18
ASH
Blindsided
Iwake to the sound of my phone vibrating non-stop on the nightstand.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It’s relentless. A swarm of notifications lighting up the screen like it’s on fire.
Groggily, I reach for my phone.
The first thing I see? A flood of messages with links. Articles. Headlines:
“Ash Ryder’s Unexpected Turn: From Wildcard to Wife Guy?"
"Ash Ryder Debuts Fiancée at Red Carpet: Rock’s Bad Boy Is All Grown Up."
"New Era, New Ash? Fans Obsessed with Sweetheart Couple Vibes."
"Olive Hart: The Kindergarten Teacher Who Stole Rock’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”
Wow.
I sit up, scrub a hand down my face, and start swiping through headline after headline. Photos of Olive and me from last night are everywhere—her in that gorgeous dress, smiling like she has no idea how beautiful she is. Me beside her, grinning like the smitten idiot I am.
There’s one where I’m holding her hand. Another with my arm around her waist. One shot of us walking away, her dress trailing behind us like we just stepped out of a goddamn fairytale.
I tap through to the magazine cover—the one we shot in the studio. The one with the kiss. That photo’s gone viral too.
I smile, thumbing through the photos—our hands clasped, the way she tucked her chin into my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. I want to send them to her. All of them. I want her to see what I see. That we look like the real thing. Not just a PR stunt.
I open our chat, type out a quick:
Ash:
You’ve seen the headlines yet? You look like the star of the damn show.
Then I hesitate. Backspace. Close the app.
She’s probably wrangling snack time or gluing macaroni to construction paper. I’ll show her later.
Instead I read the messages from my team:
PR TEAM (Group Chat)
Emma:
That kiss photo is everywhere. You two broke the internet.
Lucas:
Congrats, Romeo. Even the New York Times picked it up.
Emma:
This is your best press in years. Literal gold. Stay exactly like this.
