Chapter Four
Travis
If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be spending Christmas squeezed around my parents’ dining table like a sardine in a can, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Yet here I am, elbow-to-elbow with my family and the neighbors, trying to pass the mashed potatoes without knocking over someone’s wineglass.
My mom has outdone herself with the pot roast, but the real challenge isn’t the food.
It’s the seating arrangement. We’ve crammed two extra chairs at each end of the table, and I’m pretty sure the fire marshal would have a field day with this setup.
I’m wedged between Riley on my left and my Aunt Annie on my right, who keeps accidentally stabbing me with her elbow every time she reaches for something.
“Can someone pass the rolls?” Grandma calls from the far end of the table.
“Which direction?” my dad asks, looking around helplessly at the maze of arms and dishes.
“Does it matter? Just launch them down here,” Grandma says.
“Sorry, sorry,” Aunt Annie mutters for the third time as her elbow connects with my arm.
“It’s fine,” I assure her, though I’m starting to think I’ll have more bruises by the end of this meal than I get from playing in the Super Bowl.
Across from me, my sister Aspen is attempting to feed one-year-old Rosie while also eating her own dinner. My brother-in-law Maddox is doing his best to help, but Rosie has other plans and keeps reaching for everything on the table with her tiny, surprisingly strong hands.
“No, sweetie, that’s Grandpa’s wine glass,” Aspen says, redirecting Rosie’s grabbing hands.
Riley leans forward slightly. “She’s gotten so big, Aspen. I can’t believe she’s already one year old! The last time I saw her, she was only a couple of months old, and now she’s like a… real person, you know?”
Aspen laughs. “I know, right? She’s into everything now. Remember when we used to babysit together? We thought those kids were a handful. We had no idea.”
“Maybe we should’ve set up a kids’ table,” my dad jokes.
“Where? In the bathtub?” my mother asks, gesturing around the table.
“I call not sitting in the bathtub,” Beau says.
“Well, you’re not a kid,” I say.
“I beg to differ,” Riley says and sticks her tongue out at her brother.
He arches a brow. “Really, Sis? We’re both in our thirties, and you don’t think it’s weird to stick your tongue out at me?”
“It’s a timeless gesture. Age has nothing to do with it,” she says with a grin.
“She’s got a point, Beau,” I say, earning a grateful look from Riley that makes my pulse race.
Huh. What is happening to me?
“Excuse me? Best friends should defend each other,” Beau says.
“To be fair, do you remember the time you put salt in my orange juice when we were, what, twenty-five? That wasn’t acting your age either,” I say.
“That was payback for you telling everyone I cried during The Notebook,” Beau shoots back.
“You did cry during The Notebook,” Riley and I say in unison.
“Children, please,” my mom interrupts. “Let’s try to maintain some dignity at the dinner table.”
“Sorry,” I say but still can’t stop grinning.
“So, Travis, I saw the pictures of you and Sienna Montgomery at that charity gala. When do we finally get to meet her?” Aunt Annie asks.
And just like that, my smile is gone, and the temperature at the table drops about ten degrees.
At least, it feels that way to me. Everyone else is looking at me expectantly.
I force a smile, even though talking about Sienna is the last thing I want to do right now, especially with Riley sitting right next to me.
“She’s great,” I say, aiming for enthusiastic but probably sounding like a hostage reading a ransom note.
“That’s it? Just ‘great’. Come on, Travis, give us something! How did you two meet? What’s she like? Is it serious? The tabloids don’t give all the details. We want to hear everything from you,” Aunt Annie says.
“I agree. You’re my brother, and you haven’t told me anything substantial about the new love of your life,” Aspen says.
The love of my life, yeah, right. If only I could tell my sister the truth.
Next to me, Riley goes very still. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her suddenly become fascinated with the green beans on her plate, pushing them around with her fork like they’re the most interesting vegetables she’s ever seen.
“Well?” Aunt Annie presses.
“We met through mutual friends,” I say, which is technically true if you count our agents as mutual friends.
“And what is she like?” Uncle William asks.
“She’s talented and ambitious. We have a lot in common.”
