Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I don’t remember marrying you either, but here we are.”
“On that note,” I say, facing him. “You realize that the only thing worse than the world finding out that we got married while inebriated is the world watching us pretend to be in love and then watching you screw around on me.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”
My hands go to my hips. “An accidental wedding isn’t going to change who you are. Let’s not pretend that it will. And it won’t change who I am, either, and I’m not someone who wants the stress of being married to a rugby player—real or not.” I stare at his handsome face and watch as his features soften. Dammit. “Look, I understand why you want to stay married. But that scenario really only serves you.”
“Blakely, I’m not trying to force you into anything. And I have no interest in doing anything that only serves me. Okay?”
I sit again, the edge of my frustration duller than before.
“We’re on the same team here, cutie.”
My lips twitch into a smile. “I know. I’m sorry.” I’m just used to having to protect myself.
“Don’t apologize. I get it. Trust me. Ripley had to remind me of the same thing today.”
We watch each other for a long, quiet moment. As the seconds tick by, the more settled I become … and the clearer this situation becomes.
“Look, Renn, I understand that staying married could benefit me.” I scoot to the edge of the sofa. “But that could backfire worse than just pulling the plug now. Why is it worth the risk for me to pretend to be married to you when we’ll end up getting divorced anyway and I’m at the mercy of the media? I like you, buddy, but not that much.”
He nods. “Okay. Fair. Tell me what you want.”
“What do I want? I want to be focused on myself. I want to grow, to be excited about appliances and understand how life insurance works. I want to find a nice man, get married, and have a family. Basically, the opposite of what we have going on and the longer we draw that out, the longer I’m just treading water—and I need to move forward. I need it, Renn. I promised myself that I would do it.”
“Define nice man.”
“What? That’s what you took from that?”
“I want to know what a nice man is to you. Go.”
I sigh.
What does it matter to him? Explaining the characteristics of the man of my dreams to Renn Brewer feels pointless. But as I begin to tell him to stay focused on the task at hand, I realize that humoring him—describing what a good man is to me—will help him understand that this is a waste of time. For me, anyway.
“He’s responsible,” I say. “A nice man has a job and is passionate about something—anything. He’s kind. Has protector vibes. Likes to have sex. I wouldn’t mind being choked a little.” I grin at the fire that flashes through his eyes. “And he wants to start having babies with me before I’m too old because he’s not a commitment-phobe and values monogamy.” I shrug. “He knows a damn good thing when he sees it. And … he loves me.”
Renn starts to speak but stops. He cocks his head to the side and begins again. “So what I’m hearing is that you don’t want to stay married because you think I’ll embarrass you—”
“I think there’s a chance I wind up looking like a fool. Yes.”
“And there’s nothing in it for you. The risk and reward balance is skewed.”
Finally. He sees the light. “Yeah. Basically. I promised myself that I would take care of me this year, Renn—not waste more time by continuing my bad choices with bad boys era.”
He gets to his feet, combing his hands through his hair. The lines around his eyes are back. So is the tension in his shoulders.
He walks to the dining room. Muffled voices slip through the cabin, ending moments before he reappears.
“Hear me out,” he says, his pupils wide as he sits again. “I have a compromise—a proposal, if you will.”
This should be fun. “Propose away … especially since I don’t know if you did before we got hitched. You owe me one, anyway.”
His grin is wobbly. “Stay married to me for ninety days—tops.”
What? My brows pinch together. “Stay married for ninety days? That’s three months.”
“I know.” He clears his throat, steadying his gaze on mine. “In exchange for you not ending it, I’ll give you a baby.”
Suddenly, the Brewer Air logo isn’t the wildest part of the evening.
Did he just say he’ll give me a baby?
“I’m sorry, Renn. Repeat that.”
His eyes stay glued to mine. “I said that I’ll give you a baby.”
“What? How are you going to do that? Steal one?”
“No, I was thinking I’d put it there.”