Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Blakely

“I don’t even want to know what this is going to cost,” I say, taking in the ice cream-stained mattress.

After my bath, I gathered the sheets and pillowcases. I wasn’t sure what to do with them, so I filled the tub with hot water and body wash and added the bedding. I read somewhere that soaking stuff after it’s freshly stained helps. But the mattress ? I don’t know how to clean chocolate and blood out of that.

I grab the trash can from the bathroom and start picking up the pieces of the broken lamp.

“You married Renn last night.”

Now that the shock has worn off—and some of the alcohol, thanks to the Gatorade and a breakfast sandwich Ella got somewhere—the sentence doesn’t make me quite as ill.

Memories have slowly come back to me over the last hour. We went to a show on the Strip. There’s a fuzzy recollection of roulette, a limo, maybe, and visions of a small room draped in white with a man smelling of too much cheap cologne.

Apparently, that’s where we pledged to love one another until death do us part.

I can’t help it. I grin.

It’s almost funny. It might be funny if it didn’t have the potential to bring so much negativity on me, Renn—probably even his dad.

My stomach twists and pulls, wondering what Renn is doing. How is he sorting this out on his end ?

I pluck a few wood fragments off the floor and deposit them in the trash can.

“Hey.”

I look over my shoulder and find Renn standing in the doorway. He’s fresh out of the shower. A pair of jeans hang low on his hips, and a plain black T-shirt is stretched over his frame.

I could’ve done worse in the husband department . The thought has me choking back a laugh. Yup. I’m still in shock.

“You and Brock did some damage,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’m soaking the sheets, but I don’t know what to do with the mattress. And this end table is busted. The lamp is toast.”

Renn looks around the room, his gaze falling on the imprint on the glass. He fights a smile. “Is that … what it looks like?”

I look at the silhouette. “Palms and boobs? Maybe.”

“What the hell did we do last night?” he asks, chuckling softly.

The sound washes over me. It undoes some of my anxiety since the marriage thing was dropped in my lap.

“Renn, I don’t know,” I say. “I’m getting pieces of it coming back to me here and there. I think we rented a limo, played roulette, and I keep having this recurring image of riding a mechanical bull.”

He grins. “Sounds like a good night.”

“I wish I could remember it.”

He leans against the doorframe, looking at me curiously. “Do you happen to have any tattoos this morning?”

My eyes grow wide. “No. Why? Should I?”

He walks to me, his eyes glued to mine. “Check this out.” He lifts his shirt over his chest and his stacked abs. The bandage from this morning is gone.

I cover my mouth. “ No. ”

“I guess we did this instead of rings.”

“Renn. Oh my God .” I suck in a breath, laughing in disbelief. “You got a tattoo? Of my name ?”

He drops his shirt. “Complete with a heart. And I think you wrote it there. I have these flashbacks of you with a marker.”

“Yeah, well, it does look like my handwriting.”

We stare at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, we begin to laugh. Loudly .

It’s such a relief to laugh with him— to know his life didn’t spiral completely out of control downstairs and that I managed to keep mine together up here. And that we’re still … friends.

For now.

“Ella and I looked up what we’re supposed to do,” I say, picking up another piece of the lamp. “I think we can get an annulment based on lack of understanding because we were obviously drunk.” I drop the shard in the trash. “But it can take one to three weeks.”

Renn watches me warily.

“Our amateurish investigation did say that we might run into problems, though.” I search the floor for anything else I can pick up—anything to avoid his gaze. “Apparently, proving a lack of understanding can be tricky. If that doesn’t work, our only option seems to be an actual divorce. We both want to avoid that and get this done as quickly and quietly as possible.”

He runs a hand down his face.

“Look, I know this is really bad for you,” I say, my heart hurting for him. “This really fucks up your good boy clause, I’m sure.”

He drops his hand, a crooked grin on his lips. “A little bit.”

“And your dad’s business deal?”

His smile falters. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Okay …”

He roams through the room like he owns the place. Casually confident—like a man gearing up for a war he knows he’ll win. I would swoon if I wasn’t a combatant in this battle … and worried that I might end up being his opponent.

“Blakely, do you have any clue what the media is going to say about you?”

