Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Blakely

Aren’t electronics supposed to crash the plane or something equally catastrophic?

Renn paces the center of the aircraft, his phone glued to his ear like it has been for a good part of the past hour.

Maybe the rules are different on private jets .

Music plays softly through the cabin. A tray of snacks—fruit, crackers, and the most delicious sugar cookies I’ve ever eaten—is beside me on one of two plush sofas facing each other. A bedroom, lavatory, and a small storage compartment are through the archway on my right. On my other side is a dining area, where our sweet flight attendant, Kimbra, said a meal will be served shortly. Beyond that is a small space dubbed “the entertainment area” with oversized chairs and a large screen. It’s open to a full galley that greets visitors as they board the aircraft.

If I weren’t already bamboozled from my surprise marriage, this would render me speechless. But this isn’t the most impressive part. The wildest part of the whole experience is the understated Brewer Air logo embossed on the head rests, linens, and the side of the plane.

My. Head. Is. Spinning.

“Everything okay?” Renn asks, disrupting me from my thoughts.

The weight of the day is etched on his face. I’m certain it is on mine as well.

“Everything is the same as it was when we boarded the plane this afternoon,” I say.

He squeezes his temples. “I’m sorry I’ve been on the phone—”

“No, don’t apologize. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant …” I don’t know what I meant.

I pull my legs beneath me, and gaze past his shoulder into the clouds.

The day feels like it’s taken both the blink of an eye and a calendar year. By the time Renn dealt with his publicist, fielded a small selection of the incoming calls and texts blowing up his phone, and arranged for our travel to a place with a beach , it was after four in the afternoon. I intentionally did not check my phone, sent Ella out for travel essentials—despite Brock and Renn melting down over it after the fact—and attempted to manage the panic attack sneaking up on me.

What neither Renn nor I have done over the past almost ten hours is discuss anything relating to our newly formed union. And while I know we bought ourselves a few days to figure that out … I still want— need —a resolution. Soon .

Renn shuts off his phone and tosses it on the sofa. As it drops, so do his shoulders. “I should’ve turned that off a long time ago. I hate people.”

I grin. “No, you don’t.”

“Oh, I do. I really, really do.” He blows out a breath. “My publicist put out the statement we approved before we left Vegas.”

“Which one did we end up going with? I forgot. There were so many renditions.”

“She copied you on the final email. It basically said we are enjoying a few days away and asked the world to respect our privacy.”

“Which it won’t.”

He rolls his head around his neck. “Probably not. But I’m taking you to the one place we have a shot at it.”

“Are you going to tell me where that place might be?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

His smile, boyish and proud, eases the lines around his eyes. Coupled with his messy hair and the way the collar of his shirt is crooked, Renn is adorable.

I want to prod him about our destination. I’m so curious about the Brewer Air logo. And I really want to curl up on this sofa and get some much-needed sleep, but I can’t. I can’t do any of that until we get to the bottom of this .

“I have a call with the Royals general manager tomorrow,” he says, falling back against the sofa.

“What are you going to tell them?”

He shrugs. “That’s the multimillion-dollar question.”

Yes, it is … “I think now is as good a time as any to talk this out. Don’t you think?”

“We’re going to be on this plane for a while, so we might as well.”

We are ? “Define a while .”

He smiles. “A while.”

I roll my eyes.

“So let’s do this. Let’s get to the bottom of it,” he says. “Where is your head right now?”

I fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt. “I’m waffling between what’s best for you, what’s best for me, and what’s best for us.” My eyes lift to his. “Where is your head right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I think the best thing for us is to stay married.”

My head falls into my hands. Of course, you do.

“Just think about it,” he says, leaning forward. His voice is calm and careful. “It puts out the fire. No one can say shit if they really think we’re married.”

“No offense, but I don’t really want to be married to you.”

He gasps. “And why not?”

I stare at him. I know he’s trying to take the edge off the situation—to keep things light and fun. And I appreciate that … but it doesn’t help.

“Answer that, please,” he says. “I’m a catch.”

“ Because .” I stand and pace the small area as he watches from his seat. “This is just so … wrong. I don’t even remember marrying you.”

“I don’t remember marrying you either, but here we are.”

“On that note,” I say, facing him. “You realize that the only thing worse than the world finding out that we got married while inebriated is the world watching us pretend to be in love and then watching you screw around on me.”

