Prologue

Prologue

“There are two voices that exist,

my head and my heart.”

~ Emerson Chase

“And five... four... three... two...” our producer Cliff calls. “Action.”

Within seconds the cameras begin rolling. There’s three of them surrounding us, inches away as they zoom in close attempting to capture every second of this moment.

We’re standing in front of the Eiffel Tower at some godawful hour in the middle of winter. I’m a summer girl myself, but something about this place is magical during this season. Perhaps it’s the beautiful snowflakes falling around us or the twinkling lights from the tower. There’s also the sound of heavenly peace.

I breathe it all in—the beauty, the silence, and the man standing in front of me wearing a black Versace suit with no overcoat. Bearing the cold, yet still as dashing as the first moment I laid eyes on him three years ago.

“Em, there isn’t a day that goes past when I don’t imagine you in my life. We’ve been on this journey together, and the moment you walked into that restaurant I knew you were the one. Wearing that red dress… you looked absolutely breathtaking.” A puff of cold air escapes his mouth, followed by a nervous bite on my lip. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you.”

Wesley lowers himself to the ground on one knee, eyes fixed on me as he produces a small, black box. He flicks it open and inside sits a beautiful diamond ring. His eyes glaze over—a signature move he often does when he chokes up. And for a moment—if only a few seconds—I forget the world is watching. It’s just him and me standing alone during this very intimate moment.

“Emerson Chase, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

The camera zooms in closer with Cliff watching behind the lens, his arms crossed. I try not to pay attention to the way his face has tightened or how his lips remain flat. Never a good sign.

Somewhere, deep inside, my heart asks if this man is the love of my life. If marrying Wesley is the best thing to happen to me. It’s all about relationship progression.

‘We can’t stay boyfriend and girlfriend forever.’ Words spoken by our publicist.

I begin to blink my eyes, and within moments, the tears build and one falls graciously down my cheek.

I smile through the lonesome tear. “Yes.”

Wesley’s face lights up with joy. His messy, brown hair flicks against the slight wind as he pulls the ring out of the box and slides it on my finger.

It’s beautiful.

I stare at it in complete and utter awe. The rock is huge, no doubt some designer looking for a promotional opportunity. The second this image hits social media, the ring will be sold out everywhere, and the designer will be laughing all the way to the bank.

In a swift and overexcited move, Wes pulls my body against his and kisses me deeply, moving his warm tongue against mine before pulling back with a grin on his face.

Wesley Rich is an attractive guy. Sweet, yet at times, arrogant and a know-it-all. The fans love him. The ultimate pin-up boy every girl has in her bedroom and imagination. Yet, his boyish grin coupled with an exuberant attitude to make me his wife rubs off on me as the excitement slowly sinks in.

Holy shit! I’m getting married!

I take another look at my ring, glancing sideways to read the white cardboard which Cliff is holding up. I should have practiced my lines, and Cliff’s annoyed face tells me he thinks the same.

“It’s such a beautiful ring,” I comment with a sheepish smile. “Where? How?”

Wes quickly kisses the tip of the ring while not letting go of my hand, holding them preciously as if they belong to him.

“Harry Winston, of course. Nothing less for my fiancée.”

“Fiancée.” I beam without effort. “I really like the sound of that.”

Wes runs his finger along the base of my jaw, tracing it with his eyes before raising them to meet mine.

Closing my eyes briefly, I take a breath and allow myself to feel this moment. This is it. The moment you imagined your entire life. The man you love proposing marriage. This is what all little girls dream about—Mr. Prince Charming, sweeping you away and creating this perfect memory to set the foundation for a happily ever after.

“I love you, Em. Nothing will stop you from becoming my wife.”

“I love you, too,” I breathe slowly.

We both lean in for another kiss, lingering until Cliff yells, “Cut.”

Wes pulls away first but maintains his position. His body begins to shiver with the brutal cold finally settling in. “You like it?” He strains while his teeth shatter uncontrollably, cradling my waist in his arms and using my body to warm himself up.

“It’s beautiful,” I respond almost speechless and mesmerized by the exquisite piece of jewelry now sitting on my finger.

“Great work, guys, but we have one problem. Wesley, for fuck’s sake, you got the dress color wrong,” Cliff shouts, disgruntled, shoving his coffee cup into the chest of his assistant, causing the brown liquid to spill all over her white coat.

“I did?” Wes replies with a half-assed laugh.

“That’s right,” I confirm, remembering the moment we first met. “It was white.”

“Oh…” Wes’ face drops, his devilish smile disappearing quickly. “That dress.”

The dress which caused our first major fight and ended up in the tabloids. It all started because his jealousy reared its ugly head when he caught an ex-cast member commenting on how I looked ‘fuckable’ in that dress.

“Sorry, guys, but since we have that first episode aired we need to get the facts straight,” Jenny, our co-producer, informs us.

“You mean I have to do this again?” Wes complains, removing his hands from my body, folding his arms while kicking the snow beneath his feet.

“Wow,” I drag. “God forbid you have to propose again?”

“C’mon, Em, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want this over with.”

His face softens, and perhaps I’m a bitch for pointing out my feelings are hurt. But like everything that’s happened in my life, it all feels staged. And this so-called perfect moment suddenly feelsvery imperfect.

The cold becomes unbearable. My feet are frozen in the expensive pair of boots I’m wearing. The dress I have on has long sleeves, but because we have to get this proposal right, the designer requested I didn’t wear a jacket. The million-dollar diamond necklace adorning my neck feels like cold steel against my already-frozen skin.

I should have taken it as a sign.

Everything about this is to bring in ratings.

To make the television network rich.

And somewhere amongst this scripted moment, Wes and I are supposed to make it come alive. Show everyone what true love is all about.

I do love him. We’ve built a life together over the last three years. We purchased our first home, moved in together, and spent the previous year growing our fitness line. We’ve even adopted a dog—George Puggington.

Everyone refers to us as the ‘unstoppable duo.’ We’re taking the world by storm and at the ripe old age of twenty-six. Forbes predicted we would be billionaires by the time we reach thirty.

It’s win-win in everyone’s eyes.

Everyone’s but my own.

There’s a commotion around us, the crew touching up my makeup and hovering over me while my knees shake with the cold.

Wesley taps his foot, frustrated and impatiently waiting for them to finish when the ring box slips out of his shivering fingers and onto the pile of snow in front of me.

I don’t know what compels me to bend down and pick it up. As I lean down, ignoring my fingers stiffening from the cold, I lift it toward me until my focus moves to the scar on my knee. Three stitches from when I fell off a zip-line at the age of ten. When I didn’t have a care in the world. When life was nothing but unicorns, rainbows, and making my brother’s life hell.

The good old days before life became a circus show.

But who do I have to blame?

The man professing his love to me in front of the entire world?

The millions of fans who tune in at seven every Monday night?

Or myself, for thinking I had to prove a point?

Cliff directs the cameramen to take their places. With everyone positioned as before, Wes stands on the black cross—taped to the ground—and I follow his lead.

“And five... four... three... two...”

“Em, there isn’t a day that goes past that I don’t imagine you in my life...”