Chapter 8 #2
“If this gets leaked, there’re going to be reporters with telephoto lenses lurking soon,” she explains as she floats around the main room—yes, floats.
Her dress is lightweight and flutters around her, and she moves with such grace.
I’m sure it’s because of years of practice of being “on” all the time, having an audience, always being poised.
“And it’s probably going to get leaked,” she finishes.
Not surprising. The one photo we posted created rumors immediately.
I’ve been tagged in other photos of us together—people who saw us at the restaurant for lunch, pictures from the fundraising dinner she came to with me, a shot of us walking down the street together.
And of course we’ve been seen together on the plane and in the airport.
Though it was only us on the beach, there were likely people in the houses nearby paying attention.
As soon as people figure out that Libby Bennet is up to something, this is all going to explode.
“Mrs. Atkinson?” I step up next to her as she presses a button to lower shades on the floor-to-ceiling windows that cover the wall facing the beach.
She tilts her head at me, putting one hand on her hip, which is pretty sexy. “I’m keeping my name, Jordan.”
I grin. “Of course you are. But are you good? You’re on a mission with these shades, and this house is big.”
“I’m fine,” she insists, watching the shades come down and avoiding looking at me.
“We probably just need to do this room so you can call your sister, and then the master bedroom—of course. Would it look weird if we lower the shades in one of the other rooms so I can sleep there?” she muses.
She huffs. “It probably will make someone talk. Like, what is Libby Bennet hiding about her honeymoon with her new man?”
I bite back laughter at the high-pitched voice she uses to imitate celebrity news anchors. “Permission to give you a friendly hug,” I ask.
She turns from the shades, studies me for a second, and then nods. “Yeah. Permission granted.”
I step forward, gathering her up in my arms. She wraps her arms around my back, but she’s still stiff.
This won’t work if she can’t relax. We have a lot of pretending ahead of us, at least for a year, and so much of it in front of cameras.
It’s going to be stressful, but I need her to trust that she’s completely safe with me.
I tighten my hold on her slightly and then take a deep breath, hoping she’ll mimic it. After a second, she does and then relaxes into my arms.
“This is going to be a lot,” I say softly into her hair. “I’ve got your back anytime, okay, Libby? I promise.”
She nods into my chest.
And then my phone starts buzzing again.
I groan.
Libby chuckles and pulls back to look at me. “You should probably talk to your sister before she calls the FBI.”
I sigh and pull out my phone to see a picture of me and Baylee at one of the first fundraisers we organized. The buzzing stops but starts again a few seconds later.
“I should have told her I was coming to Hawaii,” I say.
Libby gives me a small smile. “Next time I’ll help with the prep, Mr. Bennet.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Not mad about that term of endearment, babe.”
She gives me a shove, but it’s teasing, which is a big step for Libby. “Answer your phone. I’ll be upstairs changing.”
I swipe to answer. “Hello?” My tone conveys exactly how much I fear for my life right now.
“What the—”
I yank the phone away from my ear at the volume at which Baylee is swearing at me like an experienced ranch hand. When there’s a pause in the yelling, I put it back to my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I say first.
“Jordan, I’ve been terrified,” Baylee cries.
“That’s my fault. But I was on a plane, and then there was the wedding.” I smack myself in the face. Way to just drop that in there, smarty-pants.
“Wedding?” Baylee repeats. “Did you go to Maui with Libby for a friend’s wedding? Why didn’t you say so? What was with all the ‘I’ll explain my mysterious trip later’ stuff?”
“It’s not a friend’s wedding. Promise me you’ll hear me out before you freak out again?”
Baylee scoffs. “My freak-out is completely valid, Jordan Atkinson. You went radio silent for almost a full day.”
“You’re right,” I say, hoping I sound genuinely contrite.
I don’t feel genuinely contrite—I mean, I feel bad about making my sister worry, but I am a thirty-year-old man.
There were plenty of hockey trips in the past when I couldn’t talk to my family for over a day with travel, games, the press conferences, and whatever else.
But since Baylee moved in with me after Bryce and everything that happened in the fallout, there’s been a lot more texting and calling this past year.
Baylee takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“First, you have to promise that you won’t tell Mom and Dad any of this. Actually, you can’t tell anyone. At all.”
