That she didn’t help other content providers.
That while she’d climbed on others to clamber to the top, she would rarely lift a finger to help anyone else.
With shaking hands, she went to her own posts, to the last picture she’d posted, of the two of them on the hotel balcony as the sun set over the water.
Faker.
I always knew she was a phoney.
Can you imagine making this shit up for likes?
Who traps a man into being with them?
I’m waiting to hear from Willow before I decide.
We owe it to her to see what she has to say.
We owe her shit. I’m so disappointed in her.
Her? What about him? He took money to look after his own kid. He’s the loser.
I think they look happy.
Yeah. I could fake a smile for a million bucks.
I wouldn’t have to fake anything to be with him ;-)
And in amongst the emails were messages from her sponsors. They’d all be wanting answers. Answers she couldn’t give, because . . . how did they find out? Had one of the band members mentioned it to someone they shouldn’t have?
Shit, she knew better than to trust people. She should never had let Luke convince her it was okay to tell them. People let her down all the goddamn time. Why had she allowed herself to be swayed? If only the two of them had known, it wouldn’t be out in the press.
Oh my God, what if they’d done it deliberately to raise the profile for the band?
No, they wouldn’t do that.
Tears of frustration and panic slid down her face. She was alone, in a foreign country, pregnant, and her career had just detonated.
And maybe this would be her life if she stayed.
Luke off playing his music while she stayed home and took care of real life.
She gasped and reached for a tissue.
No, this was just fear talking. What they had was good. Was real. But how could she ever convince anyone of that now? People would always wonder. How could she show that, in coming here, she’d found her peace with Luke? He’d not let her down, and until she knew different, she had to assume that this wasn’t his fault.
She dialled Luke’s number, but he didn’t answer. He slept like the dead. Plus, it was four in the morning in Paris. She tried again, but it clicked through to voicemail.
He’d mentioned the hotel he was staying at. Maybe she should call it.
Her phone flashed, but it was a number from the States she didn’t recognise.
And, hell, there were seventy-eight voicemails.
Willow threw back the covers and got out of bed. Damage control. That’s what she needed to do. She needed to think through a strategy, so when she got hold of Luke, they would know what to do.
Unless the press had hers and Luke’s bank statements, they could never prove money had been transferred. And the only people who had seen her contract was Sasha, Luke, and herself.
They could lie.
They could spin this.
She could say someone was out to get her by making stupid stories. A part of her wanted to blame her father, but he didn’t know.
And then, she’d record a statement. Put it out on her platforms. Control the narrative.
You don’t need to do this alone.
She didn’t.
The small voice in her head caught her off guard.
Quickly, she turned off the kettle, scrolled through her contacts, and dialled a number.
“Hello?” Izabel’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Can I come up?” Willow asked.
“Of course. Are you okay? It’s not the baby, is it?”
“No, just give me a minute.”
Willow threw her laptop, phone, and cables into her backpack, tugged on some sweats and Luke’s hoodie over her pyjamas, and headed up the stairs. The relief she felt at knowing that within seconds she wouldn’t be alone took the edge off her panic.
When Izabel let her in, the lights were on and the kettle bubbling. “Are you okay?”
“Someone leaked mine and Luke’s arrangement to the press,” she said.
Izabel pulled her into a hug. It was so unexpected that Willow wasn’t even able to raise her arms to hug her back, they were simply trapped down by her sides. “Miserable fuckers, whoever they are. Right. So, what do we need to do?”
“I tried to get hold of Luke, but you know how deep he sleeps and how shit he is with his phone.”
“I do. He’s useless. Okay. I’ll call Matt. And make tea.”
Willow grinned. She didn’t even like tea. But she’d drink it. She’d drink it because Izabel had asked what we were going to do about it. Because she’d opened her door at three in the morning to help her. Because she’d hugged her.
“Thanks, Iz.”
“It’s what sisters do. At least, I’ve always hoped that’s what they do. Having never had one, I’m making shit up as I go. But Cerys seems to accept it, and so will you.”
Family.
Sometimes it was blood. Sometimes it wasn’t.
Sometimes they sucked you dry for everything you could give them.
And other times they made you tea at three in the morning and told you that you were important to them.
“I will. I do.”
Izabel squeezed Willow’s shoulder. “I’ll take the ‘I will’. Save the ‘I do’ for Luke when he pulls his head out of his arse and proposes. Let me go see if I can wake Matt.”
Willow called Luke again, but no answer.
“I was just dreaming about you,” Matt’s voice rumbled from Izabel’s phone. Willow watched the gooey smile appear on Izabel’s face as she smiled at the screen.
“Hope it was a good dream.”
“The best. Everything alright, babe?” Matt asked.
“You need to go wake Luke. Call his room. Knock on his door. Just get him to call Willow.”
“Everything okay with the baby?” Matt asked. “Is Willow okay?”
“She’s here, but she needs him. Shit’s hit the fan. Someone leaked their agreement.”
“Motherfucker. Look after her, babe. I’ll go get Luke. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Izabel put the phone down on the kitchen counter and went about making the tea. “Any idea how they found out?”
Willow sighed. “None. I mean. Perhaps I’ve been hacked. Like my laptop files. I’ve gone through each of you in my mind and can’t believe that anyone would hurt Luke like that.”
“We wouldn’t hurt you like that, Willow. Anyone with half a brain looks at the two of you and sees two people who love each other. And for those of us who have loved Luke longer than you have, we all saw him riding an edge he couldn’t stay on. We’re rooting for the two of you.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup Izabel offered. “Seriously.”
Izabel grinned. “I’m just imagining Matt wandering around a Paris hotel in his boxer briefs, trying to find Luke. He’s a bit useless on too little sleep.”
“Aren’t we all,” she said, glancing at the increasing number of notifications on her phone. “I can’t bear to look,” she said.
“Have you read any of it?” Izabel asked.
Memories of the comments made her shiver. “Yeah. Mostly negative. With some loyals saying they want to wait until I make a statement. The headlines are pretty awful.”