Chapter 14 #2
I had no idea that this would happen today. I don’t know when I thought it would happen, but I assumed that I would know about it in advance.
I have to admit—I’m pissed. The social anxiety of being in Reed’s life is almost too much to handle. I’m pissed, and I hate that I have to hide that fact just because people are watching.
As if to underscore the point, Reed whispers in my ear, “Remember, we’re not alone.”
He pulls back to kiss me, and I close my eyes, accepting the kiss for the cameras. Internally, irritation curls in my stomach. I’d have been less annoyed if he hadn’t felt the need to remind me that I’m onstage.
It’s hard enough to deal with the elaborate performance. The last thing I want is Reed reminding me to play my role.
The wait staff, gathered by the glass doors, applaud as I step back and Reed slides the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. Of course it is. I can’t remember Reed measuring my finger, but he must’ve figured it out somehow.
A waiter approaches to serve us dessert—vanilla mousse, with strawberries. I would have thought it looked delicious if it weren’t for what just happened. Now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat a single bite. I’m too worked up, my nerves getting the better of me.
The waiter pours us two flutes of glittering champagne. “A toast to both of you,” he says, smiling brightly. I guess it’s easier for him to show happiness—he doesn’t know this is fake. “Congratulations.”
When our waiter and the rest of the wait staff finally disappear back into the building, Reed raises his glass. “To us.”
I clink our champagne flutes together and down mine in a single swallow, imagining the photos the paparazzi must be taking of us now. The bubbles sting the roof of my mouth.
Stay happy. Keep smiling, or this whole scheme is dead on arrival.
It’s difficult, but I manage to pull it off while we eat dessert. Reed texts his driver, summoning a car for us, and we depart the restaurant together with his arm around my shoulders.
My heart is in my throat as I climb into the backseat of the car. Reed holds the door for me—a romantic gesture. Or a facsimile of one, at any rate.
I’m grateful for the tinted windows of the car, and for the plastic divider that the driver raises to give us our privacy. With the outside world blocked out, the only other person in the world is Reed. And I can safely ignore Reed without compromising our arrangement.
I’m quiet for the entire drive, staring resolutely out of the window. I can practically feel Reed’s eyes burning into me; there’s tension in the space between us, rife with unspoken questions. But he doesn’t pry.
We sit in silence, and I watch the city slide past the windows, staring at random pedestrians on the sidewalks and wishing I could trade places with them. I miss being part of a crowd, just a normal person, away from the scrutiny of the press.
I’ve only been in the eye of the cameras for a single outing, and already, I have no idea how Reed deals with it. It makes me feel nauseous.
If anything, Reed’s silent patience beside me makes this feeling even harder to reconcile. I can’t help it—I’m mad at him. Actually mad at him, even though he hasn’t done anything to breach our agreement.
The car makes its way through midtown, heading back toward the tip of Manhattan and The Luxe. When it pulls up outside of the marquee, I take a deep breath.
Reed glances over at me and speaks for the first time since we left the restaurant. “Two minutes outside,” he says quietly. “We can’t count on being alone. Are you ready?”
I’m not, but in all honesty, I never will be. So I grit my teeth and nod. He takes my hand.
Stiffly, I follow him out of the car. To my muted relief, there’s no crowd of paparazzi waiting to ambush us as we walk into the lobby; Reed seems pleasantly surprised as well.
He gives my hand a squeeze, and I look up at him with the best fake smile I can muster.
“Story hasn’t breached containment yet,” he tells me in an undertone. “Next time we come downstairs, I’d expect it to be different.”
No kidding. The story will hit the magazines within the next few days, and then nothing will be the same.
Already, I can see a camera pointed our way—there’s a man at the end of the block, pretending to be nonchalant. I wonder if Reed notices him, too.
He must, because he leans down to kiss the top of my head as we step through the open glass doors. I turn my face away from the photographer, hiding my expression from the camera lens.
“Did you have a good lunch, Mr. Eastwood?”
It’s Henry, the doorman. He’s grinning from ear-to-ear, expectant.
“The best,” Reed replies cheerfully.
Henry’s eyes twinkle. “So did you pop the question?”
Reed nods, and I have to marshal my expression into an even-keeled smile. Even Henry knew before I did? Are you kidding me?
Just in case my unhappiness is too obvious, I hold up my hand, splaying out my fingers to show off the glittering ring. The ring I haven’t even gotten a chance to look at.
“Good for you!” Henry exclaims. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, Henry,” says Reed graciously.
The elevator arrives, and Reed gives Henry a wave as we step inside. The moment the doors close behind us, we’re alone—but still silent.
Reed carries himself with a quiet ease, but I can tell he notices something’s up.
Now that I’m confident there are no cameras trained on me, I don’t bother to keep up the pretense of the smile.
I’ve been tense and uncomfortable since the moment the ring appeared, and he seems all too aware of that fact.
