The journey from Fidda Hilal to Sharm el-Sheikh seemed eons longer than the drive the other way. Then, I'd been lamenting the breakup of a relationship with a man I now understood had taken me for granted.

From the weeks I'd spent with Adam, I saw how little effort Bryce had put into our time together. He'd expected me to run around after him, making dinner and washing his clothes. Ironing his underpants had seemed so normal at the time.

Now I knew better.

But you know what Bryce didn't do? He didn't lie.

As I wiped a tear from my cheek, I mourned the death of a person who'd never truly existed. Adam had shown me what I wanted from a man. A friend, a companion, someone who'd have my back no matter what. He'd given me that. But what he hadn't given me was something I realised I needed above all else.

Honesty.

I needed a man who gave me all of himself. Adam claimed he hadn't been dishonest, but he hadn't been forthcoming with the truth either. Except when he was talking with Kat. He'd been quick enough to tell her that he didn't want me there.

Well, he'd got his wish.

Traffic on the two-lane highway was far busier than before, but ninety percent of the vehicles were on the other side of the road, all heading towards Fidda Hilal. Trucks carrying boxes, cars with suitcases strapped to the roof, and even a couple of coaches whizzed past. And in keeping with Egyptian tradition, my driver tooted and waved at every single one of them.

I still couldn't help feeling I was taking the coward's way out, but even as she hugged me beside the taxi, Kat had insisted I was doing the right thing.

"Honestly, I'll be fine. There are plenty of people here to help now. If you can keep yourself out of the spotlight, so much the better."

"If you want me to come back, just call, okay? I'll get the next flight out. Well, the next one I can get a ticket on."

"I'll see you soon, but it'll be in England. Just make sure you stock up on chocolate. I can't wait to get my hands on a giant bar of Cadbury's."

"It'll be waiting, I promise."

As we drove into Sharm el-Sheikh, a symphony of hoots serenaded us. There was traffic everywhere. It was only when we finally reached the terminal that I understood the reach of Scott Lowes.

Had I walked into an airport or a movie set? Harried-looking runners wheeled stacks of boxes, people shouted into phones, and two hipsters nearly came to blows over the last pain au chocolat at the kiosk. In the background, a make-up artist painted a stunning brunette's lips as she prepared to go live for the camera. Out on the tarmac, heat haze shimmered around a row of private jets, and airport staff frantically tried to herd crowds in the right direction. One of the security guards manning the X-ray machine was asleep.

A fuzzy monitor told me I needed desk eight, and I skirted a guy snapping pictures of the chaos. The EasyJet check-in was manned by a pair of blondes close to my age, and as I reached the front of a very short queue, they gawked as another gaggle of photographers sped past, heading for arrivals.

"Flying out, love?" one of them asked.

"Yes, back to England."

"You're going the right way. You can pick any seat you like. The plane's almost empty."

"I dunno what's going on," piped up her friend. "It's gone mental. It wasn't even this bad when Indigo Rain came to Sharm to film a music video."

"Have you looked at Twitter?" I asked.

"Nah, the boss don't like us using our phones while we're on duty. Why? Who's 'ere?"

"I believe Scott Lowes was spotted in Fidda Hilal."

"O. M. G!" she shrieked, turning to her friend. "Tracey, we've got to go there. I love him. I want to have his babies."

"Let's call in sick tomorrow. But I need to get me roots done before we go. And me nails."

Good luck to Captain Ibrahim trying to lock Adam up while those two were in town. They'd scratch out his eyeballs then batter the door of the jail down with their stilettos.

"I need to get a new outfit," Not-Tracey said. "Or I could wear that white skirt I bought last week. D'ya think it goes with my tan?"

"Everything goes with a tan."

"Uh, I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you think I could finish checking my bag in?" I asked.

"What? Oh. Yeah." Tracey slapped a label on it and sent it down the conveyor. Would it make it back to Luton? I gave it a fifty-fifty chance. But even if it ended up in Timbuktu, what did it matter? I wouldn't need a bikini at home, anyway. No, I'd soon be back in front of my class, more worried about toilet training and teaching the alphabet than whether I was getting a muffin top.

For the two hours until my flight, I watched the people arriving with morbid fascination. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave a great view of the rich and famous as they flew in for their five minutes of glory.

An elderly janitor pushing a trolley full of cleaning supplies stopped next to me and peered out.

"Is that the girl off the news?" he asked me.

"I should think so, yes." One of them, at least.

"This is very exciting. It's good to have so many visitors."

At least Kat's ordeal was helping the economy. If there was one small piece of good to come out of this nightmare, it was the influx of much-needed foreign visitors into the region. I hoped that some of them would see beyond Captain Ibrahim and his corruption to the locals, most of whom were lovely.

"Yes, the hotels will all be full, that's for sure."

"I've heard that the president of Egypt himself is coming. It would be a great honour for him to visit our town."

