Chapter 18
“And in society news over the weekend, the normally mundane Community Freedom Gala was shaken up last night as, apparently, love was in the air in addition to charitable goodwill.”
The video then cuts to Ross and me dancing as the reporter does a voiceover.
“That’s right, ladies. Playboy bachelor, Ross Andrews, is apparently off the market.
Aww.” Her sadness and smile are both as fake as her bottle-blonde hair.
“He’s been snatched up by up and coming local interior designer, Violet Russo, according to Morgan Andrews, the father of the groom-to-be.
It seems everyone was feeling the love, too.
Check out the generous support Mr. Andrews, Lieutenant Governor John Border, and Mrs. Delilah Border gave at the evening’s festivities. ”
The video cuts again to clips of Morgan’s donation to the Gala Fund, and the offer for the orchestra and camera crew, before cutting back to the anchor in the studio.
“So with the nuptials less than a week away, many, many eyes will be watching to see if this Cinderella story really can have a happily ever after.”
I hit the Pause button on my laptop and close the clip.
I’ve seen it before. It premiered on the Sunday Local Wrap-Up first thing this morning, and Ross’s Google alert had notified him that his name was in the press again, but it seems that the clip’s gone a little viral since someone dubbed I Had The Time Of My Life from Dirty Dancing over it.
Archie sent it to me an hour ago, excitedly proclaiming that it had ten thousand views. The counter in the corner says it’s at more than triple that now, though more than a handful of those views are mine.
The bathroom door opens, and a naked Ross comes swaggering back into the bedroom “Vi, stop torturing yourself and don’t watch it again.”
Firstly, he looks good. Downright lickable, in fact. But I can’t even focus on the amazing specimen of man in front of me because . . .
Secondly, our engagement and rush-order wedding are splashed all over the news, we’ve got a who-knows-how-big orchestra slated to play, a news crew coming, my cousins are singing, more family showing up any day now, and I don’t have a dress.
Oh, yeah, and it’s all fake.
“What are we going to do?” I say, shaking my head. “I thought this would be easy, just a quiet ceremony and we’d be all set. This is nuts.” My eyes bore into him. He has to see that, right? Maybe we should cancel it? But that would do more harm than good at this point, I think.
“Violet, have you met your family? I mean, really? You thought you were going to have some quiet little countryside wedding, and it’d all be idyllic and sweet.
And most importantly, under your control.
” His tone is even, but the sarcasm is heavily implied and virtually dripping from his raised brows.
I freeze. God, I hate that he knows me so well sometimes. True confession—I love it at other times. This is not one of those times. Right now, I want to pretend that this over-the-top craziness is all someone else’s fault and that something, anything, can be done about it.
I cross my arms but glare when Ross looks newly intrigued at the way it pushes my breasts up. I’m as naked as Ross is, but we’d collapsed last night when we got home, both of us quietly letting the wild roller coaster of the evening play out on repeat in our minds.
Remembering one of the earlier oddities of the evening, I ask him, “What was really up with your dad? I know it wasn’t a work thing he wanted to talk to you about. It was about us, wasn’t it? Did you know he was going to make that speech?”
Ross shakes his head and sits down on the side of the bed.
His elbows on his knees, he buries his hands into his hair and growls.
“No, I definitely did not know he was planning that. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming, though?
He definitely increased the pressure on us and put a big old target on our backs with the press.
Not sure how he thinks that’s going to play out in his favor. ”
I’m quiet, just waiting for Ross to decide whether he wants to tell me about his private conversation with his dad. I know it must’ve been important or it wouldn’t still be eating at him.
After a long minute where I can virtually see his mind tracing steps and possible outcomes, I almost tease him about calling me a control freak. But before I can say a word, he finally speaks. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “You mean he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you,” I say, making the obvious correction.
Ross huffs a humorless laugh, “No, really. He basically told me that you’ve always been a lovely girl, hardworking and honest, and that he and Mom love you.
I, on the other hand, am an immature asshole of a brat who fucks up everything in my personal life to the point where my only redeeming quality is my work.
