‘I’m going to avoid anyone famous. The director, the actors, the screenwriter even … They can do them, and I’ll do me.’

‘Of course.’ Magda laughs.

‘Egotistical, arrogant, fake Hollywood,’ Evie nods. ‘I’m going to enjoy the days as much as I can – but that doesn’t mean I won’t be counting them down, too.’

‘Got it,’ Magda shoots back. Then she thinks about something, her face lighting up as she hits on an idea. ‘But for what it’s worth?’ she adds, mischievously. ‘If it’s true that Duke Carlisle is now single again, please do pass along my number. You might think he’s a jackass waiting to be found out, but I happen to think he’s hot as hell.’

2

Duke

Duke Carlisle has never heard of a man dropping dead from a broken heart, but that doesn’t mean it’s never happened.

The pull in his chest tests him – mocks him, even, for being such a fool.

He’s been such a stupid bloody idiot.

How did he not see it?

Why did he ever believe Daphne when she said I love you? He obsesses over it for the trillionth time as he navigates the walk through Frankfurt airport to his waiting car out front, his Nikes thudding the ground, his designer tracksuit slung low on his hips. The click-click-click of paparazzi cameras and their accompanying flashes act as a baseline to the cries of fans who’ve been tipped off on his arrival time by some blog or social media account. It’s mad, the information superfans can get hold of. Somebody always leaks it, on nearly every production or media tour. He steels himself. They tell him it’s the price of fame. For years now, he’s been willing to pay it. He keeps his blue, almond-shaped eyes down, obscured by his designer sunglasses, and raises a large hand to his face to shield himself. He’s doing his best not to be grumpy. He really is.

Daphne Diamond, Duke’s improbably named co-star, now ex-girlfriend and the woman responsible for said debilitating chest pains, isn’t paying the same tax on her celebrity today. They were on the same flight from London, but she’s been ushered through the back exit, the private escape designed for high net-worth flyers and movie stars, probably already halfway to the hotel. She’s persona non grata with the producers right now, after attracting damning headlines about her cheating ways. Duke sighs. Daphne was caught in a tryst with their married director three days into filming the interior shots for On the Romantic Road at Pinewood Studios, photos splashed across every front page of her pressed up against a back-alley wall, her tongue in Brad’s mouth and Brad’s hands on her arse. And they’ve still got three weeks of all working together in Germany ahead of them. It’s rough.