Page 50 of Proposal Play

He holds up a stop-sign hand. “Enough, Maeve. I have no regrets.”

Do I? Not really, and yet I feel entirely selfish for saying this. “I don’t either, but Asher,” I say, like I’m begging, “I don’t want to draw attention to myself here. I don’t want to tell themhey, it was just a big adventure, and then have Mister Memoirs document that for posterity.” And I really don’t want to be the center of attention rightafter I’ve landed the biggest break of my career. Only, I haven’t even told Asher about the mural opportunity yet. Guilt washes over me. “The commission I just got? It’s with the Sea Dogs,” I say, bracing myself for the fallout—will he be annoyed I kept it from him?

He tilts his head, confusion flickering across his handsome face. “You’re painting formyteam?”

I clutch my stomach as the anxiety knots tighter in me, mingling with excitement. Why do I always have to feel everything all at once? “They commissioned a huge mural project. It’s all sorts of scenes from San Francisco. They’re doing a huge mural inside the arena, and they wanted a local artist.” Emotions swim up inside me. “And they hired me. Until they figure out I’m the kind of unreliable artist who attracts media attention by getting drunk married to one of their star players and it’s clear my appointment was a mistake.”

His smile is double-take worthy. Head-turning. Movie-star quality. “Maeve fucking Hartley,” he says, beaming. “It’s not a mistake. You got the commission because you’re good.” He squeezes my arm, then runs his hand down it. God, that feels good. I wish I could bask in his touch. It…settles the wildness in me. “I’m seriously proud of you.”

I let go of my nerves and allow myself to enjoy this moment with Asher, touch and all. “I’m really excited,” I say quietly. Speaking louder might shatter the reality of what’s happening.

“I knew it. I totally knew it,” he says.

And the thing is, he did know in a way. He’s always believed in me. But that doesn’t solve the problem of our spontaneous Vegas marriage or keep it from biting me in the butt. Or him. He doesn’t need a drunk marriage—since that’s how it’ll be seen—trailing him when he rolls out his charity. “Thank you. But I still don’t know how to handle this.”

It’s a raw confession. Asher closes the distance between us, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Then let me.”

Let me.

Two simple words that soothe my hammering pulse.

“I haven’t checked social since last night,” he says, taking out his phone. “It’s distracting, and I just wanted to have a good time. Now, I want to know how this got out. Our marriage. I’m pretty sure that’s why Everly and everyone were texting earlier.”

As he scrolls, I let hope climb the stairs inside me. Maybe it’s no big deal that everyone thinks we’re hitched. Maybe everyone will have a laugh about our Big Adventure. Maybe the world will understand. We were just having fun.

Then, his jaw comes unhinged.

My pulse spikes. “What happened?”

“Hal and Jen,” he says ominously.

“We weren’t married then!” I exclaim, disbelieving the obvious. “And they were so nice. What happened?”

“Theyarenice, and they posted a great picture,” he says heavily. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck with a guilty grimace, and I know I’m not going to like what he has to say. “Shit, Maeve. I told them to tag us. I suggested they post it. And they did.”

Right. He’d thought the team would want that pic, for the fans and all. Plus, Everly encouraged auction winners to post photos online. “How did that lead to someone figuring out we got married hours later?”

Asher spins his phone around and shows me the shotof us in the lobby with the tired but grateful parents. The caption under it says, “Lucky us! Tonight in Vegas, we met this great couple. He’s the face of CheekyBeast, and she’s his good luck charm. And can you believe it? They gave us their extra room…just to be nice! I say we pay it forward! When in Vegas tonight, spread a little kindness and do a favor for a stranger!”

I…I can’t…I can’t believe it. “But the wedding didn’t happen until much later,” I say, even though something tugs at my brain, like a clue I’m starting to decipher.

Asher hesitates, flicking through the images on his phone. “CheekyBeast shared it to their socials. And it became a thing, people talking about how they then paid it forward and spread kindness.” A hint of embarrassment colors his tone as he tells me, “We went viral in Vegas.”

This is more surreal than marrying my best friend for fun. “We spread kindness and didn’t know it?”

Scrolling some more, he says, “And since they posted that we were in The Extravagant, some people took pictures of us, calling us Mister CheekyBeast and The Good Luck Charm. Random shots. Like at the concert, when I held your hand as we walked to our seats.” A shiver runs through me at the memory of his possessive touch. “Then a shot of us walking through the hotel.” He quotes, “‘Spotted Mister CheekyBeast in Vegas and then opened the door for a stranger. When in Vegas, pay it forward.’ Or this—someone shared that pic and then said they gave up their bus seat for a senior. Someone else shared it and said they picked up litter.”

“We went viral for doing something...nice?” This doesn’t compute.

“Evidently,” he says, as surprised as I am.

“That’s...”

“Cool?”

My heart squeezes with warmth. “Yes. But did Mrs. Matrimony share the wedding pics, then? She’s the only one who had actual proof of us being married. We took our rings off when we left this morning.”

Asher sighs heavily, shaking his head. “It happened when we were playing roulette, Maeve.”

---