Chapter 49
BEATRICE
Istare at Everett, my heart in my throat.
It doesn’t matter the situation. No one ever wants to hear those words.
“O-okay. What did you want to talk about?”
I don’t know why I’m asking. I already know.
He wants my answer about us.
Am I willing to stand by his side and pretend that we’re in a relationship over the coming…fuck knows how long, to save his career? Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
I know what my head wants. I know what my heart wants. Unfortunately, they’re very different things.
“I…um…” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. I hate that he’s feeling tense over this, but as much as I also don’t want to have this conversation, it has to happen. His eyes drop to his coffee table before he blurts, “Where are you at with this whole ‘faking it’ thing?”
“I guess that depends on where you’re at with our fake engagement,” I counter, because if he agrees to that, then I can’t refuse. It would be stupid to stand in the way of inheriting enough money to secure mine and our baby’s future.
His eyes find mine. They’re full of indecision.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. I start to think he won't respond, but eventually, his lips part, and he begins to speak. “I’m afraid of throwing you into the spotlight and taking something from you that should be special.”
My brows pinch.
“You’re…you’re worried about me?”
A laugh of disbelief tumbles free. “Of course I am. I’m…I’m a fucking disaster, Bea. You’ve spent enough time Googling me to know that. You told me only a few hours ago about living a quiet life and fulfilling your dream. It would fucking kill me to ruin that.”
“Everett, being connected to you is very different from my family.”
“Is it?”
A smile plays on my lips. “Yes. It is.”
“But an engagement. That should happen with someone you’re in love with, someone you can picture spending the rest of your life with.”
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s not always the case. Do I read romance books and secretly fantasize that one day a man will come in and sweep me off my feet, treat me like his queen and—” My words abruptly stop the second I realize that Everett has done all of that.
My hands tremble.
Needing to do something with them, I reach for my mug. The cream has melted into the chocolate now, and the marshmallows are all soft and gooey. Perfect. And he did it for me. At two A.M., when I mentioned craving hot chocolate, he went out and got everything without even questioning it.
It’s because you’re growing his baby, a little voice says.
But it feels like more than that.
It might be stupid and naive to think that when Everett has only ever shown the world that he’s a fuckboy who’s only ever committed to hockey, but…things change, right?
His best friend used to be the same, and now he’s getting married.
Or he’s just really good at faking it…
“What?” he asks. Forcing my eyes up. I find him looking between me and the mug in my hands. “Did I buy the wrong stuff?” he asks, concerned.
“What? No, this is perfect. Everything is perfect. You’re…” His expression tightens. Perfect. “Great.”
His shoulders relax a little, but there’s still so much tension there.
“I want to do everything I can to make all this easier for you. But I also don’t want to overstep.”
“I asked you,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I know.”
“If I wasn’t sure, I’d have kept my mouth shut,” I explain before taking the jump, hoping he’s going to hold my hand and come with me.
“If you’re willing to do this, then so am I.
We fix your reputation, secure your place here so you can be in our baby’s life, and in turn, I’m able to claim my inheritance, clear my debts, and get a better place. ”
His jaw tics at the mention of my apartment. “You can stay here.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”
“If we’re engaged, it would be weird if you didn’t.”
My mouth opens to argue, but I can’t deny that he has a point.
“B-but this is your home.”
“It’s my apartment. I’m not sure it’s really home yet. I still have some of my shit in boxes just in case,” he confesses.
I study him, my chest tight. I hate that he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He truly believes he isn’t good enough to be kept around.
But he is. Sure, he was a bit of an asshole the night we met.
But underneath that act, I’m learning that he’s one of the most caring and thoughtful people I’ve ever met.
“If we’re doing this, we’re going to make this place your home.”
“If? I thought you said—”
“I’m in if you are,” I assure him.
He sinks back into the couch, his eyes on mine.
“I’m in.”
I release a huge breath as some of the financial burden I’ve been living with recently lifts from my shoulders.
As he continues to watch me, something warm wraps around me, and for the first time in quite a long time, I feel safe. And I don’t just mean financially; I mean physically. No matter what happens in the time that we’re “together,” I have no doubt that Everett will protect me.
I nod, my smile growing once more. “So, we’re doing this?”
“We are. Although this probably goes without saying—I’ve never been anyone's boyfriend before, let alone someone’s fiancé. I have literally no idea what I’m meant to be doing.”
“You’re already doing it,” I tell him, lifting my mug before taking a sip.
Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.
He doesn’t look convinced, but it’s still early days. Somehow, I will prove to him that he is worthy of the titles. Hell, worthy of every good thing in his life.
