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“So he’s your boy toy now? Can I use that?” He was practically drooling at the prospect.
“Rick, get a grip. You can not. Why are people talking about us, anyway? Is it that magazine article? That reporter can’t be trusted, she drank too much brandy after she fell into the ice.”
“Are you serious?” He paused, then frowned at her. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Oh shit. I figured you guys knew and were sticking to radio silence.”
“Rick, what are you talking about?”
He whipped out his phone from the pocket of his apron. “There’s this account on Instagram that’s been posting photos. It’s called BillyFan103225. Who knew there were so many Billy fans? Anyway, it’s been posting photos every couple days and hash-tagging Lake Bittersweet.”
He handed her the phone, cued to the account in question. She scanned the grid of photos. One shot was taken from behind, Billy jogging down the road, the focus on his sweatpants-covered ass. Another showed Billy bare-chested, taking a swig from a water bottle. So far, the standard “thirst trap” type shots.
Then things got weird. She stopped on a shot of Billy kissing a woman’s hand. He was dressed in the Dior suit he’d worn to the Helping Hands dinner, standing in the lobby of the hotel they’d gone to. That woman had to be her; it was her dress, her body. But it wasn’t her head. She didn’t have red hair or a nose ring.
Photoshop?
But the next photo was definitely her. In this one, she was tumbling into Chelsey’s lap. But somehow the photo made it look like she and Chelsey were about to make out. It looked so much naughtier than the actual incident.
Who had taken these? And who had altered some of them? There had been official photographers at the dinner, but what about the others?
She scanned through more photos…in one of them, she and Billy were kissing behind the Lake Bittersweet Wilderness Adventures office. This one hadn’t been altered. There they were, clear as day, kissing passionately.
But the next one had been photoshopped. This photo chilled her to the core. It was a blurry shot through the bedroom window of Sans Souci. The candlelight was dim, the scene romantic and sexual…Billy’s bare back from behind, his head just barely blocking her breasts, her head thrown back, face impossible to make out, but the hair…jet black.
Heart racing, she handed the phone back to Rick. “Who took these?”
“I don’t have the foggiest. No one does. I suppose it’s a fan, like it says.”
“It’s not a fan. Why would a fan post these? Some of them are altered, manipulated. They’re making it look like…”
They were making it look like Billy was fooling around. With her and with other women.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?”
Rick clasped his hands to his chest. “So sorry, amiga, I thought you knew. Everyone’s been tagged. Even Billy.”
There was no way Billy had seen these. He didn’t tend to check social media in the off season, or at least she hadn’t seen him do so lately. She wasn’t even on social media. It had caused her way too much angst when she and Billy were married.
Her hands were shaking as she put the lid back on her mocha. “Will you keep an eye on that account and let me know when it posts again? And what they post? I’m not on any of those sites. And let people know someone’s altering these shots. They’re not real. This could do real damage to Billy.”
“Absolutely. Least I could do.”
“If you see any clues about who it could be, call me right away.”
“Well, there’s already a big clue.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”
“It’s someone who’s here right now. One of the shots shows my Christmas decorations, which I just put up yesterday. But I don’t think it’s someone who lives here. The account just started recently. You let me know if you need anything else, chiquita. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Yeah, okay.” She pulled on her mittens, then paused. “Wait, does ‘mi casa es su casa’ even apply here?”
“I’m doing the best I can, babe. It’s still a foreign language, no matter my last name.”
They exchanged a quick hug goodbye, and Jenna headed back to her car. A wind had come up that tunneled down the main street like spinning knives made of ice. Even the few moments it took to reach her car left her shivering and shuddering. She was too shaken up to deal with her father now, so she headed for home.
