Chloe gave her shoulders a squeeze. Like Jenn, she had no idea what she was feeling.
She’d stepped onto the ferry feeling equal parts relief, dread and heartache. And still, the heartache had nothing to do with Thomas. Her heart ached for Max, a man she’d known only a few days.
They’d said their goodbyes that morning. He’d held her tight, and kissed her hard, but in the end, Max had let her go. Of course he had. He had no obligation to her and no say over what she did. It had been a quick fling, nothing more.
Yet her heart hurt around the edges every time it beat.
He’d let her go. Or she’d run away.
Still, she could’ve sworn she’d seen weary relief in his eyes. But how could she begrudge him that? Given even the briefest opportunity, Chloe would happily wave goodbye to the mess of her life. Heck, she was relieved just to get away from the photographers on the island for a few hours. They’d be back soon enough.
Maybe sooner than she’d expected. As the ferry drew closer to the dock, Jenn stiffened beside her at the exact moment that Chloe spotted the four men standing on the dock sporting cameras and bored expressions. “Oh, shit.”
“The guys on the island must have put out the word you’d gotten away.”
“Damn it.” Her throat burned with hot tears of frustration and fear.
“Come stay with me,” Jenn urged, glaring toward the men as they perked up and walked farther out onto the dock.
“No, they’ll just follow me there and ruin your life, too.”
“I don’t care.”
The ferry engine roared as it slowed, easing up against the bumpers. “Come on,” Chloe said softly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Walking through a crowd of paparazzi—and Chloe would argue that even four photographers was a crowd—was a strange experience. She’d been raised in Virginia, where men opened doors for you and carried your bags, even if you told them you didn’t need help. But the paparazzi were like a scrum of hungry animals. They didn’t want to ease her way. They didn’t want to step aside or open doors or take her bags. They wanted to hold her back so they could get a few more pictures. They wanted to block doors so she couldn’t escape. And if they pushed her into losing her temper, all the better. Cruel bastards.
Chloe carried her bags and kept her head down as she stepped off the ramp.
“Chloe!” they shouted, their voices climbing over one another, trying to get her attention. “Chloe, over here!”
She pushed on, ignoring the jostling of their bodies against hers. Her skin crawled with the need to run, to flee the danger of men crowding around her, shouting, bumping into her. It was worse at the DA’s office, when there were dozens of them. It was suffocation and horror. But this was enough.
“Chloe! Chloe! Tell us about your new boyfriend!”
“Chloe, does Mr. Sullivan know what you are?”
She frowned at her feet and pushed on.
“How long have you been sleeping with him? Did you know him before the plane crash?”
“Is it true that you hate your cousin?”
“Chloe, why wouldn’t you let her be in the wedding?”
She was almost to the car. Almost there. During the occasional silence between camera clicks, she could hear the wheels of Jenn’s rolling bag just behind her.
“Chloe, who’s Thomas’s other woman?”
What? She almost paused. Almost stopped and turned around, but she managed to override that impulse and rush the last few yards to Jenn’s car.
The sharp clang of car keys hitting the ground made her groan, but then she heard Jenn scoop them up and the car beeped a friendly welcome. Chloe reached for the trunk Jenn had popped open, threw her bags inside and leaped into the passenger’s seat just as another question hit her ears. “Is it true that he was cheating? Were you both cheating?”
Jenn slammed her door and started the car with what would’ve been a roar if not for the tiny four-cylinder engine.
“What was that about?” Chloe asked.
Her friend shrugged.