The Fiance Dilemma (The Long Game #2)

Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

INTERIOR— FILTHY REALI-TEA STUDIO—DAY

SAM: So what did our polls say?

NICK: Whoa, impatient much?

SAM: I love a good poll. There’s a very special kind of satisfaction in picking something and discovering whether it’s validated in the results. Or in your case… in-validated? You always go with the odd choice.

NICK: I’m not sure that’s the word you’re looking for, Sammy. And you’re talking about me like I love to pick the wrong side of a love triangle. I really don’t. I—

SAM: The polls.

NICK: (sigh) All right, all right. So… for those of you catching up with all the developments in The Underwood Affair . Much has happened. All of it you can find on our highlights, pause here and look them up, and before you ask in the comments, yes, the video had to be taken down.

SAM: I did feel a little bad for her, if I’m being honest? We were mere communicators but…

NICK: But you are so invested you’re rooting for her. (gasps) Oh my God, you really are. Wow. Well, I’m collecting all that credit. I worked really hard on this series.

SAM: (sighs) So the polls?

NICK: Yes. Okay. So we asked you, our beautifully Filthy Reali-tiers, the following question. (pauses)

(Drumroll sound)

NICK: I do really love that, thanks. (clears throat) Will Small-Town Heiress walk down the aisle on December first?

SAM: (squeals with excitement)

NICK: And fifty-one percent of you said she won’t.

SAM: (scoffs, outraged) I voted that she would. I believe in her. I believe in the power of healing.

NICK: I dunno, honestly. I’m as divided as our audience. I think it’s because of that picture we talked about on Tuesday’s ep. That kiss was a little…

SAM: Anticlimactic. Yeah. Maybe. I always thought he—

NICK: (laughs loudly and abruptly) That he looks like a man to grab a woman and just kiss the heck out of her? Yup. Blond guys in glasses, I’m telling ya. But on to our second poll now. Will Rich Daddy—oops, sorry, we can’t address him as such anymore. Do you want Andrew Underwood to walk our real-life small-town princess down that aisle on December first? (drumroll sound) Poll said seventy-five percent yes.

SAM: (even more outraged) What? Why?

NICK: The power of Hollywood? Happily ever afters? The daddy issues everyone has? I did vote yes here. I’ll admit that.

SAM: Ew. You’re changing your tune awfully quick. Are you still fishing for that invite?

NICK: (feigning a dismayed gasp). I am better than fishing. But yes, yes I am. You really think there’s no way I can get one, though? I know exactly what I’d wear.

SAM: (laughs) Of course you’d know. But the big day’s in two weeks. I doubt that you will if it hasn’t happened yet, bestie.

NICK: Ouch. I would have taken you as a plus-one but… alas. Oh. And for those of you filling up our comments with the most random requests: here’s a little something… we are working on getting a very special guest on the pod. Soon. Hopefully. Any guesses who that might be? Let us know! Until then, please stay tuned. And subscribe if you haven’t! We also have mouths to feed.

SAM: You have three cats.

NICK: Exactly.

“Five more minutes?”

I turned my head to look at the man occupying the driver’s seat of my truck. “Five more minutes.”

Matthew smiled. “Yeah, I was thinking the same. Or maybe I need ten this time. I’ll think about it. I’m sure you don’t mind staying here a little longer, do you?”

I didn’t. And he didn’t need to think of anything. It was me who needed those five, maybe ten, minutes. Not him. But he was an incredibly sweet man, so he’d pretend otherwise if I let him.

We’d been parked here for a while now. Long enough for me to wonder if I’d ever work up the courage to open the door, exit the vehicle, cross the driveway, and knock on Adalyn and Cameron’s door.

“What are you thinking?” I asked Matthew, dragging my gaze out the window.

“Karaoke.”

“Karaoke?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “I was thinking whether you have a song. Cute girls always, always, have a karaoke song. I was wondering about yours.”

Ugh. I couldn’t with this man.

I couldn’t deal with how full he made my chest with the silliest, most simple, things. “What songs were you considering?”

“I was still narrowing it down to genres and decades.”