“Jordan, I’m working up to freak out again,” Baylee warns.
“I’m serious, Bay. I’ve had to sign NDAs.
I’m only telling you this because I convinced Libby I could trust you.
” I promised Libby that Baylee would never tell anyone our marriage was fake because I can’t stand lying to my sister.
I know I can trust her, but she has to understand how serious this is.
“I promise, Jord. What’s going on?” Her voice holds fear again, but it’s worse than her swearing terror when she’s quiet.
“I married Libby so she could buy the Denver White Wolves. It’s a minor-league hockey team.
” I’m met with complete silence, so I go on, rushing to get as much of the story in as I can.
“The league didn’t want to let her buy it because she’s young and unmarried and doesn’t know anything about hockey.
She couldn’t convince them that hiring me as a consultant was enough, so we hatched this plan.
We’re going to tell people we’ve been secretly dating for the last six months.
Even Mom and Dad have to believe it’s real.
I don’t want them to have to lie to reporters and stand up under scrutiny. ”
There’s still silence even when I finish.
“Bay?”
“You have to be joking,” she says in a hushed voice. “Like for real, Jord. No one actually gets fake married. That’s only in movies and books and stuff.”
“I didn’t get fake married,” I tell her, but as she releases a sigh, I add, “I definitely got real married. I can text you the license and everything.”
Again I’m met with silence. “This is insane,” she finally says after several seconds.
“Probably. But it was the right thing to do. Libby has signed contracts with the network already. She couldn’t lose the sale, and those chauvinistic jerks would only cave after she told them we were engaged.”
“Jordan…”
“It’s done, Bay. I’m serious. We just got back from the actual wedding. So there’s no use lecturing me on what you think I should have done or not done or whatever. Libby needs this, so I made it happen.”
“Yeah, because she gave us ten million,” Baylee says under her breath.
My defenses rise immediately. I love my sister, but Libby doesn’t need this on top of everything else. We did what we had to. I couldn’t stand by and watch her lose the team when there was something I could do.
“This has nothing to do with that money. She made it clear to me that the money stayed with Redhaven no matter what I chose.” Baylee doesn’t need to hear that I do feel a little bit of an obligation because of the money, but after the couple weeks with Libby, I feel more of an obligation to help because I like her. Because she needed it.
I needed ten million dollars and she gave it to me.
She needed a husband so I gave her one.
I’m honestly not sure which one of us made the bigger sacrifice.
“You like her,” Baylee says softly.
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Okay, then.” Baylee blows out a long breath. “Okay.” After a few more seconds, she adds, “I’m good now.”
We chat for a few more minutes about logistical stuff—how I’m going to move in with Libby when I get back until we go to Denver, Baylee insisting she’ll pay me rent for the house, me negotiating her down in price since I don’t need it.
Libby’s already paying me a generous salary, and on top of that, she’s insisting on covering all our household expenses and even extra money being sent to my account for when I pick up groceries or takeout or whatever.
When we hang up, I head upstairs to check in with Libby.
We’re calling the rest of our family together since we’re telling them the story about us meeting six months ago and secretly dating all this time.
Baylee is the only one who’ll know the truth besides us.
And whatever lawyer Libby had draw up our contracts.
The master bedroom door is slightly ajar when I get upstairs. I tap on it lightly. “Libby?” There’s no answer. A few steps in, I see why. She’s changed into sweats and a tank top, but she’s sprawled across the bed, sound asleep.
Neither of us got much sleep on the plane.
We got a few hours at the hotel, but then we had to come here to get ready for the wedding.
Her hair is loose around her, spilling over her shoulders and several strands lying over her face.
I want to push them aside, but it will wake her.
The words from my vows float around me as I stare at her. To have and to hold—to cherish…
I want to slide in next to her and hold her against me.
I settle for taking a light blanket from the end of the bed and draping it over her before I leave the room, go downstairs, and crash on the couch.
There’s a perfectly nice bed in the second bedroom upstairs, but Libby’s right that it will look strange to draw the blinds in there when we’re supposedly sleeping together in the master, and if the reporters have caught wind of this, we don’t need a grainy picture of me sleeping alone in the guest bedroom less than an hour after we said our vows.
The couch is fortunately very soft, and I’m tired enough that it doesn’t matter. I’m sound asleep in minutes.