Page 81 of Never Date a Celebrity

“But your injuries—”

“Let me worry about getting my body ready,” she said firmly. “Tell them I’ll do the movie.” Amelia had no reason to hang around Ireland any longer than it took her to finish up with Always the Bridesmaid. Not anymore. And after that message, burying herself in more work sounded more appealing than ever.

Some things hurt a hell of a lot more than healing broken bones.

Chapter Sixteen

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Rory said with overzealous enthusiasm as he and Jonathan approached the bar with gleeful looks on their faces. “We knew that was Amelia Whitlock we spied in town. We just knew it. But we didn’t know why, you dark horse.”

It took everything Imogen had not to roll her eyes or tell them to mind their own business. God, it was tempting. It was about the thirtieth interaction like that she’d had all day. It felt like everyone in the village had seen the photo. Sally. Mel. Cian. Even One Pint Willy had been shown it by his daughter—and of course he recognised her because he’d already seen Amy in the pub. And it wasn’t only the village. Her phone had been going nonstop between her family, old work colleagues from Clover, and even some old school friends she hadn’t spoken to in almost twenty years. Everyone came crawling out of the woodwork. Had Imogen ever mentioned that she hated attention? Hated it!

“I guess the secret’s out about my famous friend,” she replied to Rory, trying to sound carefree and casual, even though it stung every time she said that word. Friend. She had used the same line throughout all her interactions about Amy. The queen of cool, that was Imogen. On the outside, at least. Inside, she was completely falling apart. Her own doing.

“Oooo now,” Jonathan piped in. “You can’t fool us. Those weren’t two friends snuggling in that picture.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “People used to think me and Rory were just friends too.” He followed that up with an overexaggerated wink.

Imogen focused very hard on the pint she was pouring, right up until it sloshed over the rim.

“Ah here, she’s spilling drinks and everything.” Rory laughed. “Look at her face.”

“I’m saying absolutely nothing,” Imogen muttered, grabbing the nearest towel.

“That’s as good as confirmation,” Jonathan declared triumphantly.

She let the pair of them gush some more about how lucky she was, and how amazing Amelia Whitlock was, and how they wanted to be invited to the wedding. She’d learned it was easier to let people think and say whatever they liked, especially when they didn’t believe her anyway. Besides, hearing them talk about Amy like that hurt enough already.

Imogen was glad when their pints were poured, their money was in the till, and their bums were in two seats halfway across the pub. She liked Jonathan and Rory well enough, but talk about overfamiliar.

“I think I’ll go onto food for a bit,” Imogen announced. That was the only job without customer interaction, and she’d had quite enough of those for one day, thank you very much.

After she and Niamh traded places, Imogen slipped her phone out of her back pocket. She had looked at the leaked photo so many times, she could have drawn it from memory if she had any artistic skills. Which she did not. But because she loved to punish herself, Imogen pulled it back up onto the screen anyway. Why settle for the memory when it was there in high definition?

“Stop it,” Niamh said over her shoulder.

“Oh. You’re spying on me now as well, are you?” Imogen said, attempting to sound light-hearted rather than annoyed. She couldn’t be annoyed at Niamh. She and Piper had been nothing but supportive since the photo had hit the internet that morning. Needless to say, Piper had seen it before Imogen had even made it back to the Wishing Well. Her two friends had been waiting for her, greeting her with open arms the second she walked through the door.

“When I know you’re torturing yourself, absolutely.” Niamh was fierce when she was in protective mode. And Imogen had never known anyone better at it.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that you’re not the only one who sneaks around spying on folk.” Imogen had known there was something off about Bridget. Especially after she’d met her last night.

“Bridget Clemonte is officially struck off my hot list.” Niamh drew an X in the air with her finger.

“And mine,” Piper said, emerging from the storeroom carrying a crate of cider. She set it on the floor with a grunt. “Mess with Immy, you mess with us. Isn’t that right, Niamh?”

“Aye. Too right,” Niamh said.

“My guardian angels,” Imogen said, giving each of them an appreciative glance. She blew out a breath. “It will blow over. I know it will. It’s just going to be difficult until then.”

“How about Amelia—Amy? Have you spoken to her?” Niamh asked.

Imogen hadn’t told them about the text message she’d sent to Amy, but there was no time like the present, she guessed. “I think I ended things.”

She expected more hugs, maybe a soothing back rub, but instead Niamh and Piper exchanged a look. And it wasn’t a look Imogen could decipher, which was weird. She thought she knew all their looks by now.

“Just like that?” Niamh asked. “Even after last night?” She didn’t sound disapproving exactly, but she didn’t sound approving either.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Imogen said. “I went there to make sure she was okay, and somehow everything only got more complicated.” She folded the towel in her hands for the third time. “I care about her. I just…” She blew out a breath. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Piper and Niamh did that thing where they had a silent conversation with their eyes. It was like their own language or something. There were squints and eyebrow movements and head jerks and everything.