I pursed my lips just so I wouldn’t smile like an idiot. “It sounds like a very efficient thought process. Do you want to share what genres and decades you think suit my karaoke choices?”

Matthew turned in his seat. The crewneck sweatshirt he was wearing stretched over his chest with the motion, momentarily dragging my eyes down. He looked great in green. It matched the specks in his eyes. “Country. Eighties.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You got one right.”

He made a thinking face. “It has to be the eighties, then.”

“I do love a nice country tune but… yes. Karaoke and eighties go hand in hand for me.” I smiled. “How did you know?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason.”

His throat worked. And he looked at me in a way that told me his answer wouldn’t be as trivial as our conversation. “Because it’s my choice too.”

I immediately lit up inside. As if he’d switched on a bulb with a simple click. I didn’t need to ask what he meant. It simply made sense. That was the thing with us. It had always been. “You’re a ‘Careless Whisper’ kind of guy,” I told him. “You have to be. I bet you’re a good singer, too. I bet you even put on a show.”

The grin that tugged at his mouth was incredibly big. “Respectfully, but you give me a mic and I will make that stage my bitch.”

That bright, overwhelming feeling expanded, pulling at my own lips. His words made it impossible not to forget everything for a few moments and imagine Matthew on a stage. Lit by a single spotlight, mic in hand, belting out those high notes with a naturalness he probably had no business having. It really wasn’t right to be this handsome, funny, have those arms, and be able to sing. Or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t right how much I loved all those things about him.

My face started to fall. And just as quickly as it all had left—momentarily stretched out of my grasp by his smile, and the image of him—it came right back with a snap.

“I’m a little scared,” I whispered. “To get out of the car.”

Matthew nodded his head even though it was obvious that he already knew that. “Want to tell me why?”

I huffed out a bitter laugh. “The lies,” I said.

He considered my answer, and I was aware that after what had happened back at Lazy Elk the other morning, after what he’d confessed and asked of me, after what was left unsaid, it was an unfair thing to say. The lies. It made it all sound fake. Like he didn’t make my heart flutter with just a touch or a look. Like him distracting me with a silly conversation about karaoke wasn’t worth anything. Like him in this car, making up excuses so I could work up some courage, didn’t mean the world. It did. It all did. More than I could say. But it didn’t change the fact I felt like a fraud going into Adalyn and Cameron’s place.

“I voted yes,” Matthew said. “On Page Nine’s poll.”

I frowned at him. I’d seen the polls on Page Nine’s socials, as much as I tried not to look. It was becoming harder to ignore, the closer we got to December first. It was also difficult not to cave and allow what was being said to hold sway over me.

“I’m not trying to turn this around so we talk about us,” Matthew said. “It’s not the time, not right now, here in this truck. Not when your head is somewhere else. But I only voted on one of them, and I did with a yes. You will walk down that aisle, Josie. Not because you have to, or because you might want to, but because you can. That’s also why you can walk across that driveway, hug Adalyn, and not ruin anything.” His jaw set. “You can do anything. Understand?”

An overpowering, consuming wave of… emotion crashed into me.

I wanted to kiss Matthew. Now. So badly. I wanted to climb onto his lap and show him what his words, his faith in me, did to me. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to kiss him more than I did right this second.

There was a glint in his eye that told me he could see that in me, what I felt. There was a hardness in his face that also told me he was trying to stop himself from doing the same. Or from letting me. He deserved that, I decided. He deserved to have control over that kiss. Just like he’d asked with that new rule.

I kiss you.

I could give him that much.

I could give him things.

“No one’s ever walked me down an aisle,” I heard myself say. Because it was the least I could do. I wouldn’t kiss him, but I could give him this. Something no one else had. “The other poll was about that.”

He gave his head a nod, encouraging me.

“It was supposed to be Mom,” I said. “You and me against the world kind of thing.” Something clogged my windpipe, making it hard for me to continue speaking for an instant. “It was silly, I guess. And I always wondered if Grandpa Moe ever thought I didn’t want him to walk me down. But I never dared ask him.”

