One

      Julia Keys ducked out of the cab in front of her childhood home amid a hailstorm of camera flashes and shouts from reporters.

      Where’s Derek, Julia? Is he flying in from LA for your sister’s wedding?

      Is it true you and Derek are shopping for a house together?

      Any chance you and Derek will tie the knot?

      Ludicrous questions, and yet they kept coming. She wouldn’t date Derek, her current costar, if her life depended on it. The idea made her queasier than her first trimester morning sickness, and that was saying a lot.

      Dodging reporters and lugging a week’s worth of designer clothes in a roller bag, she marched up the walk, past the rhododendron that had been in full bloom at the beginning of summer, the last time she’d been back in Wilmington. That was also the last time Logan Brandt had stomped on her heart. The very last time. Or at least that was the plan.

      Her father raced down the stairs of the wraparound porch and folded her into his arms. “Y’all need to learn some manners,” he yelled to the media militia assembled at the curb.

      At least the local press had enough respect to stay off private property. The same could not be said for the paparazzi in a big city like New York or Los Angeles. A film career spanning nearly a decade had left Julia a reluctant pro. Judging by the frantic phone call from her publicist that morning, when the story of her nonexistent romance first broke, the press would be arriving in waves over the next several hours.

      “Sorry about that, Daddy. Don’t talk to them. They’ll go away if we don’t say anything.” She pressed a kiss to her