Page 49 of The Proposal
His smile falters. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Okay …”
He roams through the room like he owns the place. Casually confident—like a man gearing up for a war he knows he’ll win. I would swoon if I wasn’t a combatant in this battle … and worried that I might end up being his opponent.
“Blakely, do you have any clue what the media is going to say about you?”
I still, my insides reminding me that tequila or not—puke is still a possibility.
Renn stops moving and faces me. There’s a somberness, a seriousness in his eyes that scares me.
Yeah. I might need a toilet.
“They’re going to say you’re after my money—”
“I don’t want your money.”
He takes a step toward me. “Iknow that. But they’re going to say it anyway. And they’re going to speculate if you’re pregnant. They’re going to wonder if you tricked me somehow and a million other terrible things just to spin a story.”
I move backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress. Then I sit. Although I knew all that, hearing it from Renn makes it much more real.
“I told my PR person not to make a statement until we—you and I—talk,” he says.
“You probably have a nightmare on your hands, huh?”
He looks me in the eye. “I’m less concerned about that right now and more worried aboutyou.”
You are?
It takes a few moments for that to register.
I knew, or hoped, that Renn would realize we’re on the same side of this disaster. But the thought that his needs would swamp mine has lingered in the back of my mind. I’ve experienced enough to know that big-dollar deals sometimes outweigh other things—like truth and people.
My heart swells. The man who has so much to lose is worried aboutme.
He sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day during the DiNozzo disaster. Of course, he wrote a sarcastic card that wasn’t exactly sweet, but I read through the lines. He was just showing his support—and it was very appreciated.
Renn returned to the US one year when Brock had to have surgery because he knew it would just be my brother and me. One summer, he hooked us up with a place to stay when Ella and I went to Europe for a week. And when a coworker’s son got osteosarcoma, and she mentioned Renn was his favorite athlete, Renn didn’t hesitate to jump on a video call with him … for an hour.
He can be a good friend. A great human.Just not a good husband.
“What is happening with your contract?” I ask. “Have they said anything?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“What about your dad’s deal? I know you said not to worry about him, but I can’t help it.”
His jaw pulses. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But Renn,he’s your dad.”
“And you’re my wife.”
We face one another, feeling each other out.
I’m relieved that being with him feels the same as always—thatour marriagedidn’t make things tense or hostile. We can smile and be playful, despite the impending disaster swirling around us. That I’m not labeled the bad guy.
And I can’t ignore that it’s the second time he’s claimed me so fiercely. That’s kind of hot.
