Page 139 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sophie

To my surprise, it was Katie calling me from the airport. In Dublin. I’d been so caught up in my own drama I’d completely missed it when two days ago news broke that her fiancé, rocker Jackson Stapleton, had been having a torrid affair for the better part of a year with the wife of one of his bandmates. Apparently, his silicone-enhanced mistress had sold her story to the highest bidder, revealing sordid details of rampant drug use, late night orgies, and trashed hotel rooms.

While I felt horrible for Katie, I was happy for Cameron Scott and his wife Sarah Travers because a new, more salacious story meant they’d finally get some breathing room from the press. The tabloids had been merciless about the panty-meltingly gorgeous actor marrying a plus-size woman.

Strange as it was, I had a vested interest in Cameron and Sarah’s relationship since it had been my blog post about Eagle Harbour that had spurred Sarah to plan a romantic getaway for she and Cameron when they were still hiding their relationship from the public. When she’d written to me to thank me for my recommendations, we’d gotten to talking and had become fast friends.

I still couldn’t believe the studio financing Cameron’s blockbuster movie, The Ties That Bind, had tried to force him into a fauxmance with his co-star to boost interest before the film’s release. Thankfully, Cameron and Sarah’s time in Eagle Harbour had been exactly what they needed: a few short months later they were getting married on my favorite beach, and now they lived in the small coastal community when Cameron wasn’t filming.

But back to Jackson, a man who—unlike Cameron—had succumbed to the temptation of superstardom and had turned out to be a terrible fiancé. Since I’d known him, Jackson had never done anything by half. At first, that’d been what Katie most loved about him, but over time his balls-to-the-wall way of living had become something she tolerated for the sake of keeping the peace. I often wondered if she’d ever get tired of it and leave him, but once he asked her to marry him, Katie had begrudgingly accepted her life would forever revolve around his whims.

Thankfully, this was one whim she refused to tolerate.

“So, basically, the article covered everything that made a musician a walking, talking rock and roll stereotype?”

“Yup, pretty much,” she’d agreed numbly.

“I gotta say though, I’m a bit surprised by the whole orgy thing.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Not me.”

“I feel like there’s a story here, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask you what it is or feign ignorance.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said chugging back a gin and tonic that was disguised in a sparkling water bottle. “He’s been trying to get me to do a three-way for years. I finally told him I would, but only if I could pick the third.” She shrugged. “He dropped it after that. I’m starting to think he wanted Trinity to join us.”

I kept my eyes on the road while trying to keep them from bugging out of my skull. Katie was adventurous, yes, but I didn’t think she was that adventurous. She loved Jackson, flaws and all, and for the first year of their relationship wouldn’t even look at another man. Anytime I’d try to point out a hot guy for some innocent ogling, she’d tell me as far as she was concerned no one could compare to Jackson.

“The cocaine and heroin use had to shock you though, right?”

“Can I tell you something?” she asked in a small, unhappy voice.

Ah shit.

“Of course. You can tell me anything.”

The words were an echo of what I’d once told Declan. The realization brought a stab to my chest that I masked for the sake of my best friend’s pain. While everything was so fresh and raw for Katie, I could hide my own problems. Once things settled down a bit, we’d have a good cry together, but right now I needed to be strong—for her sake.

“Jackson’s gone to rehab twice. The heroin’s new, but coke is kind of his thing.”

“Katie …” I intoned, squeezing her hand while I steered the car down a narrow country road, my other one white-knuckling the steering wheel. “How come you never told me?”

She let out an angry huff and launched into her story, venting all her pent up rage and frustration. “He didn’t want anyone to know. You wouldn’t believe the secrets I’ve kept for him, and this is how he repays me? Funny how he got me to sign a fucking NDA but not his whore. He always did have the worst instincts.”

She snorted and took another chug of her G&T.

“You’d think someone who’d gone to such lengths to hide his stints in rehab might have tried to keep this story under wraps too but he’s soaking up the drama. Would you believe when he finally got around to calling me, he refused to apologize?! He tried to convince me the affair was good for his career which made it good for metoo because any money he made off it would be mine once we were married.”

“He did not!”

That fucker.

“He did!” she screeched. “And get this: he was shocked when I broke off our engagement. After one final attempt to get me to ‘see reason’—” she used finger quotes “—he said I could keep my ring and our flat since he’d never really liked either anyway.”

And that’s when Beyoncé voice came blaring through the car stereo, singing about single ladies. Given our current predicaments, the song didn’t sound at all celebratory. I wanted to put my hands up, all right. Straight into Jackson’s windpipe.

“Anyhow, I couldn’t leave London right away due to the paparazzi. I’ve been holed up in our flat because they wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t do anything wrong!” She flung her hand wide and smacked her knuckles against the window but with the amount of gin she’d consumed, it didn’t faze her. “Sorry for yelling. It’s not your fault.”

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