Page 42 of Hot Girl Summer

My search for Danny Pearce, Daniel Pearce and Belle Pearce returns zero results, but I don’t quit. I have to know who I’m up against.

I pull up Monty’s Instagram, and after a few moments of scrolling, I click on a post of him sandwiched between two impossibly beautiful and similar looking women. The caption is a gushing tribute to his cousins, Isabelle and Amira James. Wearing a figure-hugging black dress, Belle’s glossy dark hair falls like a silk veil over her shoulder, and her bronze skin and long, lean legs make her look like a Victoria’s secret model. I scoff. Of course, she lives up to her namesake.

A lump forms in my throat as I fall deeper into the proverbial rabbit-hole of Isabelle James, until sleep beckons, and finally, I give up the fight.

By the time Monday rolls around, Stefan had spent twenty-four hours in an endless cycle of fever, vomiting and nausea. Sweat dampens his pale, sallow skin, which is strangely devoid of its usual orange hue.

Before I leave for work, I bring him a glass of cold water and set it on the bedside table, then feel his forehead with the back of my hand.

“I think it’s flu,” he croaks.

“It’s probably just a summer cold. Can I make you a smoothie? Green juice?”

He screws up his face and shakes his head.

“Wow, you must be feeling bad.”

“I feel like I’m living in Satan’s armpit.”

“That was a visual I didn’t need,” I deadpan. “Have you called your boss?”

“Can you do it? It’s so painful to move.”

“Do I look like your mother?”

“Can you text her then?”

He forces a smile. I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I’ve said no to this man, and this will not be one of them. I feel far too much pity for him.

“Please?”

Swiping his phone from the bedside table, I point the screen towards his face, but it displays anomatchmessage.

“It’s not working. What’s your code?”

“My phone doesn’t even recognise me? How bad do I look?”

I side-eye him. “You really want me to answer that?”

“No.” He nods towards his phone. “It’s James’ birthday.”

“How sweet,” I say, with a hint of sarcasm.

After getting the green light to access his device, I send a WhatsApp message to his boss. A notification chimes almost instantly, but it isn’t from his boss.

Ryan: How do I tell Phi?

Before the temptation to read it takes over, I click off the screen and return the phone to Stefan’s bedside. Ryan will tell me whatever it is when he’s ready. I have to respect their privacy.

“Do you need anything before I go to work?”

“Just your unconditional love.”

“You already have that. When will James be home?”

“Around six.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything. Get some rest. I love you.”

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