Page 97 of The Proposal
Renn comes up behind me and pulls me into him. He rests his chin on the top of my head. I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle into his chest.
“I can imagine it’s hard for you to have me here with you,” I say softly. “You don’t trust easily—and I understand that. You couldn’t.”
He kisses my forehead, making me smile.
“It means a lot to me that you invited me here,” I say. “I know I said on the plane headed to Australia that you were being self-serving with this, but I didn’t really mean it. I know you’re trying to protect me, too.”
“I am.”
“Thank you for that.”
He holds me tighter.
We stand together quietly, both exhausted from approximately twenty-four hours of traveling. I lost count somewhere over California.
“Renn! Where are you?” A woman’s voice carries through the house.
He kisses me again before releasing me. “That’s Astrid.”
“Oh.”
I hold my breath as he calls to her, and her footsteps sound against the floors. They stop inside Renn’s bedroom.
“Are you decent?” she asks. “And can I come in?”
“Yeah. Come in,” Renn says. He slips his arm around my waist.
A cheery-faced redhead bounds around the corner. Her hair is in a high ponytail, showing off her face full of freckles. I’d guess her to be in her mid-to-late twenties.
“You must be Blakely,” she says, smiling brightly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“And you must be Astrid. It’s nice to meet you too.”
She turns her attention to Renn. “She’s gorgeous. Don’t fuck it up.”
I snort, covering my mouth with my hand.
“What are you doing here?” Renn asks, feigning annoyance with her.
“Making sure you made it. Hoping to get a look at Foxx Carmichael.” She whistles between her teeth. “If you get security, demand Foxx or Troy. Trust me.”
I giggle at the look on Renn’s face.
“What?” Astrid asks, shrugging. “I’m being helpful. Showing her the ropes.”
“I’m going to cut your rope and set you free,” he says.
“I couldn’t be so lucky,” she says, wrinkling her nose at him. “Anyway, Blakely. I’m here to help out however I can. I’m usually not here physically. I’m often running errands or helping Bianca. But I can be here if you need me.”
What kind of life is this? “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“My number is in a little notebook on the desk in the kitchen. I left a bunch of notes for you, too.”
Renn makes a face. “What kind of notes are you leaving my wife?”
“Your favorite takeout places. A copy of your schedule. My number. Bianca’s. Ripley’s.”
“Tate’s?” I ask.