I still, my insides reminding me that tequila or not—puke is still a possibility.

Renn stops moving and faces me. There’s a somberness, a seriousness in his eyes that scares me.

Yeah. I might need a toilet.

“They’re going to say you’re after my money—”

“ I don’t want your money .”

He takes a step toward me. “ I know that. But they’re going to say it anyway. And they’re going to speculate if you’re pregnant. They’re going to wonder if you tricked me somehow and a million other terrible things just to spin a story.”

I move backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress. Then I sit. Although I knew all that, hearing it from Renn makes it much more real.

“I told my PR person not to make a statement until we— you and I —talk,” he says.

“You probably have a nightmare on your hands, huh?”

He looks me in the eye. “I’m less concerned about that right now and more worried about you .”

You are ?

It takes a few moments for that to register.

I knew, or hoped, that Renn would realize we’re on the same side of this disaster. But the thought that his needs would swamp mine has lingered in the back of my mind. I’ve experienced enough to know that big-dollar deals sometimes outweigh other things—like truth and people.

My heart swells. The man who has so much to lose is worried about me .

He sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day during the DiNozzo disaster. Of course, he wrote a sarcastic card that wasn’t exactly sweet, but I read through the lines. He was just showing his support—and it was very appreciated.

Renn returned to the US one year when Brock had to have surgery because he knew it would just be my brother and me. One summer, he hooked us up with a place to stay when Ella and I went to Europe for a week. And when a coworker’s son got osteosarcoma, and she mentioned Renn was his favorite athlete, Renn didn’t hesitate to jump on a video call with him … for an hour.

He can be a good friend. A great human. Just not a good husband .

“What is happening with your contract?” I ask. “Have they said anything?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten that far.”

“What about your dad’s deal? I know you said not to worry about him, but I can’t help it.”

His jaw pulses. “ Don’t worry about it .”

“But Renn, he’s your dad .”

“And you’re my wife.”

We face one another, feeling each other out.

I’m relieved that being with him feels the same as always—that our marriage didn’t make things tense or hostile. We can smile and be playful, despite the impending disaster swirling around us. That I’m not labeled the bad guy.

And I can’t ignore that it’s the second time he’s claimed me so fiercely. That’s kind of hot.

He’s not really your husband, Blakely. Back out of this thought process.

“How are things going?” Brock marches into the room unannounced, flashing a look at Renn that would kill a weaker man.

Ella is at his heels, looking apologetic.

“We’re going to get an annulment or a divorce—preferably an annulment. That way, it’s like the marriage never happened,” I say brightly, trying to avoid another fistfight.

My brother looks at Renn. “What’s going on with your contract?”

“Let’s talk about that later.”

“Did you talk to your dad?”

Renn runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, and he’s about as pissed as you’d imagine.”

“What did he say?” Brock asks, unflinching.

“Oh, that I’m a little punk,” Renn says, dropping his hand to his side. “That I probably just cost myself my job and him two years and a deal worth three-quarters of a billion dollars. I’m careless and selfish. You know, the usual.”

My jaw drops. “Your father said that to you?”

Renn chuckles angrily.

“Reid Brewer can be a real gem,” Brock says, returning his attention to his friend. “What was your response?”

“I told him I’d call him later. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry.”

The two of them exchange a look I don’t understand.

“How are you feeling, Blakely?” Ella asks.

“Hungover.” I tear my attention away from the guys and kick the end of the broken table. “Do you know if there are any big trash bags in the kitchen? Maybe we could load this thing—”

“Forget the furniture,” Renn says, irritation thick in his tone.

I put a hand on my hip. “I’m trying to minimize the charges you get for destroying a hotel suite. Or do you want to say fuck it and add that to the things you have to deal with?”

“ Blakely …” Renn looks at the ceiling and sighs. “No one is getting charged for anything.”

“Have you looked around?”

“Yeah, a few times. I own this suite.”

I still, the room shifting beneath me. “What do you mean that you own it ?”

“I mean, it’s mine. I own it. I bought it. I wrote a check—or made a wire transfer, actually. Then they sent me a deed.”

“ You’re joking. ”

“Hey, it’s half yours now, too, technically,” Ella says, shrugging.

