Chapter 18
Devyn
A loud buzzing wakes me from my sleep. I groan, snatching the pillow from under my head and shoving it over my face and ears. But the buzzing doesn’t stop, meaning it’s not just one or two texts, it’s calls or something too.
What the hell? I just want to sleep.
I reach to the bedside table, but realize it isn’t my brother’s guest room bedside table. It’s a dresser. And it’s just now registering to me how thick this pillow smells of—
Pine and sandalwood. Shit.
I shoot upright, throwing the covers off to ensure I am in fact clothed. Whew! And then I look to the left and confirm there’s no other body in the bed with me.
Okay. You just stayed the night, I tell myself as I scan the room for my shoes and purse.
Just like Katie’s dare implied. You stayed the night and slept with Hunter. But not sexually.
I think.
But then again, with the way we were under the booth at Cowboy’s Paradise, I’m not gonna say it would be out of the question if we did end up doing… everything else.
I fall back on the mattress, groaning as I feel how hungover I actually am. I’m groggy and gross and my head is pounding. I stare at the ceiling. It’s tall. A raised, slanted ceiling with a sunroof that takes my breath away. That must be where all the warmth is coming from…the light that spills in with the sun.
How romantic.
I scold myself, clearing away my daydreams. It’s time to get up and get the day started. Once I’m up and have some food and water, I’ll be fine.
I don’t entirely remember last night, so while I’m pretty positive, based on my fully clothed body and lack of, you know… soreness…down there, that we didn’t do it, I still feel the need to clear the air on what did actually happen. After the kiss, that is.
Because that’s all I remember. Kissing him. In his lap. And then…okay, there was more than kissing. But nothing aside from some handsy stuff.
And then we played Truth or Dare . I jump straight to my feet and stumble to catch myself on the large oak dresser, my brain instantly pounding against my skull.
Yep, still hungover .
I grab for my phone and fumble with the unlock screen for far longer than seems reasonable. But once I’ve got the stupid thing open, I realize something most definitely did happen.
Thirty-six calls? From Dustin, Mom, Shana…
My heart races as I scroll my call history.
Oh , my God, what happened? Is someone hurt? Shana’s dad, maybe?
But no, it can’t be. Because I’ve also got missed calls and texts from people entirely disconnected from Pine Forrest. Dad, the Miss American Rodeo Council… Molly from Classy Country?
Holy shit. Holy shit . What has happened? I scramble to pull up my social media and find something that can help me figure this out. I have one hand manning my phone and the other pulling on my heels…the same ones I wore to the bar last night. Because yes, even among all this chaos, I will still be doing the walk of shame today.
I stall, curling my fingers around my phone. I’m not sure I believe what I’m reading right now. Shoving my foot in my other heel and taking a quick seat at the edge of a…is this a vanity stool? Does Hunter have an elegant as hell vanity made of matching deep oak that goes with the beautiful dresser… that matches a certain booth I got very familiar with last night? Furniture I think my brother made?
I am so totally fucked if I’m not supposed to fuck him when I see stuff like this. I bite my lip, clenching my thighs together, as I will the ho inside me to calm down just a teeny bit while I figure out why I’m getting blown up with notifications all of a sudden.
Also, where is Hunter?
I read a few texts that make no sense whatsoever:
CHAD : Congrats, girlie, I’ll always remember our special time.
Winking Emoji
Ew. Why do some men seem super attractive at one point in your life and absolutely disgusting the next? I shiver and scroll on, trying not to get hung up too long on why Chad is even congratulating me in the first place.
SHAY BAE : OH MY GOD, DEVYN…Call me, please. I’m not even mad about last night. Lemon told me you guys are cool. BUT WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS HUNTER THING!!!! OMG CALL ME!!!
Oh, shit. What does she mean by— this Hunter thing? I suppose Lemon told her about the dare to stay here for a month. I mean, it’s not that bad. Makes sense she’d want to mull it over with me, but it doesn’t explain the other buzz going on in my phone. Or maybe that’s just the light, pulsing feeling in my head. I forgot how much I hate drinking.
I hover over Dustin’s text next, but I don’t get far before my phone is ringing again…
Claudette Charbonneau, I read on the screen.
What am I missing?
I swipe to the side and accept the call. At least I know this woman isn’t going to sugarcoat whatever the hell is going on and will give it to me straight.
“Um, hi. Good morning, Claudette. How are—”
She cuts me off with a boisterous laugh and a dark little chuckle that ends in an “mmm, mmm, mmm.”