His jaw clenches. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

My hands go to my hips. “An accidental wedding isn’t going to change who you are. Let’s not pretend that it will. And it won’t change who I am, either, and I’m not someone who wants the stress of being married to a rugby player—real or not.” I stare at his handsome face and watch as his features soften. Dammit . “Look, I understand why you want to stay married. But that scenario really only serves you.”

“Blakely, I’m not trying to force you into anything. And I have no interest in doing anything that only serves me. Okay?”

I sit again, the edge of my frustration duller than before.

“We’re on the same team here, cutie.”

My lips twitch into a smile. “I know. I’m sorry.” I’m just used to having to protect myself.

“Don’t apologize. I get it. Trust me. Ripley had to remind me of the same thing today.”

We watch each other for a long, quiet moment. As the seconds tick by, the more settled I become … and the clearer this situation becomes.

“Look, Renn, I understand that staying married could benefit me.” I scoot to the edge of the sofa. “But that could backfire worse than just pulling the plug now. Why is it worth the risk for me to pretend to be married to you when we’ll end up getting divorced anyway and I’m at the mercy of the media? I like you, buddy, but not that much.”

He nods. “Okay. Fair. Tell me what you want.”

“What do I want? I want to be focused on myself. I want to grow, to be excited about appliances and understand how life insurance works. I want to find a nice man, get married, and have a family. Basically, the opposite of what we have going on and the longer we draw that out, the longer I’m just treading water—and I need to move forward. I need it, Renn. I promised myself that I would do it.”

“Define nice man .”

“What? That’s what you took from that?”

“I want to know what a nice man is to you. Go.”

I sigh.

What does it matter to him? Explaining the characteristics of the man of my dreams to Renn Brewer feels pointless. But as I begin to tell him to stay focused on the task at hand, I realize that humoring him—describing what a good man is to me—will help him understand that this is a waste of time. For me, anyway.

“He’s responsible,” I say. “A nice man has a job and is passionate about something—anything. He’s kind. Has protector vibes. Likes to have sex. I wouldn’t mind being choked a little.” I grin at the fire that flashes through his eyes. “And he wants to start having babies with me before I’m too old because he’s not a commitment-phobe and values monogamy.” I shrug. “He knows a damn good thing when he sees it. And … he loves me.”

Renn starts to speak but stops. He cocks his head to the side and begins again. “So what I’m hearing is that you don’t want to stay married because you think I’ll embarrass you—”

“I think there’s a chance I wind up looking like a fool. Yes.”

“And there’s nothing in it for you. The risk and reward balance is skewed.”

Finally. He sees the light . “Yeah. Basically. I promised myself that I would take care of me this year, Renn—not waste more time by continuing my bad choices with bad boys era.”

He gets to his feet, combing his hands through his hair. The lines around his eyes are back. So is the tension in his shoulders.

He walks to the dining room. Muffled voices slip through the cabin, ending moments before he reappears.

“Hear me out,” he says, his pupils wide as he sits again. “I have a compromise—a proposal, if you will.”

This should be fun . “Propose away … especially since I don’t know if you did before we got hitched. You owe me one, anyway.”

His grin is wobbly. “Stay married to me for ninety days—tops.”

What? My brows pinch together. “Stay married for ninety days? That’s three months .”

“I know.” He clears his throat, steadying his gaze on mine. “In exchange for you not ending it, I’ll give you a baby.”

Suddenly, the Brewer Air logo isn’t the wildest part of the evening.

Did he just say he’ll give me a baby ?

“I’m sorry, Renn. Repeat that.”

His eyes stay glued to mine. “I said that I’ll give you a baby.”

“ What ? How are you going to do that? Steal one?”

“No, I was thinking I’d put it there.”

“ Renn .”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know this sounds crazy, and hot, but—”

“ Renn . Stop.” I gulp as fire streaks through my veins. “You just asked me to … My God. ”

“Will you just think about it?”

My mouth hangs open. “No, I won’t just think about it. I’m not having a baby with you!”

“Why?”

The question is a full-on sentence, a challenge for me to explain why having a baby with my brother’s best friend is a terrible idea. While I know that’s true and that there are a million reasons for it, the only thing I can focus on is the heat in his eyes … and the heat building in my core.

“This is the perfect answer,” he says. “You’ll realize it if you think about it.”