Brock fires her a dirty look. “ Don’t .”

She returns his glare with just as much passion. Even though she stands up to Brock—a lot—it’s moments like these when I wonder if they’ll survive.

But even that’s too much to deal with right now. As Renn said, we have bigger fish to fry.

I move to the glass and stand by the body print. But, as soon as I do, I realize the boobs line up with the height of mine. With a flushed face, I stand by the llama instead. This isn’t how I imagined Renn seeing my boobs.

I gulp.

What more did he see?

What more did we do ?

My eyes find his. The corner of his lip twitches.

Nope. Move on.

“So what now, Renn?” I ask, forcing a swallow. “What’s the best way to handle this? How do we minimize the drama?”

“It’s a little late for that,” Brock says.

I turn to my brother, my head starting to hurt again. “Brock, I love you, but shut the hell up.”

“Excuse me?”

I don’t want to fight with him. I don’t want him to fight with Renn, either. But I simply don’t have the bandwidth to deal with his unreasonableness. My wits are already frayed to the point that they’re about to snap.

Ella tugs on his arm. “Let’s give them some privacy to work this out.”

“The last time we gave them privacy, they got married.”

That does it.

“You know what?” I ask, charging forward. “You’re not helping.”

“Someone needs to help you. You married Renn, Blakely .”

“Easy …” Renn warns.

“Or what?” Brock asks, looking at his friend. “You married her twelve hours ago, and now you’re her protector? Give me a fucking break.”

I can’t take it. I can’t do this again. “Brock … leave.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving you. You’re about to be embroiled in another fucking scandal that will make the last one look like a piece of cake. The two of you dragged me into this when you strolled into a wedding chapel and got married .”

“ Lower your voice ,” Ella says.

He turns to her and lifts a brow.

“ Lower. Your. Voice .” Ella glares at him. “I know you’re unhappy right now, but this isn’t about you.”

“This affects me as much as it does them,” Brock says. “They’re both selfish—”

“Do not talk about your sister like that,” Ella says, gasping.

“Ella, don’t …” I say.

“I’ll be here to help you any way I can, Blakely.” She glares at Brock. “But you and I are done.”

“Ella …” he says, watching her storm out of the room. “Dammit. Come back.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Someone, anyone—how do we fix this before we all fall apart?”

Renn takes a deep breath. “We have two options.”

“Name them.”

He exhales. “One, we try to get the annulment. If that fails, we get a divorce. Pros … it’s straightforward. Cons … we’ll both get annihilated in different ways.”

Yay . “And two?”

He looks at me, then at Brock, and back at me. His gaze is wobbly. “We stay married.”

“ What ?” I yelp.

“It’s just an option. You asked for the options.”

My mouth hangs open. “I’m not staying married to you. Have you lost your mind ?”

“I don’t mean for real. I just mean …” He groans. “I don’t know what I mean.”

I snort. “I hope you can back that statement up with a reason, considering you had the guts to say it.”

He takes a step away from my brother. “Look, this sounds … Well, I know how it sounds, okay? But one option we have is to stay married for a little while. We take the steam out of the media. We play it off like we did it on purpose. Like … it’s real.”

“Oh, come on,” Brock says, laughing in disgust. “You can’t be serious.”

I glare at him. “Leave. Be quiet or leave.”

“Or what?”

“Or …” I glance quickly at Renn. “I’ll call security and have you removed. This is my suite now.”

Renn turns his back to my brother and covers his mouth. His body shakes as he suppresses a laugh.

Brock’s eyes widen.

“I’m kidding,” I say. “But I’m also not. I understand you’re worried and not vocalizing that in the best way. Considering the situation, I’m willing to overlook it. But I’m a grown woman, Brock. I appreciate you. But either be helpful or leave.”

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

“I’m wasting a perfectly good birthday on this bullshit. It’s irritating me a little,” I say.

“ Oh fuck. Blakely, your birthday …” Brock says, frowning.

“Yep. Happy birthday to me.”

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Brewer,” Renn says, testing the waters.

“Renn—” Brock starts.

I hold up a hand—which he never likes—and pray he stops talking.