“I did not think you had it in you, my dear, but wow. You have blown even me away with your quick thinking and sharp wit. I like you.” She punctuates her sentence with nothing but air. A silence she commands simply because she is none other than Claudette Charbonneau, Queen of Southern Fashion and CEO of Classy Country.
I’d love to be as regal as she is. But then I shake my head and push that thought away. I’m still confused.
“You and your”—she sighs wistfully—”sexy cowboy have caused quite the riot.”
I sputter at that. Sexy cowboy? Has she lost her damn mind? I look out the window to make sure the world is still out there and there isn’t some sort of apocalypse or something, but I just end up taking in the beautiful rows of wheat and pastures of wildflowers, as far as the eye can see. Oh, my gosh. Hunter wasn’t joking when he said he had a farm.
But it isn’t just a farm to me. It’s…it’s a kingdom. A place we used to wander and sneak around when it was just an abandoned building sitting on what we considered our spot.
A whole lot has happened on this land…on this exact farm…in this very house. Even if it was just dilapidated boards and crumbled bricks back then. I breathe in deep and try to focus back on Claudette, faintly smelling bacon in the air. I say a quick thank you to the big man above because at least there’s bacon.
As I follow the most glorious smell on Earth through the beautifully renovated farmhouse where I grew up romping and rolling about, I home in on a word Claudette just uttered and walk face first into the wall before me.
“Did you…” I stutter, catching my breath as I turn and lean against the wall, steadying myself so I can hear what I think I heard. “Did you just say my marriage?” Surely, I heard wrong. But then I put Claudette on speaker as I go back to scrolling through the rest of my texts. The one from Dustin stops me in my tracks, and no sooner than I read what I think I just read, does Claudette speak the very words into existence.
DUSTIN : YOU.MARRIED.HUNTER?!
I swallow my confusion, stalling, pressing the center button on my phone and close my texting app altogether. I’m pretty sure whatever else is in there, whatever other secrets my brain is hiding from me in its post-drunk-girl wisdom, those things can, and probably should , wait until I confirm what Claudette and Dustin just told me.
And bacon can happen first too. Because, at this point, I know something crazy is about to go down in this little town. It apparently involves me, Hunter, and marriage.
Whatever I’m about to face, I am sure as hell getting bacon before it commences.
At this point, Claudette is just going on and on about how wonderful our video was last night. And that just sweetens the pot even more, doesn’t it?
We posted a freaking video.
What on Earth is even on the video? Well, that will be the next mystery for me to solve. After bacon. I rub my forehead with my free hand and listen in as she thanks me. But it strikes me as weird.
“What exactly are you thanking me for?” Because I am so genuinely confused.
“Well, your video last night…” I knock my head against the wall. I have got to see this video. “It sparked quite a bit of interest from both of your followings. Point blank, your fans are in love with your love! And so is Classy Country. In fact, I talked to the other investors, and we have decided to sponsor a reception in your honor after the charity fair is wrapped up. All expenses covered, of course.”
I’m speechless. What in the ever-loving world is going on right now? Did I bump my head last night? I mean, I know Hunter and I were all over each other, but not like… past second base or anything. And I know we made that dare to get married. I just…I can’t remember anything past that. And I’m wondering how drunk I really was if that’s the case.
From what I can tell, we came home to his house after some unknown blackout period which must have included a…
…a whole freaking marriage? There’s no way we’d be able to swing that. He was just as drunk as I was, nonetheless. Details on that to be discovered later. I have a ton of questions.
Anyway, we came home, I’m still in my clothes, and it seems as if we just went to sleep. I’ve got to be missing something. I curl my hand around the banister, and I feel something hard and constricting press against my finger. My ring finger, to be exact.
It can’t be.
But oh, yes, my eyes widen, because it most certainly can. And it most certainly is .
The prettiest ring for the prettiest Ponygirl, I remember, a smile creeping across my face as I take in the woven bits of colorful starburst wrappers that snake around my finger. It reminds me of a time when the air smelled of barbeque and shoes were optional.
“Did you hear me?” Claudette says. “We don’t want you to worry about the competition. With the hype and excitement this surprise marriage of yours has caused among the consumers, we are one hundred percent committed to your brand as a couple, and—”
I cut her off, stunned to hear her speak those words. “Did you just say, ‘your brand as a couple?’”
“Well, yes, dear.” She lowers her voice now and speaks to me in what feels like the most direct and motherly tone I’ve ever actually gotten from someone. Even from my own mother. My stepmother, too, not that she was ever old enough to be considered my mother in the first place, but I digress…
“We are offering both of you the position. As Classy Country’s first ever Co-Marketing Directors of Influence and Outreach. You’d have equal share in the company, and you are both guaranteed the position whether or not you make the most at the charity event. Let’s use this platform to propel our brand forward even more!” She lets a giggle erupt from her throat at the tail end of a chuckle, tickled by these events. She’s not used to surprises like this, and she…wants us both?
