Chloe’s stomach clenched into a tight little knot as she navigated to Twitter and typed “Archer Tate” into the search field. She gasped, just as George responded. “It’s Madison, Archer. She’s gone on a bit of a tweeting rampage.”

“How bad is it?” asked Archer.

“Bad,” replied George and Chloe at the same time. Chloe could hardly tear her eyes away from the feed. Accusations and vile, spiteful, nasty words, many of them about “that skank”. About her. Chloe felt the bile rising and swallowed repeatedly to keep from vomiting.

“As I said, I’m penning the press release now and as soon as you get to your parents’ house, read over it, so we can get it out as soon as possible.”

Chloe tore her gaze away from her phone and looked at Archer. His jaw was tense, and she’d only seen him scowl that intensely on film. “Will do. Thank you, George. Oh, and you took care of that other matter, I expect?” Chloe figured that the “other matter” was sacking the person on the publicity team who had leaked to Madison where Archer was.

“Of course. I sorted that out yesterday and I assure you, that will not happen again. Anyway, I shall wait to hear from you. And Chloe?” Chloe realised with a start that George was addressing her.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I’m so very sorry about all of this and to be meeting you, so to speak, under such terrible circumstances.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, no worries.”

“We’ll get it sorted, all right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Archer, I’ll speak to you later. Bye.”

The call ended and Archer reached across to take her hand again. He lifted it to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss that Chloe barely registered.

This was real. This was her life now. Being in love with the world’s biggest film star came at a price—a massively huge and ugly price. As she took a long, steadying breath to quell the nausea, Chloe stared out the window at those poor wet sheep.

If only the girls were here.

*

“Right, can I get you some tea? Sherry? I think Max has some whisky somewhere.” Susan peered at Chloe, worry etched onto her usually smooth features.

“Well, I do, love, but it’s not even noon yet,” replied Max.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“Um, tea, please,” Chloe said. Archer had dropped her off, depositing her carry-on and handbag in the Browning’s entry, and giving Max and Susan a digest version of what had occurred. He’d left with a promise to return as soon as he could and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Chloe, who had watched the exchange like some sort of out-of-body experience, was now bundled up on the couch under one of Susan’s mother’s crocheted blankets, as though she was seven years old and off from school with a cold.

Susan disappeared from the front room, presumably to make the requested tea and Max, who sat across from her in his favourite chair, cleared his throat far more than was normal and glanced across at her intermittently over the top of his book. Chloe suspected that he wished he were anywhere else and felt terrible that she’d brought so much drama into the Browning’s home.