Page 19 of The Proposal
Me: No to Carly.
Ripley: Good choice.
I pause.
Me: Was this some kind of test from Dad and Gannon?
Ripley:
“Fucker.”
I open the app again, and this time, I type Blakely’s name into Tate’s followers.
No users found.
“Ha,” I say, laughing as I drop my phone onto the bed. With more satisfaction than I should have, I head for the shower.
CHAPTER5
Blakely
“Nowthisis self-care.”
I lift my foot out of the water. Bubbles form a chain around my ankle, dripping lazily back into the tub. I close my eyes, resting my head against a bath pillow that doesn’t slip no matter how much I move. And, after fiddling around with the buttons on the side, I discovered the glass opens onto a small balcony, essentially allowing you to bathe outside … but not.
It’s incredible.
Citrus and eucalyptus scents fill the room. I searched high and low for bubble bath but came up empty. My shampoo sufficed, and thanks to a candle by the bed, I created a mini in-room spa experience.Close enough, anyway.
Hot water caresses my body, causing the stress and tension I’ve been carrying to leach into the tub.
And, apparently, my emotions.
Tears prickle my eyes as I gaze through the windows and across the Strip. It’s a beautiful view from a luxury suite that I’m enjoying while preparing for a night out with three of my closest friends. I’m so lucky, so grateful.But still…
My chest burns from holding back an ugly cry just beneath the surface.
Birthdays are always hard.
Growing up, Mom would treat birthdays with the pageantry of a royal coronation. There would be balloons greeting you in the hallway when you woke up. A cupcake for breakfast. A rendition of “Happy Birthday” that was off-pitch and wonderful. There would be the warmest hugs and multicolored icing—enough sprinkles to drown a small child. And laughter—so much laughter.
I’ve been dreading this day for weeks. I dread Brock’s too. With every year that passes, it’s more time without Mom—the sound of her voice fading, the warmth of her hugs harder to remember. I’m that much closer to losing Brock, too.
Although I’d never admit it to him, or anyone, I secretly fear the day he gets married. I hate that I feel this way and feel so guilty about it. But he’s my only family, and I'll be alone when he starts his own.
Unless I get my shit together and start one myself.
“I’m not alone right now,” I whisper, pulling my fingers out of the water and watching droplets form and fall into the bath. “So go enjoy the night, live it up with my friends, and start Operation Get Your Shit Together tomorrow.”
I sniffle before taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly.Breathe in new beginnings and exhale the old.
“Hey, Blakely. I need your help,” Ella says from the other side of the bathroom door.
I sink lower beneath the bubbles. “Come in.”
She nearly trips on her armful of dresses and catches herself on the sink.
I giggle. “If you had packed less, you would have fewer choices to struggle with.”