Walking back and forth across the room—from Brock to the llama with a cigar—I weigh my options.

If we get an annulment, our lives go up in flames. We’ll survive it, but it’ll be a nightmare for a while. I’m not looking forward to all the trash that will be spewed my way. But I survived that once before, so I can again.

If we stay married, there might be some smoke, but we could avoid an inferno. Maybe. It also might drag out the whole thing and waste more of my life with a man who isn’t for me .

Renn’s eyes are clear and concerned. Even though the answer is obvious, he’s not pressuring me to do what’s best for him.

“Oh, that I’m a little punk. That I probably just cost myself my job and him two years and a deal worth three-quarters of a billion dollars. I’m careless and selfish. You know, the usual.”

I don’t know Reid Brewer, but I hate him. Fuck that guy. Who says that to their own son?

My hand shakes as I run it over my head. “Renn?”

“Yeah?”

“What happens if we stay married?” I ask. “What does that look like? I’m not saying I want to do that, because I really don’t, but theoretically …”

“I’ll be honest—I don’t know. We’d have to play it off and look convincing. Otherwise, it would bite us in the ass even worse.”

Play it off. Look convincing.

How the heck do we do that?

And how do I ensure I don’t get my ass handed to me in the end?

Brock clears his throat. “It’s obvious I think you two just fucked all the way up, and I’m pissed about it.” He swallows. “But I’m going to back away and let you figure it out.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He turns to Renn. “I want to say one thing.”

“Go for it,” Renn says.

“Blakely is more important to me than anyone else on this planet,” Brock says. “She trusts too easily and sees the good in people. It gets her in trouble.”

My heart lodges in my chest.

“I expect you to protect her,” Brock says. “I don’t want to see her go through this all over again. You got her into this; you get her out of it. But if you do anything to hurt her, Renn, so help me God—”

“ I won’t .” Renn squares his shoulders to Brock. “You have my word. Whatever happens, I’ll do everything I can to ensure she’s as unaffected as possible. I love you, man.”

Tears cloud my vision.

Brock’s jaw tenses as he pulls Renn into a hug. I don’t breathe until they part without throwing punches.

My brother steps back. “Okay. Let me know if I can help.”

“I love you, Brock,” I say, my voice wobbling.

He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me. “I love you, B. No matter how many times you fuck up—”

I laugh through the tears falling down my cheeks.

“I’ll always be here.” He pulls away. “ Always .”

“Thank you.”

He rubs the top of my head before giving Renn a final stare. Then he heads for the door.

Reality fills the room again. It’s just me and my now husband—and a million unanswered questions.

If we file to end this mess, we’re handing ammunition to the tabloids. But if we play it out, will the injuries be less? Or worse ?

“I feel like we need to talk this through—you and me,” I say. “There’s a lot to consider and my head is scrambled.”

Renn nods. “Agreed.”

“I don’t want to stay here. We’ll be held captive in this room since everyone in the world knows we’re here. And I really want to get away from my brother and Ella.”

“If I really married you, I’d take you on a honeymoon. If we went away somewhere for a few days, that would give us some time to work it out without confirming or denying anything. And the optics would be good if we decide to play this out.”

Makes sense. “Can you get away from here for a few days?”

“I don’t have anything I can’t move around until late next week. You?”

“I have next week off. My new boss is gone, so they told me to enjoy the break.”

“Nice.”

I laugh softly, remembering how excited I was to lie around and do nothing. I didn’t expect to be negotiating a divorce .

The more I sit with the options, the more it’s obvious that we really have only one viable choice on the table. But we can’t make a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’s what got us in this mess.

“Renn?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you find us a place with an ocean?”

“Absolutely.”

I take a deep breath. “Then do it. Let’s go somewhere and … figure this out.”

Renn’s shoulders fall as he crosses the room. He holds his arms out, and I collapse into them. I fist his T-shirt in my hands and press my cheek against his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“No, I’m not. Not even a little. But I’m as sure as I’m going to be.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “We’ll sort this out, cutie. Trust me.”

I dip my chin and pull back from him. I hope I can trust you, Renn. I really do.

At that, he walks out of the room, and I’m left alone. Finally.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?