“No. No more photos with Max,” Freya said. She moved forward and grabbed my camera. She scrolled through the images, deleting those that didn’t please her. “When I post photos with him, I get half the likes. And that’s when I get nasty comments. People still hate him. He’s a liability.”

“Maybe you’d like a photo for yourselves,” I said. “You could get it framed.”

Freya ignored the suggestion. “Once the baby is born, we can post one of those shirtless dad, naked baby photos. Gauge the reaction.” She raised her eyes to mine. “That is, if we’re still together.”

“What do you mean?”She sighed as she handed the camera back to me. “I’ve been thinking about leaving him.”

My stomach churned with panic. “Leaving him?”

“Max has got a lot of demons. I know he’s trying to deal with them, but . . . I’m not sure he’s emotionally or physically present enough to be a father.”

I swallowed. “But you’d stay here, right? On the island? With the baby?”

Freya leaned back on the railing. She looked remarkably casual despite the gravity of her words. “I’ve been thinking about going back to LA. My dad’s there. I can hire a nanny and rebuild my career.”

“You can do that here,” I blurted. “We’re taking great photos together. You’re getting more sponsorships. People love you again.”

“My followers want the image,” she said. “The hair, the nails, the body. Facetune can only do so much. I won’t have time to take care of myself with the baby. And there are basically no domestic workers on the island. I can’t even get a housekeeper on a regular basis.”

“Order a nanny from one of those foreign agencies,” I said. “There are women in war-torn countries who are desperate to come here. They can take care of the baby and cook and clean. Then you can work out. And go to the salon. And get your nails done. And we can do our photo shoots. We can do photos with you and the baby. Everyone will love you. And it.”

Freya sighed, her eyes on me. “It would just be easier in LA.”

“Please. . . .” My voice was hoarse with desperation. “You can’t leave. I . . . I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

But I did know. She had punted me from her life once before, and I had nearly done myself in. If she left for good . . . it could be fatal. I had always tried to hide the depths of my devotion, downplay the intensity of my feelings, but they were on full display now. I was trembling. I felt physically sick.