Page 112 of The Oscar Escape
The situation had gone from ludicrous to outright bananas.
“Lisa, you were supposed to stay in the bushes,” Justin blasted.
“Hold on a second,” Aria said, surveying the band of morons. “You brought your side piece to film reuniting with me, supposedly the woman you love?”
“Again, I prefer to be called the Panty Princess,” the woman corrected.
Aria pinched the bridge of her nose. “You brought your Panty Princess side chick to record as you fake-rescued me from three paparazzi that I’m guessing you paid to kidnap me?”
“I did this for you—for us,” Justin implored. “Do you understand the amount of publicity we’ll get? Everyone is talking about you. You want to hit double platinum, and I need to drum up excitement for my upcoming tour. Early sales numbers haven’t been that great. They did some focus group testing. Female fans don’t like that I’ve cheated on you.”
“Go figure,” she mumbled and stared at the sky. Was it raining boneheads?
“So, you get it,” Justin beamed. “This is a win-win for us. All we have to do is let Lisa record some footage. She’ll post it to her socials, and from there, it’ll spread like wildfire.” Justin peered past her at the Hawaiian shirt guys. “Can we do the kidnapping scene again? And this time, don’t kick their asses, Aria.” He grimaced, giving her a once-over. “And lose the boots. They’re the opposite of sexy. Bare feet will add a primal element.”
How the hell had she dated this guy?
“There won’t be any kidnapping videos,” a man called.
Aria turned as Dominic and Malik charged toward them.
“Are you okay?” Malik asked, looking her over. “We’ve scoured the island looking for you.”
“I’m fine.” She eyed Dominic. “What is this? Why are you here?”
“A video released this morning of you conducting a group of musicians. The person who posted it announced that you’d been hiding out on Havenmatch Island.”
The Panty Princess giggled. “That would be me.”
Dom didn’t even give the blonde a second of his time. “As soon as I saw it, I jumped on a plane to get here.” He took in the buzzing helicopters. “In a matter of minutes, this place will be crawling with press and paparazzi.”
Aria’s stomach dropped, and her heart was back in her throat. She couldn’t ruin this for the islanders. She exhaled a tight breath and glared at the ground. “This can’t be happening. It’s a big day for the residents. This is their annual festival. I helped them promote it. I wrote the music for it.”
Dom rubbed her back. “And I’m sure you worked your ass off, honey. But the paparazzi aren’t here to order a bowl of chowder, peruse art, or gawk at a rare lobster. They want to get you and Oscar on camera. And for some godforsaken reason, someone posted that you, Oscar, and Justin are in a three-way relationship.”
“Ew!” she exclaimed. “Who said that?”
“I might have,” Justin muttered. “The post has over a million likes. It bolstered my numbers with men.”
She looked at Dom. “This is a mess.”
“Aria!” Oscar shouted.
Relief flooded her system at the sight of him.
He folded her into his arms. “Did these guys hurt you? I recognize them from the club in Boston.”
“Those nitwits dressed like Hawaiian lobster burglars tried to fake-kidnap me, but I kicked their asses.”
“And Aria’s coming with me,” Justin declared, talking like an infomercial announcer, then glanced at Lisa. “But maybe we could get a selfie first. An Aria, Justin, and Oscar shot?”
“Over my dead body,” Oscar raged. “Aria’s coming with me. I’m her husband. I know what’s best for her.”
“No,” Dom said, shaking his head. “She’s not going with either of you—at least, not yet.”
Oscar searched Dom’s face. “What are you saying? You know Aria’s safest with me.”
Dom offered Oscar a weak smile, then turned to her. “You deserve to know what’s happened. You need to have all the information,” he replied, looking between Justin and Oscar.
