Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
Twila
It’s been an hour since I spewed the truth all over Emerson, and I’m still panicking.
He hasn’t come up to try to talk to me. For all I know, he’s gone, deciding that leaving his belongings behind is better than having to respond to my unsolicited confession.
Yeah, he probably ran. Got out of here before I suggested something crazy, like we should stay married.
My phone chimes with a BingBang notification, and when I read it, my eyes widen so much, it’s almost painful.
The Emerson Effect is now live.
What the…? I just poured my heart out to him, and he’s making content? It seems so out of character for him, I have no choice but to open the app and watch.
I hold my breath as his handsome face appears on the screen, my living room wall in the background.
He appears to be waiting silently for something, his eyes focused on the bottom of the frame like he’s reading the comments.
The second I tap my screen to watch the live, he blows out a breath and looks up at his phone’s camera.
“I have a confession to make,” he says, swallowing thickly, “and I’m not sure how you all will react. Hell, I may be cancelled after this, but it has to be done. My future happiness depends upon it.”
What is he talking about? Before I can even finish the thought, I know .
He’s going to out us. I admitted my feelings, and he’s ending this whole charade with a bang because he wants to be done with it.
I don’t even have the strength to try to stop him.
I slump to the floor and watch with tears dripping down my face.
“I made that first video for Twila––you remember, the one with the tuxedo and the margarita––as a joke in response to a not-so-friendly DM she sent me. It doesn’t matter what she said, so don’t ask.
I was only teasing her, and when it blew up the way it did, I devised a plan to fake a crush on her.
It took some time, but I eventually convinced her to play along, and we set the foundation for an eventual fake relationship. ”
The comments blow up with viewers saying things like “I knew it!” and “This can’t be real!” Emerson pauses to take a couple of deep breaths, then continues, his voice cracking with emotion.
“We planned it all. Twila’s reciprocal crush. Our tacks and duos. The trip to Vegas where we were supposed to fall in love. But here’s the part not even Twila knows…I started to fall for her, for real, before we even made that trip.”
Wait. What?
“Every phone conversation we had made me like her more. Every video, every comment, every text message…I was falling in love, and she never knew. I was too scared to tell her. Too scared to mess up our grand plan.”
My tears dry, and I sit up a bit straighter. Is this for real?
“When we got to Vegas, a very nice concierge upgraded us to a two-bedroom suite, and I was ecstatic. The time we spent together in person solidified my feelings, and when we finally kissed, I knew she was the one. We grew close romantically, and even though that quickie wedding was a drunken escapade, I never regretted it for even a second.”
The tears start pouring from my eyes again, and I’m having trouble breathing. My heart is racing, the blood beating against my eardrums, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Should I keep watching? Or go down there and face him?
“I know a lot of you are probably pissed at us right now,” he goes on, “but hopefully you’re still watching because I’m here to say I got caught in the trap of my own making. While pretending to fall in love with Twila Greene, I really fell.”
He pauses for a beat and exhales harshly.
“Twila, I know you’re watching this. I just want you to know…I love you. I want to be with you, and I want to give this marriage a real shot. I’m waiting downstairs. If you want this, too, come down and kiss me in front of all these viewers so they’ll know––and so I’ll know––we’re the real deal.”
The hearts and gifts and comments are rolling in so fast, I can’t keep track, but I don’t really care what the viewers think of our scheme right now. I only care about the end results. Emerson loves me. He wants to be with me. To stay married and spend our lives together.
I’m up and on my feet in a split second.
I rush downstairs to find him still sitting on the couch, his phone propped up by a stack of books as he stares at the screen, no doubt reading the comments and waiting for me to respond.
I hurry into the room, and his head jerks up, his eyes locking with mine.
I’m smiling and crying at the same time, and his own mouth curves up into a beaming smile as I dart forward and tackle him. He stretches out on the couch beneath me, smiling up at me as I dip my head to press my lips to his. It’s a chaste kiss. His live is still filming us, after all.
When I lift up and grin down at him, he licks his lips and whispers, “I love you, Twila Greene-House.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper back.
We stare at each other, grinning like fools for the longest time, and then we both start to laugh. I climb off him, and he sits up, and we both face his phone.
“She loves me,” he says to the viewers, his voice cracked and his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “She really loves me.”
I nod, sniff loudly, and say, “I do,” before reaching out to end the live.
Then, we kiss, for real this time, and it’s the best kiss in the history of all kisses. It’s filled with desire for each other, excitement for our future, and the knowledge that we both feel the same way.
And maybe, just maybe , I’ve given tequila a bad rap. I mean, it brought me Emerson, didn’t it?
I’ll never disparage a good margarita again, as long as we both shall live.