Matthew went still, so very still, then he reached out across the console. A palm wrapped around the side of my face. His thumb swiped across my cheek, and there was a desperation in his touch, one I understood— felt —deep within me. I’d never told that to anyone, as much as most must have assumed.

“I don’t know—” I stumbled, continued, more truths coming out. “I don’t know if that’s why I couldn’t do it. I don’t know if that’s why I tried so many times. I can’t seem to get anything right. Does that make me a fool?”

Matthew leaned forward, his scent curling around me with the air as he moved inside the car. I closed my eyes. His forehead pressed against mine. “Nah, Blue. It makes you the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

Blue. That was beautiful. It wasn’t a kiss, but I liked how it hung in the space between our mouths. Touched my lips.

“Do you think you could get married, Matthew?” The words left me in a whisper. “Do you think our backwards can be straightened out?”

His whole body shuddered for an instant, right before he lifted his head. Brown eyes met mine when my eyelids fluttered open. My belly dropped. “We really are motherfucking backward, huh?” We really were. But before I could say as much, he was touching my forehead to his again. Just briefly this time, nothing more than a caress. He returned to his seat. “How about we get you a maid of honor first? Then we take it a day at a time.”

A day at a time. There were fourteen of them left.

“Do you think she’ll hate me?” I asked him. For lying. “For asking so late?”

There wasn’t any hesitation in his words. “Not a chance in hell.” He nodded his head at the sleeping, furry ball in the back seat. “Remember, we have Pedro. No one could ever be mad at someone holding a pig that tiny. Not even Cam.”

I chuckled, even if a little strained. I knew what he was doing. Again. Distracting me. I didn’t deserve a man like him. “Okay. You hold Pedro, though. I think I might throw myself at her when I see her, and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“You got it,” he said with a nod.

And in a matter of seconds, we’d exited my truck and were crossing the driveway to Adalyn and Cam’s porch, with Pedro Pigscal in Matthew’s arms.

I released a big gulp of air, squared my shoulders, and rang the doorbell. Matthew winked at me when I glanced quickly at him. It reassured me, but I still passed the sweaty palms of my hands down my denim skirt.

The door opened.

I held my breath.

Cameron’s large frame filled up the space. There was a small pout framed by all that trimmed facial hair. “About fucking time,” he murmured. He met my gaze. A smile broke through. Small, but it was there. “Saw you park ages ago. I’d hoped you weren’t making out in my driveway, honestly.”

“We really weren’t,” I said, voice soft. Too soft.

Cam let out a long sigh. “I know, darling,” he admitted. “I know.” Green eyes bounced to my side. He eyed Matthew up and down. “What in the bloody hell is that?”

“Hey,” Matthew complained. And when I looked over, he was covering the pig’s ears with a hand. “Don’t talk like that about Pedro.”

“We’re babysitting for María—”

Something moved in front of me. And in a second flat, Cameron was shoved out the way and I was being hug-attacked.

“Ada—” I started, but a choking sound stopped me. It wasn’t mine. I— Oh my God. Was Adalyn crying? After throwing herself at me? “Are you okay?” I asked, hearing my own voice crack. “Why are you crying?”

“Because she’s the furthest thing from okay,” Cameron answered.

My sister let out a little sob, making me immediately wrap my arms around her. “But you never cry. You— Oh my God, are you crying because of me? Did I make you cry?” My own eyes welled up. Emotion rose, flooding me. I squeezed her harder. Tighter. My sister never cried. She didn’t tackle people with hugs. “I’m so sorry. I—I came here to ask you if you wanted to be my m—”

“Yes,” she croaked. “Please. I’ll be your maid of honor. And I’m not crying over that. I’ve just been so stressed. I thought you hated me because I wasn’t there for you, and I am veryemotionalandicannotholditin . . .” A strange trail of words I couldn’t make followed that.

But I didn’t care too much.

Adalyn didn’t hate me. I hadn’t ruined this for us. At least not for now.

My eyes fluttered closed.

“All right.” I heard Cameron say. “Let’s move this inside. And stop looking at me like that. The pig can come in too.”

Matthew let out a scoff. “As if I was going to leave Pedro outside.”