“This is … ridiculous! That’s what this is.”

“Ridiculous? I’m asking for a ninety-day commitment and I’m offering you eighteen years. I think it sounds pretty damn generous.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Do you not want a baby?”

“Yes.”

“I can give you that. I’ll pay child support. You’ll have a whole family waiting to embrace you and the baby. Hell, I’ll play by your rules. I’ll sign a contract—whatever you want. It wouldn’t want for a thing.”

Except the love of a father . “I can’t believe we’re discussing this right now. Yesterday, I was in a bikini in Vegas wanting to see a male strip show and today I’m married and discussing having your baby.”

“So you’re considering it?”

“ No. ”

He smirks. “You have to admit, our baby would hit the genetic lottery.”

I lean forward to smack him, but he catches my hand in the air. The feeling of his fingers wrapped around my wrist is electric. He releases me slowly, one digit at a time.

Once I’m free, I fall back onto the sofa cushions and drag in a shaky breath.

“To be perfectly honest with you, I want a kid too,” he says, flexing his fingers as if they’re buzzing from the contact like mine. “But I’ve never met someone I’d trust enough to have a child with … until now.”

“You’re just saying that to get what you want.”

“If you know me as well as you say you do, then you know the one thing I won’t do is lie.”

As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. Renn Brewer isn’t a liar. That’s what gets him in trouble most of the time—his failure to pass the blame. Sure, he might skirt it and try to minimize the damage. But he never lies.

“Somehow, you just complicated the hell out of an already overcomplicated situation,” I say.

“Mr. Brewer,” Kimbra says. “May I please see you for a moment?”

He turns to me. I motion for him to go, thankful for the interruption.

“In exchange for you not ending it, I’ll give you a baby.”

I hold my forehead. What the hell is happening ? I chuckle quietly, in disbelief with myself. Could I still be drunk?

Although I want a baby with a man I love, I’m not sure I’ll ever find him. People are weird. They have secrets. Having a child with someone means you’re bonded with them in one way or another for the rest of your life—or not. But which is worse? Falling out of love with someone or having your child’s father not being in their life?

Renn’s voice drifts through the room and a warmth flows over me.

He has his flaws, sure, but he is a good person. I trust him—mostly. If he says he’ll play by my rules and sign a contract, I believe him. And he seems to have a strong family. Besides his father. Fuck that guy.

I was considering a sperm bank. Would having a child with Renn be that much worse? At least I know him, and he could be a part of our child’s life, maybe. Our child could have more than just me and Brock … Am I really considering this?

If he could stay out of the spotlight and not make a mockery of me—which, as Renn suggests, would be counterintuitive to this whole process—maybe this could work. It’s only a ninety-day investment, after all. Right ?

Why does this kind of make sense ?

“At least you look less shocked now,” he says, sitting again.

Less shocked? How am I looking less shocked? This is the most bizarre day I’ve ever had.

I shift in my seat. “ If I agreed, and I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this— what is wrong with me ?—I’m on birth control. I don’t know if I can get pregnant in ninety days.”

“If not, I’ll give you my DNA in a little cup or however they do it.”

“You realize you’re talking about a child like a business transaction, right?”

“Is it that much worse that getting pregnant accidentally with some guy you don’t even know? You know me. Hell, we’re married.” He bites back a laugh. “Look, you want a child, and I’m more than willing to give you one. I’ll take care of it. I’ll be a part of its life. I’m kind of excited about it. I get a kid, and I don’t have to deal with a woman I don’t like. And it’ll even be conceived during our marriage, Blakely. I don’t see why this is a terrible plan.”

Fucking hell . “What if you’re in another relationship? Your new woman won’t like you giving me your DNA.”

“I’ll give it to you before we get divorced, and she’ll have to deal with it.”

“Can you even do that?”

He shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.” He leans against his knees again. “Look, I’m serious about this. It’d be pretty great to be the father of your child. But if you don’t want to do this, I respect that, and we’ll file for annulment as soon as we land. I’ll protect you as much as I can from the media. You have my word.”

Kimbra returns, handing me a glass of red wine. She says something about moving to the dining room, but it sounds like gibberish.

Today has been too much in every sense of the word. But as I sip my drink and take in Renn—who is calmer than I would expect under the circumstances—the chaos in my head begins to settle.

