The Cowboy's Runaway Bride. Nancy Thompson Robards

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      “I left early so I could get back as fast as I could. Now that you’re here I may never let you leave. But what’s going on? What the hell has Hadden Hastings done now? You know I never liked him.”

      Why wasn’t she prepared for this? She knew she was going to have to tell Juliette the whole story. But she struggled to find the words.

      “You must be exhausted,” Chelsea said. “Why don’t you kick off your shoes? I just boiled some water. While you’re getting comfortable, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

      “That sounds heavenly.” Juliette gave Chelsea another quick hug before she disappeared down the hall. “But I want to hear everything. Every last detail.”

      That was what she was afraid of.

      When Juliette returned, she’d traded in her business suit for a soft-looking pink tracksuit.

      “You were in San Antonio?” Chelsea asked, hoping to distract her by changing the subject.

      Juliette nodded as she plated a couple of muffins and set them and the two mugs of tea on a wooden tray.

      “It was a gorgeous wedding. The daughter of a big family that made a fortune in the spice trade.”

      “The spice trade? What is this, the fifteenth century?”

      “Believe it or not, I think that’s when they started the company.” The two went into the living room and settled themselves on the couch. “But enough about them. What’s going on?” Juliette sipped her tea. “Is your mother being impossible again?”

      “I wish it were that simple.” Chelsea ducked her head. “So I take it you haven’t heard?”

      “What’s going on?” Concern overtook Juliette’s face. “You said something about a video Hadden sent to the media. Is everything okay?”

      As hot tears began to burn her eyes, Chelsea shook her head. She tried to console herself with the thought that if Juliette hadn’t heard about the scandal, maybe it hadn’t made its way across the pond.

      Juliette reached out and put a hand on Chelsea’s arm. “Honey, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

      “Hadden’s quite proud of himself, I’m sure.”

      Chelsea drew in a deep breath. She just needed to say it. It was like jumping off the high dive; if she thought about it too long she would paralyze herself.

      “Before Hadden and I broke up, he filmed us having sex. Once word got out that Thomas might be a contender for prime minister, Hadden gave the tape to the media.”

      Juliette nearly snorted her tea and was overcome by a coughing fit. When she finally regained her composure, she said, “Are you kidding me?”

      Chelsea shook her head. She couldn’t force words around the lump of shame that always swelled in her throat when she tried to talk about this.

      “That little turd. You could sue him. You could sue him and the media that released it. They didn’t have your permission.”

      “No, they didn’t have my permission. I would’ve never allowed it. I would’ve never allowed Hadden to record us if I had known. The problem is, I don’t have solid proof that Hadden was the one who released the footage. Obviously, you and I both know it couldn’t have been anybody but him. There was no one else in his flat while we were intimate—”

      Her voice broke and she stared at her hands in her lap. She was so ashamed. Even telling her best friend in the world made her feel as vulnerable and dirty and humiliated as the moment she first found out.

      “How dare he?” Juliette railed. “It’s called slut-shaming, you know? God, I hate that term. It doesn’t do the female gender any favors. Even though it’s not intended to be derogatory toward women, it sounds like it is. It is a misnomer. It should be sex-shaming. Please know I am not by any means calling you a slut. You’re not. You’re the victim here. Don’t you see that? This is the epitome of double standards.”

      “I appreciate your support. I feel pretty crummy right now. I feel shameful and dirty, but I will never allow Hadden to force me to play the victim. You know me better than that. However, my family thinks they are the victims. They want me to disappear, just go away—” she made a shooing motion with her hand “—until this whole ugly mess blows over. I am officially a liability to Thomas’s future. So I have been cordially invited to get lost. Thank you for taking me in. I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to go.”

      Juliette threw her arms around Chelsea and enveloped her in another of her famous bear hugs. “I am so glad you’re here, honey. Though I wish it were under different circumstances. This isn’t your fault, Chels. Hadden is a misogynistic pig. He’s a creep. Why is he getting no flack and you’re taking all the heat? Why are we not prosecuting him?”

      “Because he blurred out his face in the footage. No one can prove it’s him.”

      “And the fact that you dated him for over a year never entered into the tawdry equation?”

      “Of course people have speculated, but there’s no proof.”

      Her face burned and she buried it in her hands. Juliette reached out and rubbed her back.

      “I am just incensed about this. I mean, I know you would never willingly open your bedroom door. It’s such a violation of privacy. But here’s one thing I don’t get. Why is it still so shameful for a woman to embrace her sexuality, but a man gets points for dipping his wick?”

      “That’s the age-old dilemma,” Chelsea mused. “One would hope that by now we’d evolved beyond that pathetic double standard. But times like this prove it’s alive and well because everyone has branded me a slut and seems to be taking great pleasure in shaming me.”

      “But you are not a slut! I know the tabloids went to town on you a few years ago when you worked for End Hunger. They tried to turn you into the poster child for party girls. What was that creep’s name who kept hounding you?”

      “Bertie Veal. He’s still up to his antics. He’s the one who broke the news about the tape. I just hope he doesn’t get wind that I’m here. If he does, I’ll have to leave because I don’t want him to start bothering you. Let’s hope he doesn’t remember we were university roommates.”

      “Bertie doesn’t remember me. I was never on his radar. But he was pretty obsessed with you. Actually, I think he had a crush on you, but he knew you were out of his league. It’s like the playground bully who pulls a girl’s ponytail when she won’t pay attention to him. Bertie needs to get a life.”

      “Sadly, selling stories to the paparazzi is his life. After Hadden sold him the tape of us, Bertie has been insufferable.”

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