few hours. This show would be the longest performance of his life, and he wasn’t sure he could do it.