“So…what now?” I ask. “Should we speak to Hailee?”
“I’ll call her tomorrow. But I guess we just start…being seen together more. Just do what normal people do in a relationship.”
“And what about the baby? We’re going to need a story. I’m eighteen weeks pregnant. I’m going to be showing soon, and people will work out the date, and—”
“We tell the truth about meeting that night but explain that we kept it a secret.”
“What about your hookups since?”
He falls silent.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you that night,” he says softly. “Killer said earlier that he saw you out after a game and…you were coming to tell me, weren’t you?”
“It was a stupid idea. I was just getting desperate. The ultrasound was approaching and—”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You had no reason to know I was there, or that I had something to say. I was just a woman from a night after a game—”
“You were never just that, Bea.”
Heat surges to my cheeks, but as much as I might want to believe him, it’s dangerous to do so.
To survive this, I need to keep my heart out of it.
This is a mutually beneficial business agreement.
“It doesn’t matter. But the media will have questions.”
“Then I’ll tell them I was falling for you and scared and confused. It’s certainly a story they’d buy, seeing as I’m always fucking up. You can tell them how you made me grovel for forgiveness. They’ll eat that shit up.”
“Did you get on your knees?” I tease.
“W-what?” he stutters.
“When you groveled for forgiveness, did you get on your knees?”
His eyes darken, his filthy mind taking my question to an entirely different place than intended.
“I guess that depends on who we’re talking to, because you know damn well that when any man is groveling, the only place to do it is on his knees with his head between a woman’s thighs.”
Oh, holy fuckballs.
Is it hot in here, or is it just me?
“We need rules,” I say in a rush.
His brows shoot north as he absently drags a hand across his stomach.
Goddamn it, why is he still topless? That doesn’t make this conversation any easier.
“Go on,” he encourages, clearly intrigued.
“We’ve got to be exclusive. This won’t work otherwise.”
“Agreed,” he rasps.
I hesitate, because he really isn’t going to like this. “Outside, we need to make our relationship look real, but inside…inside we’re just…roommates?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but I wasn’t sure “friends” was the right word either.
“Roommates?” Everett echoes.
“Yeah. Platonic roommates.”
His jaw tics, but I’m not sure if it’s in irritation or amusement.
“You almost kissed me back there earlier,” he points out.
I turn to look into the kitchen, at the exact place I was standing when I reached up on my toes and—
“That can’t happen. My hormones and emotions are a fucking mess right now. If we…I don’t…I can’t …”
“Don’t worry; you won’t fall for me,” he states coldly.
I blink at him.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ll drive you crazy. I’ll fuck up left and right, and I’ll make your life harder than necessary. You’ll be counting down the days until this is over and you can get on with your life.”
I stare, dumbfounded. He’s serious. He really thinks that little of himself.
I’ve only spent a small amount of time with him in the grand scheme of things, and not once have I ever counted down any kind of time to get away from him.
Okay, that might be a lie. Those first two hospital appointments were hell, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. But that’s different.
I want to tell him that he’s wrong. That me falling for him is a very real threat right now. But I know he won’t believe me.
“Well, I think it’s for the best we stay safe. Who knows which way my hormones will swing next? Being more than roommates will complicate things in the long run.”
His brows pinch, his eyes dropping to the floor for a beat. “What about friends? Can we be friends?”
Tears burn my eyes as he urges me for just a little bit more.
Vulnerability oozes from him. All I want to do is run over and wrap my arms around him.
To tell him that I’d love nothing more than to be his friend.
That I promise to show up for him every day and prove to him just how awesome he is.
But the words will mean nothing. Instead, I promise myself to show him.
“Yeah, Everett. We can be friends.”
“My friends call me Rett,” he points out with a smirk, although the darkness in his eyes lingers.
Silence falls between us as the reality of what we’re about to embark on hits, all the lies we’re going to have to tell.
But as uncomfortable as that makes me feel, I know we have to do this. And together, we will.
Starting tomorrow, I’m no longer just Bea, owner of The Bea Hive salon.
I’m Bea, girlfriend of the NHL legend Everett Donnelly.
The whole world will know my name, and our relationship will be thrown into the spotlight.
“I’m sorry, I—”
I launch from the couch and run as fast as I can to my bathroom before bringing the pastry and hot chocolate back up.
“Shit,” I hear before heavy footsteps enter the room, and before I can say anything, a large, warm, supportive hand presses against my back.
That sense of safety returns, and I force everything we just talked about from my head as I deal with the consequences of our actions all those weeks ago.