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Jean had seen some horrifying things in her day, but the sight of Charlie galloping toward his beloved on horseback rocketed straight into her top three.

What did they think this was—a rehearsal for Adriana Asebedo’s next music video?

Maybe they could CGI a carpet of wildflowers into the background. Add a slo-mo effect to her hair.

Not that Adriana needed the help. She looked natural in the saddle, like she spent her weekends cantering through meadows instead of wearing sequins on red carpets.

Jean vaguely recalled that the pop sensation came from humble roots, maybe even someplace rustic enough to include horses.

That had been part of her aesthetic in the early days, though obviously now she was much more sophisticated.

Hard not to be when you were a kajillionaire.

As much as she wanted to look away, Jean found it impossible not to stare.

It was borderline uncanny to encounter someone in the flesh whose face was so familiar from seeing it on a screen.

Jean’s brain immediately cued up a slideshow of every random tidbit it had collected about Adriana Asebedo: the red dress she wore to her first VMAs; her transformation from cute teen singer to sultry adult; how she sold out every stop on her latest tour; the TV actress she was rumored to be dating in her early twenties; that time one of her songs casually confirmed Adriana was bi and everyone lost their minds, in the positive and negative sense; and of course the video for “Silent Storm,” which Jean definitely had not pored over like a crime scene investigator after CharlieGate, looking for clues.

Too bad she hadn’t studied Adriana’s love life a little more carefully before Charlie flashed his tattoo.

It would have been a lot to take in, even without the flames of jealousy slow-roasting her from the inside.

If Jean squinted at her sideways, it was almost possible to pretend Adriana was an ordinary person.

Pretty, but not inhumanly so—a girl next door with expensive clothes and professional styling who did not subsist on junk food and restaurant leftovers.

The two beefy dudes trailing her, who looked like they’d be more comfortable riding tanks, changed the vibe, but maybe everyone was supposed to pretend they were invisible.

Jean wondered if the security detail could hear what Adriana was saying to Charlie. The pop star was smiling, but it looked like a serious conversation. I missed you. I missed you too. I love you. I love you more. Let’s go be rich and beautiful together. I thought you’d never ask.

That was just a guess. Despite her best attempt at reading lips, she had no idea what they were discussing—especially after Charlie’s other lady friend rode up beside her, blocking Jean’s view.

“Eve, huh.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, but Jean heard the undercurrent of suspicion. “Sockless Tommy’s niece.”

Jean tensed. “That’s right.”

“Why do they call him that?” the other woman asked, clearly testing her.

“Probably because he doesn’t like socks.” As if Jean was going to be tripped up that easily.

Adriana Asebedo’s laughter floated through the air, making it impossible not to look back at her and Charlie.

It didn’t sound like a fake giggle. This was husky and delighted, a full-throated burble of amusement.

The knife twisted in Jean’s gut. Sleeping together was one thing, but making each other laugh? That was hard to forgive.

“You seem very interested in what’s happening back there.”

“Aren’t you?” Jean shot back, because she wasn’t the only one trying to sneak a peek.

Sure enough, the other woman gave a guilty flinch, followed by a wary look at Jean. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was a transparent lie, but Jean opted not to call her on it. A truth standoff was apparently in both their interests. Maybe this chick didn’t want Adriana to find out Charlie had been running around on her, like the player he was.

“Don’t mess with him,” the other woman warned.

“Are you his bodyguard?” Jean asked, as if she didn’t know better.

“No, I’m his everything guard. And I don’t like it when people take advantage of him.”

Jean was surprised she didn’t crack her knuckles for extra menace. Maybe she didn’t need to, with a glare like that. “He’s a big boy. He can fight his own battles.”

“You don’t know him.”

There was no way to argue without exposing herself as a fraud. And besides, she had a point. Jean didn’t really know Charlie at all, did she?

On that depressing note, Emma Koenig joined them, reining in her horse to ride next to Charlie’s lady friend.

“I was hoping we could continue our conversation about the local flora, Margaret.”

So that was her name. Naturally, Charlie had never mentioned her.

There wasn’t room to ride three abreast, and since Jean had no desire to spend more time with Charlie’s mistress or the girl his parents were pushing on him, she found herself riding next to Sergeant Cowboy.

“Love is hard,” he said, out of the blue.

“How did you know?” It was deflating to learn she hadn’t been playing it as cool as she thought.

“I’ve been around the sun a few times.” He fell silent, contemplating the trail ahead. “They do have powerful chemistry.”

Following the direction of his gaze, Jean realized he was referring to Emma and Margaret.

“I guess,” she said, almost disappointed he wasn’t talking about her romantic tribulations.

“Hard to fight that kind of thing.”