He basically said that I had to be paying you or blackmailing you or something because there’s no way you’d actually like me, much less love me, just for me. ”
My jaw drops. That’s not at all what I was expecting to hear.
I scoot over to sit behind Ross, my butt on my heels with my legs bent beneath me. I scratch lazy circles along his back, tracing each muscle. “I am so sorry. That’s ridiculous.”
He shudders beneath my hands. “It was definitely not the conversation I was expecting to have with him.”
“What did he say? Like word for word. Maybe you misunderstood or something? Because the obvious outlier here is me, not you. I mean, my family brought a cheesecake to a catered gala affair, and then Sofia basically propositioned the lieutenant governor.”
Ross looks at me, horror and humor in equal measure. “She did not.”
I nod vehemently, “Oh, yes, she did. Told him he was ‘quite handsome for a man of his age’ and then offered to teach him a few things she’d bet he’s never tried. When he politely declined, she tried to play it off that she was going to teach him pinochle, but we all know she’s shit for card games.”
“Oh, my God, how did I miss that? I needed that laugh last night.” He starts to chuckle a little. “Hell, I need that laugh now.”
I laugh too, hesitantly, before dipping my toe into the deep water of his relationship with his dad.
“Look, Ross, I don’t know what it is your dad wants from you or sees in you, but to me, you’re a .
. .” I pause, narrowing my eyes at him, “I want you to know how much it pains me to say this, but you’re a . . . good guy.”
His smile is soft, just one corner of his lips, really, but it feels like it’s an important step so I keep confessing.
“Once upon a time, you were a jerk. An immature asshole of a brat, as you said—”
He interrupts, rolling his eyes and shoving me back toward the pillows. “Oh, please, stop with the flattery.”
I smirk, returning that cocky one he so likes to toss my way.
“Seriously, we were both little shits to each other. But I think we’ve both grown up, moved past a lot of that.
You’re a good man, doing amazing things at work, taking care of your family legacy, and doing a ridiculously kind thing for me with this wedding.
A selfish bastard wouldn’t go this far for someone, especially not someone you didn’t even really like, unless you’re either a masochist, a brilliant strategist who’s going to do something awful like leave me at the altar, or an actual good person. I think it’s the last one, myself.”
He’s quiet for a minute, letting my words sink in. I hope they help because I mean them. Once upon a time, I both hated and loved Ross in equal measure. He was the big shot on campus to my invisible nothingness, and I railed against him because I doubted myself. Plus, it was fun.
But we’re both different people now, not entirely, but enough has changed that there’s no hate in the equation any longer.
“Do you remember homecoming my senior year?” he says quietly.
I nod slowly, the memories coming back, though I’m not sure what they have to do with our current conversation. But if he needs to bob and weave to avoid the deep talk, I can follow. “Yeah, that was mine and Abi’s freshman year. We won because you got the game-winning touchdown.”
“Do you remember what I bought you and Abi that night?” he says, looking at me from the side of his eye.
“Chicken, of course,” I answer with an eyeroll.
“I was pissed as hell because you came into the after-party, dragged Abi and me out, and took us to dinner, but it was adding insult to injury with the chicken legs dig. Our reputation never recovered from being the babies physically removed from that party, I’ll have you know.
” I kick out at him, poking his hard bicep with a red-painted toe.
“Asshole.” But there’s no venom in the word.
He grabs my foot and begins to massage it lightly. I can’t help but groan, my emotions going crazy. On one hand, the old memories of him ruining my life piss me off, but on the other hand, he’s doing amazing things to the arch of my foot, which is sore from those heels last night.
“Before that, at the game. It was raining, and you and Abi were sitting in the fresh meat section of the stands with all the other freshmen, looking like drowned kittens. And we were getting our asses kicked. Down three touchdowns before the rain stopped, half the stands empty because no one believed we could come back from that and they weren’t willing to sit in the downpour to find out.
But as I jogged out for the second half, I heard something—”