“We do.”
She rolls her shoulders back and holds her head high.
“Let’s do this.”
Unlike last time, we’re not seated in a back corner where we can remain hidden. Oh no, this time we’re right in the middle of the restaurant.
A few sets of eyes spot me as we take our seats, and I spot a couple of cell phones pointed in our direction. My stomach knots uncomfortably, and all I can hope is that we’re doing the right thing.
The food is incredible, but both of us are on edge the entire time, making me regret setting this up.
It was Hailee’s idea to get out and about more before the party. I know our relationship is fake— I’m achingly aware ofthat every second of every single day. But it’s never really felt like it. We get on so well, our relationship—whatever form that takes—has been as easy as breathing. But this, tonight, sitting here in this restaurant, everything feels forced and fake, and I hate it. Bea’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes like all the others she’s given me recently, and her laugh isn’t relaxed and happy; it’s tight and reserved as if she’s worried about what every single person in this restaurant is thinking of her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out the second we’re safely in the car.
Despite being alone, she reaches over the console and twists her fingers through mine.
“None of this is your fault, Everett. It’s just…teething pain. In a few weeks, it’ll all get easier.”
58
BEATRICE
As predicted, there were photos of the two of us all over the internet by the next morning.
There was story after story telling lies upon lies about the nature of our relationship. Every single one made my stomach knot with anxiety, and add it to the awkwardness from the night before, and it was impossible not to question all the reasons we decided to do this.
But the worst one was the article that named me.
I have no idea how they found out my identity so fast. But they did. And right there before me in black and white was information about my parents and the life I left behind. The journalist—if I can even call them that—decided that I must be regretting walking away and needed to find a way to get my old lifestyle back, so I turned my attention to professional athletes. It was the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life. But it didn’t really matter that it was all lies. There are plenty of people out there who believe anything they read. And now, I’m the bad guy.
The city’s beloved bad boy has let a woman into his life, a woman who only wants him for his status and money, apparently.
The only saving grace is that the salon wasn’t mentioned. The second that happens, I suspect all hell is going to break loose. There’s a part of me that hopes it’ll be good for business, but I fear it might hurt it in the long run.
Honestly, I don’t know what to do. Should I keep my head down and take a step back, allow Sienna to take over and hope none of this causes her more stress? Or do I embrace the onslaught of bullshit, hold my head high, and attempt to let it roll off me?
I know it needs to be the latter if I stand any chance of surviving all this. But goddamn, I want to opt for the former.
While the rumor mill has been going wild, everyone close to us has been amazing. Hailee has been doing her best to keep the worst of the stories at bay, and she helped us come up with a post for Everett’s social media that officially announced our relationship. I obviously didn’t have to bother, which I was grateful for. Reading shit online is hard enough; I’m not sure I’d cope if it were coming to me directly.
Throughout the whole thing, though, there has been one man who has been a constant pillar of support and strength.
Everett.
He’s been…incredible.
For every bad comment I’ve allowed myself to read, he’s followed it up with a positive one.
Of course, I receive compliments from my friends, but there’s something about hearing praise from him that just hits differently. And I can’t say that it’s doing anything to help my growing need for him. Every time he looks at me with those dark, hungry eyes, all I want to do is jump into his arms and drown in him.
“Hey, are you nearly ready?” Everett asks, poking his head into my bedroom where I’m sitting at the table, tapping out a message on my cell.
Today is our ultrasound, and I can’t decide if I’m more excited or scared.
Excited because we get to see our little one again. And this time, I’m hoping it’ll be recognizable as a baby. But also scared for exactly the same reason.
My heart races and butterflies continue fluttering in my stomach.