The baby aside, because I’m not sure I can actually do that, if he can promise he’ll play the part of the doting husband for ninety days, would it be that terrible to pretend to be a loving wife? It’s just three months. Surely, I can use that time to benefit me somehow.

I set the wine down and find my purse. The receipt from the strip show is at the bottom; it’s the only piece of paper I can find. I pull out a lip liner and face a curious Renn.

“Ninety days,” I say sternly. “And if I’m to play the role of wife, you’re to play the role of husband. That means no wandering eye, no pictures with other women, no dates.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

“You agreed to that so easily. What about sex? Can you go that long without it?”

He smirks. “I said deal. ”

Fine . I scribble the agreed-upon length of commitment on the back of the receipt.

“And you’re filing for divorce,” I say. “Not me. And if anyone says I was after your money or whatever, you have to defend me.”

“That’s a guarantee.”

How is it this easy ? I add that to the receipt.

“You have to accompany me to events,” he says. “You have to live with me.”

“ Live with you ?”

“Live with me.” His eyes sparkle. “We have to sell it, baby.”

“Ugh.”

“No ice cream in the bed,” he says.

“I’m signing a prenup.”

“No prenup.”

“Renn …”

“ No prenup . It would be a postnup now anyway.”

I start to argue the point, but the look on his face stops me. “No co-mingling of money or assets.”

“Sure.”

Something about the glimmer in his eye concerns me.

“You have to let me treat you like my wife,” he says. “For ninety days, you are Mrs. Brewer.”

“Fine. But I don’t think you understand that I’m not the domestic type.”

“I didn’t marry you for your domestic abilities.”

“You married me because of an alcohol made from agave,” I say.

“We should name our first son that.”

I sigh as the whole baby thing hits me again. “I’m on the fence about the baby part of this, Renn. I’m not sure I want to do that.”

He narrows his eyes. “Can I choke you during sex?”

My insides burn so hot that I shift in my seat. “You said you could go ninety days without sex.”

“But you won’t be able to.” His smirk is so deep, so delicious, that I shiver. “And you also have to change your name.”

“That’s a little unnecessary for three months, don’t you think?”

“I want my wife to have my name,” he says with a casual shrug like we’re discussing the weather.

“You’re getting a little demanding for a man who needs this more than I do.”

He holds his hands in the air. “Fair. But that’s my last demand.”

“It better be,” I mumble, listing the rest of the agreements on the receipt. But as I lift the lip pencil, I think of one more thing. Maybe the most important of them all. I take a deep breath. “One more thing …”

“What?”

Our gazes lock in the middle of the walkway.

His features are free from the stress he’s carried all day. The playfulness he’s known for dances through his eyes.

My stomach clenches at the thought of doing this with Renn. But it sours just as quickly at the idea of getting too close to him.

Yup. Gotta add this .

I refuse to grow feelings for a man who will never reciprocate them. Who isn’t interested in love—especially mine.

“If either of us develops real feelings for the other,” I say, my voice quiet, “then we walk away immediately. No questions asked.”

He studies me for a long time, the playfulness turning somber.

My heart skips a beat, then two, as I hold my breath and wait on his response. Just as I’m about to tell him to forget the whole thing—that we’re both out of our heads, he stands.

“I agree,” he says, offering me a hand.

I set the receipt and pencil beside the snacks and tentatively place my hand in his.

He jerks me to my feet faster than I anticipate, and I’m hauled into his chest. My body crashes into his, his hardness to my softness. And just like that, I melt into him.

His smile is wicked.

“What?” I ask, nearly panting at the way he’s looking at me.

“I’m just deciding whether I should kiss you here or wait until we land.”

I lick my lips. He follows the trail of my tongue with his eyes.

“You might want to do it here,” I say, my heart thumping. “Our first kiss shouldn’t be in front of people, you know, in case it’s awkward.”

He locks his hands on the small of my back. “You’re right.”

I lift on my tiptoes, my hands on his shoulders. “I’m always right.”

“Kimbra is watching, so we better wait.”

He winks and lets me go.

What the hell?

“We’re about to have our first marital fight,” I say, my body screaming for him to come back.

His laughter fills the air. “Wait until we get to where we’re going before we fight. Because you’re going to look so hot on your knees, begging me to forgive you.”

With a lingering look, he walks away.