17. Chapter 17
Claire
"There's one more thing I haven't told you."
Darius looks up from the notebook.
"You have to propose to me. In public. On camera." I keep my voice even. "Real enough that Camille's version looks like a bitter ex-colleague manufacturing a story."
The smile that crosses his face is slow and entirely too satisfied.
"So you need me to be Hollywood."
I take a breath.
"I hate to tell you this. But yes." I hold his gaze. "Big. Wild. The kind of thing that breaks the internet before Camille can finish her sentence."
He looks like I just handed him the ball on fourth and one.
"Say less."
So I walk him through the rest.
If Camille goes public first, the NDA structure becomes the headline. The league pulls the sponsorship review. The Next Play Foundation walks. Darius gets cut — not for Atlanta, but for inventing a new scandal on top of it. And me? My reputation goes down the drain.
And my father's surgery doesn't move. The specialist fee doesn't disappear. The number on that kitchen table in Sugar Land doesn't care about any of this.
"Your dad," Darius says quietly.
"If this falls apart, I don't get paid. And if I don't get paid—"
"You're getting paid."
He says it like a fact. Not reassurance. A fact.
I press my lips together so I don't smile.
"Okay." I click my pen. "The proposal."
"Yeah."
"We need a location with organic photo access. Public but contained. Personal enough that Camille's version looks like sour grapes by comparison."
He looks at me.
"What does your dream proposal look like?"
I almost laugh. "Completely irrelevant."
"It's the most relevant thing I've asked you."
"I can work with whatever location you pick. It just has to feel real."
"Claire."
"What?"
"What does your dream proposal look like?"
I stare at the wall across from me.
The thing is, I know exactly what my dream proposal looks like. I've known since I was seven years old cutting wedding gowns out of magazines and taping them into a notebook. I had a whole vision. The dress. The flowers. The exact way it would feel.
I just never planned on telling him about it.
I swallow. "An amusement park."
It comes out too quick. The kind of tone that pretends it's a joke so I can pretend I didn't mean it. Heat rushes up my neck. I want to disappear.
"Because it's the happiest place you can be," I say. "You're already laughing, already having fun… and then something incredible happens on top of all that. It's like—" I stop. Heat rushes up my neck. "It's not a serious answer."
His eyebrows lift. His eyes widen — surprised, curious. Then a grin flashes across his face, quick and real.
"I'm learning all kinds of things about you today," he says.
My mouth opens. Closes. Of course he is.
"It's impractical," I say.
"I'll handle the practical."
"You don't have to actually—"
"I said I'll handle it." He picks up his phone. "Do you trust me?"
I open my mouth and my phone buzzes before I can answer.
Hannah.
I hold up a finger. "Hey—"
"Okay so don't freak out." Hannah's words come fast, tripping over each other.
"Everything's fine, nobody's in the hospital or anything, it's just — Dad's been weird all day and Mom keeps doing that thing where she hums in the kitchen when she's stressed and I didn't want to call you but then I felt like I had to and—" A breath.
"He wants you to end it with Darius. Says he'll find the money another way. "
I close my eyes for exactly one second.
"He won't."
"I know that. You know that. But he doesn't take no for an answer." A beat. "Claire, he skipped his follow-up appointment yesterday and I caught him on the phone asking Mr. Henderson if he still needs someone to mow his lawn. His lawn, Claire. Dad hasn't mowed a lawn since 2009."
I burst out laughing before I can stop myself. Hannah loses it on the other end of the line — that full, ugly laugh she's had since she was four — and for a second we're just two sisters falling apart over our father and his sixty-five-year-old pride.
And here's the thing — I love him for it. I love that his first instinct is to protect me even when protecting me means calling Mr. Henderson about his lawn at sixty-five years old with a heart condition. That's Samuel Wells. That's my dad.
But that bill isn't going to pay itself. Mr. Henderson's lawn isn't going to cover the specialist fee. My father is the most stubborn man in Sugar Land, Texas, which is honestly saying something.
"Tell him I'll call tomorrow," I say. "Tell him I love him. And tell him I'm not calling it off."
"I will." A pause. Then — "Wait. Are you serious right now? You're actually not calling it off?" Her voice pitches up. "Claire. Oh my God. Are you sure? Are you ready for that? Because that is — that is a lot. That's really a lot. I'm kind of obsessed with you right now."
"Getting better at it every day."
"Okay." Hannah's voice goes warm and a little dreamy. "Okay. You're marrying Darius Webb. You're actually marrying Darius Webb. This is the most romantic thing that has ever happened in this family, Claire, I need you to know that, I am fully rooting for you, like full-on fairy tale, I cannot—"
"Hannah. Slow down. We're not actually getting married."
"I don't care! This is incredible!"
"Hannah."
"Right. Sorry. What do you need? Tell me what you need. I want to help."
I glance at Darius across the stairwell.
"Actually," I say, "I might have a big job for you very soon."
Silence. Then: "I got you."
She hangs up.
He read the whole call from my face. I know he did.
"He wants you to call it off," he says.
"He does." I slide my phone into my pocket. "And I'm done letting him decide everything. This is my choice. I'm staying."
Darius goes quiet for a moment before he speaks, his voice low.
"I don't want your dad thinking I'm the problem."
Something in me softens. I step closer, close enough that he notices.
"He doesn't," I say. "He just likes control."
He nods once. His hand brushes my arm — warm, steady — and something in my chest loosens.
I stand there for a second after he looks away.
Then he smiles. Just a simple, easy smile that makes my heart skip.
"An amusement park," he says.
"Do not." I point at him, because I can already see where he's going.
He lifts his hands in surrender, still smiling. "I'll handle it." He stands, pockets his phone. "Get some sleep, Wells."
He heads for the stairwell door. I stay on the step and watch him go, already trying to build a contingency plan for whatever he's about to do.
I don't have one. That's a new experience.
The truth is, I've been excited about this proposal idea since the moment it popped into my head. But saying it to him… that was different. That made it feel real in a way I wasn't prepared for.
And real is where people get hurt.
Somewhere between that first night we were together and now, this stopped feeling like a job. I don't know when the line blurred. I just know it did.
Thirty seconds later, my phone buzzes.
My phone buzzes.
A forwarded text from Darius.
I need the park for tomorrow night. And bring Ricky.
I sit there in the quiet stairwell staring at my screen.
I have absolutely no idea what I just agreed to.