‘The ski chalet? New Year’s? You, me, and Olivia?’ There’s amusement in her voice. ‘The champagne in places champagne shouldn’t go?’
Ah fuck. That night. The one that got splashed all over the internet and media.
‘I couldn’t uncork the Dom Pérignon and ended up spraying it across the bedroom.’
‘Right. Hi. Sorry, Camilla.’ I run a hand through my damp hair. ‘Took a moment.’
I like women as much as they like me, and I’m not an arsehole. But that week was one long, self-inflicted nosedive, and I’d rather forget the whole thing. Guess I’m probably not alone with that wish. And we both know that’s never gonna happen.
‘Everyone calls me Millie. Except my grandmother, who insists on Camilla.’
I don’t know what to say. The chalet feels like another life. Before Theo. When I was still that Finn – pain-drenched and drowning in distractions.
‘Listen,’ she continues, ‘I’m ringing because there’s something you have to hear. About the video.’
‘What about it?’
‘It was Kit. He filmed us. He’s the one who sold the video to that tabloid. The highest bidder, really.’
The words hit me like a tackle I didn’t see coming. Blood roar fills my ears. ‘What?’
‘I know, it’s absurd.’
‘Damn right,’ I say automatically. ‘Why the fuck would he do that?’
‘What is it always about? Money.’ Her voice is matter-of-fact. ‘My family hired a private investigator to follow the money and do a full background check. Turns out dear Kit is in a spot of bother.’
I push myself up, my back hitting the headboard with a dull thud. ‘What kind of bother?’
‘The usual kind for boys like him,’ she says, her tone breezy. ‘He’s in debt up to his eyeballs. Apparently, he’s developed a rather expensive coke habit, and owes some unsavoury characters a great deal of money.’
Kit. With his designer clothes and trust fund. And he’s broke?
I shoot to my feet and pace. ‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Extremely. The PI found everything. Kit can’t access his trust until he’s twenty-seven, and Daddy cut him off. He’s strapped, so he’s been finding other ways to generate income to bridge the gap.’
The betrayal burns hot in my chest. Not just the filming – though that’s fucked up enough – but the calculated way he’d set it up. He invited me to the chalet knowing exactly how messed up I was and used it to set the trap.
‘That absolute fucking wanker,’ I spit.
‘Very,’ Millie agrees. ‘He’s been doing it for years, preying on friends and acquaintances. He’s well-connected, as you know. People pay to make things disappear. Or, if they can’t, he sells stuff to the press.’ There’s a hint of hardness to her conversational tone. ‘He thought we’d be easy marks.’
A cold, clean fury washes through me. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘I thought you’d want to know who you were dealing with.’
I drag a hand over my face. It was him. The guy who passed me the tequila, slapping me on the back.
I pace the length of my bedroom, rage building with each step. ‘I’m so sorry about the video, Millie. That you got caught up in all that.’
She laughs. ‘Please, don’t apologise. I had a fabulous night.’
‘But it’s different for women,’ I insist. ‘The slut-shaming, the judgement. It’s not okay.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t.’ The sound of her laugh bursts through, quick and bright in my ear. ‘But truth be told, my family hardly blinked. The Elphinstones have centuries of well-documented scandals under their belts. A bit of a romp in a ski lodge barely registers. My great-great-grandfather once rode a horse through the lobby of the Savoy Hotel – naked – and then shat in the corner. So did the horse. Nasty opium habit. Him, not the horse.’
A smile tugs at my lips, even with the anger simmering in my gut. ‘Seriously?’
