Coming Home to Seashell Harbor (Seashell Harbor #1) - Miranda Liasson Page 0,7

“Bowie’s okay, isn’t he?” Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned that he was showing signs of senility. Or failing vision. Or hearing loss.

“He’s just as spry as ever.” Ivy chuckled. “It’s just that Cam—”

Hadley’s head jerked up. Before she could react, Mayellen spoke.

“She said came. It’s just that Bowie came late today and he’s starving. Ran right back there to eat his dinner. I’m sure he’ll be back out in a sec.” Mayellen shot Ivy a look, perfected from her thirty years as a first-grade teacher, her job when she wasn’t at Pooch Palace.

Hadley’s grandma had said her next-door neighbor was keeping Bowie at night, so she guessed that made sense. Maybe. “I heard about Cam wanting to buy the building. And I saw his car—”

Ivy nervously fingered a newspaper spread out upon the counter, which Hadley recognized as one of those familiar, hateful grocery store tabloids. “Is it true you went to rehab?” She held up a page with Hadley’s photo with the headline, Heartbroken Hadley! Jilted and Jealous!

“Of course not,” she said a little defensively. All thoughts of wringing Cam’s neck faded as she caught sight of a photo taken at the Academy Awards this past March. She wore a black couture gown and was smiling broadly as she took the arm of a handsome man in a tux whose classic, chiseled features resembled Chris Pine’s.

She remembered that night. How swept away she’d been. How thrilled to be there. How blinded by the stars in her eyes for Cooper.

Now she got it, the difference between real and fake. And she wouldn’t ever confuse the two again.

“Is that cleft in his chin real?” Ivy held up the paper so they could see.

“It’s real,” Hadley said. But, as it turned out, many of the most important parts of Cooper were not.

Like his conscience. And his character.

“I still can’t believe he left you for that floozy.” Mayellen pored over the spread-out pages. “What a shock.”

Yes, a shock. She’d been so blindsided by his news that she’d lost her words. She swore she would never let that happen again. Let a man make her voiceless.

However, it was nearly impossible to dislike Maeve Laurent. To most people, she was a kindhearted saint, a goodwill ambassador, and a huge supporter of female entrepreneurs in several countries.

Everyone adored her. When news of the affair blew up, Cooper left the country and traveled with Maeve, plunking down the entire salary from his last movie as a donation to her many causes.

They got adulation. Hadley got…pity.

“Aw, look,” Ivy said. “Here’s a pic of the two of them playing with kids from an orphanage.”

She glanced at Cooper’s handsome face, looking adoringly at Maeve as she danced with a little girl from within a circle of children. That was the most selfless thing she’d ever seen him do.

Maeve was the best thing that had happened to him, and that was the plain truth. That’s what hurt most of all.

Hadley hadn’t been enough.

All her life she’d been driven to work hard to achieve the best education, the most challenging job. Her parents were driven and successful, and she’d felt a certain degree of pressure about their expectations. But like them, she was really driven too.

If she were really honest, some deep part of her had been pleased that Cooper was such a catch—but somewhere along the line, she’d confused high-powered with meaningful.

Yet at one point she’d thought Cooper was it. Her someone to love, someone to have babies with. How could her romantic compass have been so…off?

“Oh my goodness.” Ivy suddenly clutched a hand to her chest. “This one isn’t very flattering.” She held up the paper, displaying a grainy photo of Hadley with her head tipped back, guzzling straight from a bottle of Crown Royal. “You sure you didn’t go to rehab?”

Hadley winced at the horrible photo that had gone viral. Overwrought and upset, she’d met girlfriends at the very back of a dark, off-the-beaten-path restaurant and had stupidly trusted the owner. Big mistake. The paparazzi had been like flies, buzzing around everywhere. The headlines the next day had her checked in to some chichi rehab facility somewhere in the Mohave desert—that Cooper had paid for, of course.

She reached over and closed the trashy tabloid, only to find there were other similar newspapers open underneath. Time to change the subject. Fortunately, Bowie came bolting out of the back room, followed by the oddest-looking dog she’d ever seen. Tall and lanky and skinny-legged, with a mass of white curly hair, he appeared