“Yeah.” Chemistry was a bitch, all right. It messed with your head and made you do ridiculous things. Believing in someone too good to be true. Chasing him halfway around the world. Rubbing your own heart over the cheese grater of his double life.

“Keep your chin up,” Sergeant Cowboy said.

“Because it gets easier?” Jean guessed.

“No. But it’s almost snack time.”

“I catch one of you deviants littering, you’ll be picking garbage out of the pine needles with your teeth,” Sergeant Cowboy said when they reached the clearing where a breakfast buffet was waiting.

Jean slid off her horse, landing hard. It was more of a controlled fall than the neat leg swing Emma had just executed, or Adriana Asebedo’s exuberant hop, but Jean’s priority was speed, not grace. She needed more coffee stat.

“I was going to help you,” Charlie said, sneaking up behind her.

“Eve has ridden plenty of horses.” Eve was also the type to refer to herself in the third person. She must be a blast at parties.

“Good, good.” Charlie frowned at the ground. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

“Yes.” She charged ahead, ignoring the implied with me .

“Beautiful morning,” Charlie tried again, joining her at the table.

Jean glared at him over the rim of her tin mug. “Is it?”

He could make those doe eyes at someone else. Adriana Asebedo, for example. Once she finished the tense discussion she was having with Margaret. Maybe they were negotiating a new custody agreement, alternating weeks with Charlie.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Peachy.”

Charlie ignored the sarcasm. “It can be relaxing to get out in nature. Alone—or with other people. Whose company you enjoy.” He tried to give her a significant look, but Jean wasn’t having it.

“It’s hard to relax when you don’t really know the people around you. Or if you can trust them.”

“Oh, you can,” he said at once.

“Even if they’ve lied to you?” she asked sweetly.

“Maybe it only seems like a lie.”

“If it quacks like a duck, it’s a duck,” said Sergeant Cowboy, who happened to be passing by with a manly fistful of trail mix.

“Quack, quack.” For reasons she couldn’t explain, Jean made flapping motions with her elbows.

“Did you know that bread isn’t good for ducks?” Charlie asked, with an air of desperation. “Too many empty calories. They fill up on bread and stop foraging for more nutritious food.”

“I guess they don’t know any better. Ducks are easy to fool. But once they wise up, look out.” She narrowed her eyes at him in case he thought the duck part was literal.

“The truth can also be hard to swallow,” Charlie countered. “If you don’t know how the… duck will react. Or you’re afraid it will change things. Between you and the duck. If you’ve had a bad experience in the past. With ducks.”

“Well maybe it’s unfair to judge a duck because you happen to be paranoid.”

“Unless the reason you feel paranoid is that you like that duck so much, you can’t imagine anything worse than losing them.”

That brought Jean up short, but only temporarily. How dare Charlie say things like that with a straight face? “If you like a duck that much, why run away from it?”

“I—I’d guess the person was scared.”

“Of ducks?”

“Not all ducks. Just the one very special duck. With the most beautiful feathers.” His eyes didn’t move from her face, even when Sergeant Cowboy’s bellow rang through the clearing.

“We ride in five, greenhorns. Let’s get this place shipshape.”

Jean looked away first, draining the rest of her lukewarm coffee.

“Do you think we could talk more later?” Charlie asked, as she turned to drop her mug in the plastic bin provided for that purpose.

“Won’t you have your hands full?” she hinted. “With all your other guests .”

He blinked at her, like he didn’t know what she was getting at. Please. Did she look like that big of a sucker?

“I’ll probably have a headache.” She meant it as a transparently BS excuse, but Charlie’s face flooded with concern.

“Is it bad? Did you get too much sun? I shouldn’t have been talking your ear off. Do you want me to see if Ranger Mitch has any aspirin?”

“I think Sergeant Cowboy would tell me to cut my head off with a rusty machete before he gave me painkillers.”

Charlie still looked worried. “Do you need more coffee?”

She shook her head. “I’ll take a nap when we get back.”

“Want some company?” Smithson asked, sliding between Jean and Charlie.

“You’ve stepped in it now,” Charlie observed.

Jean assumed he was referring to the verbal evisceration she was about to deliver until she noticed he was looking at the ground. More specifically, Charlie had his gaze trained on the fresh horse droppings Smithson had walked right into.

Cursing, Smithson wiped his shoe on the grass, loudly informing everyone in hearing range how much he’d paid for his stupid loafers.

“That was your first mistake,” Sergeant Cowboy said. “The rest of you, mount up.”

“What about me?” Smithson whined.

“You can follow when you get yourself cleaned up. The horse knows where it’s going.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m supposed to trust a horse to get me home?”

“Ever seen a horse step in a pile of crap?”

“No,” Smithson snapped, like that was the stupidest question he’d ever been asked.

“That’s right. Horses are too smart for that shit.”