Good. He should be.
Only once the elevator doors trundle shut behind us does he turn to me, his expression serious.
“Okay. We’re alone. What’s up?”
I could tell him, but the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I shake my head and try to brush past him, heading for my room.
It might clear my thoughts if I’m alone for a little while.
There’s an unfinished knitting project sitting on my bedside table, and I’m itching to get my hands on those needles.
That’s the closest I’ll get to meditation.
But Reed stops me. He holds out a hand to block my path, his expression serious. “Hey. Come on. Talk to me.”
When I still don’t reply, he sighs.
“Olivia. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Fine.” I round on him, my arms folded. “You wanna know what’s wrong? Fine. I’m pissed, that’s what’s wrong.”
He arches an eyebrow, but says nothing, leaving space for me to continue.
“We’re supposed to be a team,” I say. “But you let me walk into that blind. You didn’t tell me what was going to happen. You left me clueless—why? Because you thought it would be easier?”
Reed blinks. “No. That’s not it. I swear.”
“I can’t help you pull off this huge lie if you don’t keep me in the loop. How did you know I’d react correctly? What if I screwed up?”
“You didn’t screw up,” he says gently, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
Admittedly, it’s nice to hear. I was a little worried that I looked upset despite my best efforts. But I shrug his hand off anyway. I’m not in the mood to accept comfort from Reed.
“I need to be aware of what’s going on,” I say.
Reed nods, fixing me with those soft brown eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through all the way.”
“No, you didn’t,” I huff—but the edge is gone from my voice. It’s difficult to stay mad at him when he seems so genuinely apologetic. I know he didn’t do this to hurt me, and he seems disappointed that it has.
“I just thought that the surprise factor would work better for us,” he explains.
“Did the PR team tell you to do this?”
He shakes his head. “No. This was all me. I screwed up, and I promise, it won’t happen again.”
“It had better not,” I say slowly. “Because I wasn’t ready for something like that.”
“I get that,” he replies. “I’ll do better. I’ll communicate more.” He hesitates, then adds, “And I’ll try to keep in mind that this is hard for you—being on display all the time. It’s something that I take for granted, you know? I should’ve thought more about your comfort.”
My anger evaporates, and with it, the tension in my shoulders fades. I take a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he says. When he reaches out to pull me into a hug, I don’t resist. I let myself melt into his embrace, the last bits of tightness in my muscles slipping away.
I feel his hand brush the back of my hair. Ordinarily, this would worry me—what if he’s pushing our boundaries? What if he’s about to make things complicated?
But the gesture is so simple, so sweet, that I can’t bring myself to care. The gentle strokes of his fingers through my hair are calming, and right now, I need some calm in my life.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you. I promise, I’ll take care of you.”
Those words feel more official than anything written down in the legal team’s contract, and bring me twice as much peace.
I take a step back, finally calm again, and give him a rueful smile.
“It was a nice lunch,” I say. “We should go back some other time—you know, under more normal circumstances.”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever have normal circumstances,” he responds, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, “but sure. Someday I’ll take you back there without pulling out a ring.”
I lift my hand to take a look at said ring; I was too shocked and upset to examine it before. My eyes slid right off of the stone, and all I managed to register was that it was a clear gem set into white gold.
Now that I get a closer look at it, my heart skips a beat.
It’s the perfect diamond I was so enamored with at the jeweler’s. The four-carat gem that was worth over a hundred grand. The one I never would’ve asked for, not in a dozen lifetimes.
My breath catches in my throat, and I look up at Reed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“What do you mean?”
I hold out my hand, indicating the ring. “You didn’t have to get that one.”
“Yes, I did,” he says. “Even if this is fake, I want to do it right.” He pauses, then asks, “This is the ring you wanted, isn’t it?”
I nod, speechless.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Then I stand by it.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched by his sincerity—and blown away by the generosity. Now that I can bear to look at the ring, I can’t stop looking. It’s stunning. “Thank you so much. It’s gorgeous.”
He smiles easily. “You’re welcome. A gorgeous ring for a gorgeous woman. It’s only right.”
I meet his gaze, warm blooming in my chest despite my stress from earlier. For a second, as our eyes lock, I want nothing more than to lean in—to close the distance between us, come what may.
But I don’t. And neither does he.
After a dizzying moment, he clears his throat. “I have to get back to work,” he says. “I’ll see you this evening, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, nodding.
He picks up the briefcase beside the hall table, then steps back inside the elevator, shooting me a wink as the doors slide closed.
Alone in his apartment, I wander over to the sitting area in a daze, flopping down onto one of the stone-white designer couches. I gaze at the ring on my finger, moving my hand to let the diamond catch and refract the light.
I can’t believe he would spend that much on me—that he would go out of his way to get something this expensive, this beautiful, to signify a commitment that isn’t even real.