Page 42 of The Proposal
“Easy for you to say. Your name isn’t on the front page of Exposé.Again.”
Memories of the first time my name was in bold lettering online have me gripping the tub's edge to steady myself.
“I agree—this isn’t a best-case scenario,” she says. “But this isn’t Edward we’re dealing with. Renn isn’t feeding the tabloids stories to distract them from his bullshit. It’s not the same thing.”
I exhale a shaking breath. “It doesn’t matter. The magazines don’t care about the truth. They blamed me for crashing Edward’s car, trashing his house, and trying to blackmail him for cash.” Bile creeps up my throat. “Do you think there’s a chance they aren’t going to call me a gold digger again? If so, you’re being naive.”
“Get in the bath. Everything is better in the bath.” She turns her back to give me some privacy. “Besides, you stink.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“How much did you drink last night?”
I shed the robe and what’s left of my bra. Then I sink into the tub. “Enough to get married.”
Ella pulls the footstool across the room and sits.
The heat of the water soothes my stomach and helps clear some of the funk from my head. I take my loofah and clean the melted ice cream from my skin.
“You’resureit’s a real marriage?” I ask, still in shock.
“I’m sure, friend. Here.” She clicks around on her phone and then hands it to me. “There are pictures. Maybe if you look at them, it’ll help trigger your memory.”
I take the device warily after drying my hands on a towel.
Resting my pulsing head against the bath pillow, I look at the images from last night. In the first picture, we’re standing in a line.
“Hey, I remember this. There was a couple in front of us—Oliver and Izzy.” My jaw drops, and I look at Ella. “How do I remember two strangers’ names and not my wedding?”
She shrugs.
“Oliver kept taking selfies. He was adorable. And I think they took a picture of us? Maybe? I can’t remember.” I swipe to another image. “Don’t remember that. Or that,” I say, swiping again.
I stop on a picture of Renn and me in front of a black-haired, lip-curled man holding a book—a Bible, to be exact.
Renn has his arms around my waist, his hands locked at the small of my back. I have no idea what he’s saying, but my face is scrunched in a laugh that makes me smile. The way he’s looking at me makes my chest tighten.
His eyes are bright and pinched at the corners. His smile stretches across his face. There’s a gentleness in his hard exterior, happiness—a carefree vibe in his features.Oh, Renn. What did we do?
“Do you remember that?” Ella asks softly.
I shake my head.I wish I did.
I give her phone back to her. “So how pissed is Brock?”
“Oh, he’s livid. He was ready to tear Renn’s limbs off and beat him with them.”
Yikes.
“But don’t worry about him, Blakely. You need to worry about yourself and what you need to do. Brock’s a big boy. He’ll deal with this—you know that. He’s always on your side.”
I shift my gaze away from her.
That’s easy for her to say—to not worry about my brother. But she wasn’t there when the fallout of dating Edward landed partially on Brock. She didn’t watch him feel handcuffed by the situation, wanting desperately to help me but feeling the pressure from his team and managers not to get too publicly involved. It was almost as hard on him as it was for me.And I still feel terrible about that.
“I don’t want this to affect him,” I say.
She smiles. “I think that’s the last thing he’s worried about this morning.”