A politician chasing after TV cameras? That didn't surprise me. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

I didn't see the president, but I did count the logos of twenty-seven TV stations. Everybody liked a good scandal. I only hoped Adam's efforts produced the outcome we all wanted.

Even with the added activity, a minor miracle happened and my flight was less than an hour late. True to what I'd been told, it was only a quarter full. It felt almost eerie, and worse, it meant I actually had to pay attention during the in-flight safety briefing. As soon as the drinks trolley appeared, I chugged back five gin and tonics, bagged myself a row of three seats, and passed out for the duration.

I'd planned to catch a taxi home from the airport, but when I walked into the arrivals hall, thankfully with my suitcase in tow, I heard my name being called.

"Cooee! Callie!"

I knew that voice all too well.

"Hi, Mum." I swallowed a groan. Kat must have called her.

She squashed me in a hug. "Kat said you'd decided to fly home early. I can't say I blame you, what with all the drama. I wouldn't have wanted to stay there either."

How much had Kat told her? I really hoped she hadn't said anything about Adam.

"All those dreadful policemen, turning a blind eye like that," Mum continued. "It's just not safe. Kat's even been on the telly, dear. And that awful man, the one who did that to her face. He was wearing handcuffs."

Captain Ibrahim? Already? "What did they say?"

"Kat did an interview—with the BBC! It was on the lunchtime news. She was standing next to that hunky actor. You know, the one out of Forever Black. They showed a picture of him without his shirt on. Oh, if only I was forty years younger."

Even my mum was a Scott Lowes fan? Someone save me now.

"Did they say anything about Kat's boyfriend?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. I was distracted by the young man's teeth. They're so very white."

Mother! And to think Adam used ordinary toothpaste.

"You've lost weight. At least now you're back you can get some proper English grub," she carried on. "None of that foreign muck. And I've brought your new house key."

"Did you give Bryce his script back?"

"Of course not, dear. When he called me, I just pretended the lock was jammed. And I don't think you should give it back to him either. That boy hurt you. He doesn't deserve a thing."

As soon as I got home, I turned on the TV. Yes, yes, I know I shouldn't have, but I was like a moth drawn to a flame.

When I found the twenty-four-hour news channel, the first thing I saw was a worried-looking Kat, limping along beside a stretcher. While the cameras rolled, she disappeared into a building I recognised as the hospital.

Had that been Mo with her? How bad were his injuries?

I turned up the volume.

"A young man named as Mohammed El Masri was rescued from Fidda Hilal's notorious jail as officers from Cairo arrived to take the police captain, Anwar Ibrahim, into custody. The extent of Mr. El Masri's injuries remains unclear, but we'll provide further information as soon as it's available."

At least Mo was alive. That was something to be thankful for.

"None of this would have happened without the efforts of Hollywood star Scott Lowes, who stumbled across this injustice while on a scuba diving holiday. Scott, how does it feel to have brought this abuse of human rights to the world's attention?"

The camera cut to Adam. A very different Adam. Clean-shaven, wearing an artfully distressed T-shirt that probably cost three figures, and having somehow fitted in a haircut overnight.

The sight of him set my heart off in a wild staccato.

He gave his trademark smile, the one that made him millions. I squinted at the screen. Perhaps I was imagining it, but today's smile didn't look as if it reached his eyes.

I missed him already.

There, I admitted it. I missed him.

Was there any chance that he was missing me?

Then the camera panned back, and I saw who he was standing next to. This time it wasn't Kat. No, Adam's arm curved around the waist of none other than Velvet Jones.

My eyes narrowed. Well, it didn't take long, did it?

Even in the oppressive heat, her makeup was perfect, and her thick golden mane swished around her shoulders as if she'd just stepped off the set of a shampoo commercial.

I scraped my fingers through my own brown locks. How could I even consider competing with her?

On screen, Adam started speaking, waffling on about how justice had been served and he was only doing what any civic-minded person would have done, but I barely took in his words. I was too busy watching his fingers as they gripped Velvet's hip through her flimsy cover-up.

In turn, she leaned into him and gazed up adoringly.

He'd said she wouldn't leave him alone, but had that been another fib? At that moment, it very much looked as if he was enjoying her attention.

Then the interviewer turned to Ms. Jones. "So, Velvet, you must be very proud of Scott?"

"Who wouldn't be? He's achieved so much in his life, both here and with his charity work back home. I'm thrilled to be dating somebody with such a kind and generous heart."

I clenched my jaw together so hard, it was a miracle I didn't crack a tooth. Relax, Callie. No point in racking up a fortune in emergency dentist fees. When I'd called Adam The Ass, I hadn't been wrong, had I?

The heads on the screen kept talking, but I didn't hear anything else they said. My sobs drowned out the words, and when the news anchor popped back on the screen, muttering some insipid rubbish, I jabbed the off button and threw the remote across the room. It hit an arrangement of dried flowers and knocked the whole lot off the sideboard.

The vase hit a table on the way down and shattered.

My heart shattered with it.