Page 116 of Unscripted

That’s enough.

If he didn’t want to talk to me, especially in the middle of this shit storm, then I had to let it go.

I had to move on.

Hunter’s family home was a quaint cottage in the very charming town of Chipping Campden, where the average age hovered around seventy years old. The house was well-stocked with books and old magazines left behind on previous trips, but I was too fidgety to sit still and read or focus on anything for more than a few seconds, so I spent most of my time lying on the couch, trying to make sense of England’s daytime soap operas.

It did not help me feel better.

By day four of my time in the country, I had finally grown sick of being holed up inside. The idea of another day dozing off on the couch sounded too sad even for me, so I stepped outside and did the only there was to do in a remote village.

I went on a walk.

I walked along roads and through fields, across the large swaths of green, rolling land that stretched out and away from the town. I went all over and then, on the third day of walking, I ventured into the village. I was hesitant to encounter anyone, as I didn’t want to burst the bubble of peace I was currently living in, but the kind lady working at the small, local coffee shop didn’t bat an eye at me when I walked up to the counter and ordered a latte. Whether she really didn’t recognize me or she was just too polite to say anything, I didn’t care. I went back to the cafe every day after that, sometimes even twice a day.

***

It had been just over a week’s time since the news of my fake relationship broke. Nine days, to be exact, that had felt like both an eternity and a few seconds. I had managed to hide myself away from the network and the press and the prying eyes of the British public and was finally starting to feel some semblance of better.

I should have known that soon enough my time hiding would be up.

On Friday morning, there was a knock at the door of the cottage. It scared the daylights out of me, as I hadn’t been expecting anyone. No one except for Blair, Ben, and Harry even knew where I was.

Maybe it was just a neighbor saying “hello” or wanting to borrow a cup of sugar or something cute and domestic that happened in little villages like this one.

Cracking the door open, I was not met with a neighbor.

Instead, standing on the doorstep, clad in all black with large, round-framed sunglasses covering her eyes was Cecilia. Executive Producer of Bella Amore, Cecilia.

I stared at her without saying anything, without moving to open the door farther or invite her in. I couldn’t quite believe she was actually here. That she had found me.

“Not expecting anyone, were you?” she said, a faint smile pulling at her lips.

“I . . . ” But I didn’t know what to say. What was there when I had essentially defrauded the entire show she had built from the ground up?

She seemed to be enjoying just how stumped I was because she laughed and pushed her glasses up on her head, looking me in the eyes.

“Let’s go get a coffee, shall we?” she asked.

I was still trying to make sense of how she was even here, so I let instinct guide me and nodded my head. I pulled on the shoes I had left by the door and stepped outside to meet her.

We were silent as we walked down the country lane and toward the main road that led into town. A black Range Rover was parked on the side of the street, clearly Cecilia’s, but except for that we encountered no one.

I wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure why she would have made the trip all the way out here. Was I going to be in trouble? Everything was done; all the information was out there. What could they do? Sue me?

A pit formed in my stomach as I realized I could actually be in legal trouble, and it took everything in me to focus on the present and not let my mind go down that rabbit hole.

“So,” I said, needing to break the silence to stop myself from spiraling. “Have a nice drive out here?”

Cecilia inclined her head at me, and I could feel that intense gaze of hers piercing through her dark glasses. But instead of scolding me, instead of telling me off or threatening to take me to court, she simply said, “It was great.”

I nodded, even more confused. If I wasn’t in trouble, then why was she here? Maybe she was dragging things out for effect.

“You look well. Rested, too,” she said, as we reached the coffee shop.

“It’s been nice to get away, get some air.”

“Not be hounded by people wanting to take your picture?”