“I loved her in that movie; what was it called? The one where she played the wedding planner?” Grandma says. “She was delightful!”
“Say I Do Once More. I cried at the ending,” Mom says.
“You cry at every movie, Mom,” Aspen points out.
“So when’s the wedding?” Annie asks with a smile, and I almost choke.
“Wedding? We’ve only been dating a few months.”
“But you two look so perfect together in all the photos! And at your age, you must be thinking about settling down, right?” she asks.
At my age? Like thirty-eight is ancient or something.
Riley’s fork clinks against her plate a little too loudly, and I glance over to see her jaw tight, her eyes still firmly fixed on those green beans. She hasn’t looked at me since Annie brought up Sienna.
“We’re taking things slow,” I say, hating every word coming out of my mouth.
“Well, she’s certainly gorgeous. I showed all my friends at the book club those pictures of you two on the beach. They were so jealous,” Aunt Annie says, completely oblivious to how much I hate talking about this.
“Right,” I say.
Those pictures weren’t even real. We’d had a photographer follow us around for two hours while Sienna and I made awkward small talk and tried to look like a couple madly in love.
“Very romantic,” Grandma agrees. “The way she was looking at you! Like you hung the moon.”
Riley suddenly stands up, her chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me. I need to, um, use the bathroom. Urgently.”
She’s gone before anyone can respond.
“Is she sick?” Annie asks, looking concerned.
“No, no. Riley’s probably just tired from all the moving around today,” her mom says.
But I know better. I saw her face in the split second before she turned away. She’s upset, and it’s because of me.
Beau is watching me across the table. He knows me too well and knows when I’m not being genuine. Luckily, he doesn’t say anything. He just raises his eyebrows as if to say, You want to tell me what’s really going on?
I shake my head. I can’t talk about how it’s all fake.
I have a contract. Sienna has a contract.
And to be fair, we both benefit financially from this deal.
But I’m starting to think that money isn’t everything.
That no amount of money is worth feeling this horrible.
Lying to my family is one thing. It’s not nice, and I hate it, but hurting Riley feels even worse.
Which I didn’t expect, because it’s not like I still have a crush on her. I used to. Never told anyone, of course. She was three years younger than me, and I was looking at a career in football. We never could’ve worked as a couple.
“So, Beau. How’s business going?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
He takes the bait and launches into a story about a project that went sideways, but even as I try to listen, I can’t help but notice that Riley is taking way too long for a bathroom break.
Unless she has a bladder infection or a stomach bug, but that seems highly unlikely since she was fine just half an hour ago.
I try to focus on Beau’s story about a client who wanted to install a hot tub in their attic, but my attention keeps drifting to Riley. What’s taking her so long?
Ten minutes later, she finally reappears, but something’s off. Her eyes look a little red, maybe a little puffy even, and she’s not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. Has she been crying?
“You okay?” I ask her.
“I am. Is that dessert?” she asks, and someone hands her a slice of my mom’s homemade apple pie.
Fine, so she doesn’t want to talk to me right now. At least the conversation has moved on from Sienna to Grandma’s book club drama.
“And then Margaret had the nerve to say that Pride and Prejudice is overrated,” Grandma is saying with genuine outrage. “Overrated! Can you imagine?”
I lean back in my chair and let the conversations flow without taking part.
Thankfully, Mom doesn’t force us to stay seated through after-dinner coffee.
People drift away from the table. Dad and William head to the living room to argue about football stats, Annie follows Mom into the kitchen to help with dishes despite Mom’s protests, and Aspen and Maddox excuse themselves because Rosie’s exhausted.
As they head upstairs, I see my opportunity. I stretch and let out what I hope is a convincing yawn.
“You know what? All that traveling and those training sessions before I left have really caught up with me. I think I’m going to head to bed too.” I glance at Riley, trying to catch her eye. “You coming too?”
She looks doubtful for a second, then nods. “Yeah, I’m going to read a few chapters and then sleep.”
Nobody else even looks up as we excuse ourselves, which is probably for the best. If they did, they might wonder why I’m more nervous about sharing a room with Riley than I ever was about playing in front of 70,000 screaming fans.