Page 23 of Lucky Star

Chapter Nine

Sarah

Cameron’s words hit me like a two-ton truck, a crash that obliterated all of my defenses. Marry him? He couldn’t be serious.

And yet …why not?

Other marriages—even a number of successful marriages— had been built on less. Hell, if this were Regency England, we’d have been betrothed after knowing each other only a couple of weeks, and that was only if we were lucky. We certainly wouldn’t have been able to do what we’d just done, repeatedly, in an effort to determine if we were suited.

It was safe to say there was no question of our physical compatibility. Rarely did reality live up to fantasy, but in our case, the reality of our lovemaking had been even better. What Cameron and I had together was some next level shit.

It sounded trite, but it wasn’t just sex with Cameron. It was making love. Pure, unadulterated love.

Sure, I could demand he take me harder and he could use all sorts of dirty language to turn me on, but when it was like it’d just been? That had been our hearts and our bodies united in harmony.

True, there’d been some down and dirty fucking thrown in for good measure, but when he gazed at me with wonder and awe while our bodies were joined, I knew to the depths of my soul that what we had together was something that transcended the regular. That it was the foundation for something greater to be built upon.

But marriage?

Could I?

Things were happening so damn fast and a part of me felt like we needed to slow down, take a minute. Only days ago, I’d thought our friendship was over for good, and now I was contemplating becoming his wife. Not that I hadn’t dreamed about it in the hidden recesses of my heart, but that was the stuff of fantasy.

This wasn’t make believe.

His proposal hadn’t been thrown out in the heat of passion because I’d overwhelmed him with my magical vagina. The feelings behind his exclamation had been real. I knew that, because I knew him.

But still …

“Say something, please,” he begged, and I realized several moments had passed.

I wrapped my arms around him and crushed him to me tightly. I didn’t want to say no, I knew that much for certain, but I also didn’t know if I could say yes.

Cameron was everything to me. I’d known that well before those shots of tequila had tipped my world on its axis. I had loved him in secret for so long that I’d begun to think of our friendship differently. To think of him differently. His question had turned that thinking on its head once again, and I was feeling spun out of control.

I’d assumed at some point we would sit down and discuss the future. I was a pragmatist. We had legitimate issues to sort through, details that needed to be hammered out, not the least of which was the other major change in Cameron’s life.

And yet that discussion hadn’t happened.

Since getting together, I’d thought about this way too much. Before then, I’d concocted this fantasy where if we ever did get together, we’d be so sickeningly perfect that other couples would hate us. Because when you’re building up your fantasy life? There was no room for the unpleasant truths of reality. Namely, being with a man in Cameron’s new position came with a whole host of challenges. I’d watched women throw themselves at him when they had no idea who he was. Add legitimate fame and star power on top of his good looks and it’d be a million times worse. And being married to all that? We’d face pressure other couples couldn’t imagine. No part of my secret fantasy had ever taken into account Cameron becoming a bonafide movie star.

I’d already experienced what the press and gossip bloggers—not to mention the rabid fandom—were like where his relationship status was concerned. There was no forgetting how they’d already had him paired off with his most beautiful female friend. Which reminded me, I still had to deal with the whole PR fiasco.

Could I let my fear of what the gossip machine would say about Cameron and me influence my decision? I didn’t want to, and yet I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how terrified I was of how they’d paint me. My earlier words to Cameron flitted through my mind: men who look like him didn’t fall in love with women who looked like me, especially not in Hollywood where a female’s currency was defined by her measurements. I knew the first time I saw a picture of us labeled “Cameron Scott and friend” I’d go ape shit. Or, even worse, when I was relegated to that horrible caption, “Cameron Scott and unidentified female.”

The likely truth was I would always be consigned to the background of his public persona. As his wife though? Wouldn’t they be forced to acknowledge me? Even if the photos were only ever labeled “Cameron Scott and wife” I’d exist in that world. They couldn’t push me into the shadows then.

I went from resigned to my fate to indignant in the flash of a nanosecond. So what if I didn’t live up to Hollywood’s ideal of beauty? Cameron saw me for who I was, and he loved me for it. I was not going to let someone else’s standard of beauty, love, or anything else I didn’t agree with keep me from fighting for the one thing I wanted most: Cameron.

I took a deep breath and let the surety of my decision wash over me, push away any and all doubts. Settle in my head and my heart.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Cameron pushed up onto his forearms and stared down at me. I saw surprise flash in his eyes.

“Yes,” I repeated, a stupid, happy smile stretching across my face.

Cameron’s smile echoed my own, and when he grabbed my hands and brought them to his lips, he winced.

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