She sighs, frustration and fatigue in her voice. “No more interviews. The last one was hard enough. We’re counting on some of his victims coming forward, and I don’t want to scare them off with a media circus.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Except for tomorrow night when I’m singing.”
That determined spark in her eyes makes me uneasy, but I can’t help admiring her resolve.
She steps outside, facing the crowd of reporters gathering on the lawn. “Listen up!” she calls, her voice clear and commanding. “I’m not answering questions today. If you want answers, come to The Beta Room tomorrow night. Anyone I see parked on my street or following me today will be banned from the club. Now, please leave.”
A few reporters scurry back to their vans; others linger, uncertain, until Andi fixes them with a pointed stare. Eventually, the crowd disperses. I watch her, pride swelling in my chest.
“Creative solution,” I say, pulling her close, my arms circling her waist. She leans into me, her arms slipping around my neck, and I savor the feeling of her body pressed to mine.
She smiles, brushing a kiss against my lips. “Thank you.”
“Now that you’ve cleared the house, what do you want to do today?”
She grins. “I need to go to the club later to practice my song, but until then, I’m all yours.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re not going to the club alone, Andi.”
She gives me a look—half pout, half challenge—but finally relents. She knows I won’t budge on this, not with everything going on. Besides, I suspect she doesn’t really want to be alone either. And if she thinks she can keep her song a secret from me, she’s got another thing coming.
As we settle together on the couch, I find myself tracing circles on her hand, searching for the right words. “Can I ask you something?” I say quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.
She looks up, her expression open. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
I hesitate, then press on. “Have you thought about what kind of wedding you’d want? Or when? I know we haven’t really talked about it, but I’d love to hear what you’re imagining.”
She bites her lip, glancing away as if searching for an answer in the quiet of the room. “Honestly, Luke, I’m not sure yet. I always thought we’d have a long engagement and figure it out as we go. I just… I’m not ready to make those decisions right now.”
A flicker of worry passes through me. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
She shakes her head, reaching for my hand. “No, not at all. I just want to take our time. I want to enjoy being engaged to you, without rushing into anything.”
Relief washes over me, though I’m surprised by how much I needed to hear it. “That’s all I want too. I’ll wait as long as you need, Andi. I lost you once—I’m not risking that again.”
She squeezes my hand, her smile soft and genuine. “Thank you for understanding.”
She wraps her arms around me to reassure me. “Stop thinking that, Luke.”
“What?” I ask innocently, even though we both know exactly what.
"I love you, and I do want to marry you. I just want this behind us before we start planning our life together. I don’t want it in the way at all. Okay?”
“Okay, baby.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ANDI
The days after the interview feel like living inside a blender.
Not because I regret what I said. I don’t. I’d do it again with the same steady voice and the same unblinking stare.
It’s everything that follows.
Every station. Every blog. Every late-night host with a smirk. They don’t just want my story. They want a version of me they can package. A headline they can sell. A villain they can point to, so they don’t have to sit in the discomfort of what I accused a powerful man of doing.
Some of it is laughable. Some of it is pure poison.
Luke calls it a smear campaign, but smear implies mess. This is organized. This is coordinated. This is a machine.