To work together.
“But why?” I ask. I mean, this all sounds amazing. We both get the job. What more could I want? And it’s not like I don’t want to explore whatever these feelings are for Hunter and all, because there are a lot of feelings, but I get the feeling Claudette thinks this is an actual marriage.
One that wouldn’t ever end.
At first, I was kind of concerned it was, too, but now that I see the Starburst ring, I feel pretty confident this was part of our drunken shenanigans…and for show at the bar.
We didn’t really get married.
Either way, I think as I rub my fingers across the folds of my paper ring, the one who makes my heart skitter with its similarities to the zebra-stripe gum version that seemed to appear magically in my sixth-grade locker and became a permanent fixture in my jewelry box for the rest of time. It’s still there, nestled next to my hospital band—both our bands. I brush a stray tear from my cheek, not willing to let it fall all the way.
It doesn’t make sense to tell Claudette. I do recall accepting the staying the night dare. And I am pretty sure Lemon or someone used their dare to amend it for a month. And now that I’m thinking really hard about it, I feel like…
“I dared Hunter to marry me…it was me,” I suddenly whisper, cutting off whatever it was Claudette was going on about.
“Well, of course you did, my dear! And well done. A woman’s got to chase after what she wants on her own terms.”
I stall at that. Hunter is not what I want. “He’s…I want him, yes, but—”
“Well, it’s all settled, then. We will throw you the reception and wedding of the century, using all Classy Country designs, of course. And you will handle the updates exclusively in partnership with Classy Country and your own social media platforms.”
Wait, what? Is that what I just agreed to?
I don’t even need a wedding reception. I’m not sure Hunter wants one. And posting updates to our social media about our not-so-real marriage? What the hell just happened?
“Congrats, newlyweds! We’ll talk soon. Ciao!” And then she’s gone. Hung up and gone.
My eyes are wide, and my mind is still reeling as I shove my phone into my pocket, thankful designers are putting pockets in dresses these days. Life is too stressful to deal with holding stuff just because we have ovaries. Today is the perfect example. Might be doing a walk of shame, but at least I’ve got pockets.
I make my way robotically down the stairs of the large farmhouse, wishing I could take my time appreciating the work Hunter seems to have put into this little slice of memory, but not having anything left in me after what just happened.
Let’s recap.
In the last seven minutes since I woke up, I found out I married my ex-boyfriend; apparently, there’s some sort of saucy video about it online that’s caused three-point-five thousand Internet users to visit my page since last night, and a competition that seemed near impossible because either way it was reckless, is now over with.
If I had won, I’d have gotten the job and probably wrecked any chances with Hunter based on how awkward that’d be. And how natural it would be to push him away as my competition. And if he’d won, I’d have lost the job and lost him. Because, let’s face it, he can’t settle down. He’s proven that before. And even if he is ready to settle down at this point in his life, it wouldn’t be with me .
Not when he knows my secret. A secret very few know but will always tie me to him.
In my heart and in my nightmares.
So, what do we do, then?
I’ll find Hunter and tell him about the call with Claudette. Find out what he remembers. We can watch this video together and figure out the damage, then make a plan.
We obviously can’t stay married . Fake or not.
But maybe we can figure a way out of this and both keep the Classy Country co-exec positions if we raise a shit ton of money and keep the followers happy somehow? String them along for just long enough. Maybe come out and say it was all just a big episode of Punk’d ? Remember that show?
But they’d hate us when we split up…
It’s all so messy. I sift my hands through my hair. What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Devyn?
I rub my temples and look around downstairs. I see an open concept, farm-style kitchen with a beautiful white marble countertop that wraps around into a bar endcap where three handcrafted, wooden chairs are spaced evenly on the other side for seating. I smile, picturing a gaggle of kids sitting there after school and doing homework, chomping on their little apples and peanut butter snack while they go on about sports tryouts or school plays.
My breath hitches when I realize where I’ve let my mind wander, and a crease forms in my brow that I’ve come to be unfortunately familiar with. I rub it out, reminding myself I cannot be anything other than what and who I’ve been made to be.
Regardless of how that feels.
God. The universe. Whatever you believe in—they’ve got a plan for me.
And even if I wanted him to be, Hunter isn’t it.
I put my hand on my stomach, directly over my womb. Right where she’d be if she were still safe inside me.
Our secret.
Our girl.