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My heart soars as Bryce makes the sudden announcement, and a wave of panic washes over me.
This can't be real. My heart pounds against my chest and my hands shake. I stare at Bryce, unable to form words. He holds my gaze, no trace of humor in his eyes.
He stands and tosses a few bills on the table. "Thanks for hearing me out, at least. I'll see you around." With that, he grabs my hand and leads me away from the reporters.
I follow Bryce away from the reporters, their cameras following our every move. My stomach churns as I think of tomorrow’s headlines, thrusting me into the spotlight against my will.
Bryce’s hand clasps mine, his skin rough and calloused against my clammy palm. I avoid his gaze, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes after his shocking declaration.
"Bryce, you can't be serious," I whisper, my voice trembling with disbelief. "We can't just ... lie to the media like that."
He looks at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable. "Why not? It's not like anyone will know the difference. It's just a little white lie to keep them off our backs. No one will get hurt. Besides, it's not like we're actually dating or anything."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the bitter realization sinking in.
Once again, Bryce sees our relationship as nothing more than a mere friendship. A lump forms in my throat as I battle to find the right words to convey the depth of my horror and displeasure.
I shake my head, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of jeopardizing my peace to deceive the public in such a way. "But it's wrong. We can't just pretend to be something we're not."
Bryce's gaze softens, and he gently reaches out to cup my face in his hands. My legs go jelly and I forget how to breathe. But I remind myself to stay in the present.
Bryce lets out a sigh, his expression tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to put you in the spotlight like that. But you know how the industry works. It's not an easy place to be."
I nod in understanding, feeling a pang of sympathy for him despite my reservations. "I know. It's just ... it's a lot to take in."
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, and I don't know why, but I find it super duper hot. He could be wearing a garbage bag, and I would still find him the sexiest man alive.
"I know it sounds insane. But I'm tired of being seen as something I'm not." He hesitates for a moment, his gaze searching mine as if trying to gauge my reaction. "I need you to play along with something. It's ... it's kind of crazy, but I think it's my best shot at getting through this."
Bryce's words hang in the air between us, heavy with a vulnerability I've never seen in him before. His eyes, usually so guarded and distant, now shine with a raw, desperate honesty that takes my breath away.
I search his face, trying to reconcile the cocky, self-assured man I thought I knew with the one standing before me now, his soul laid bare and his heart on his sleeve. The weight of his confession settles on my shoulders, a burden I never expected to bear, but one I find myself wanting to carry, nonetheless.
I furrow my brow, feeling a sense of unease settle in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean, play along?"
Bryce takes a deep breath, his expression serious. "I need you to fake-marry me for one year, Marissa."
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest as I process Bryce's words. Fake-marry him? The idea is so absurd, so utterly ludicrous, that for a solid minute, I can't even comprehend what he's suggesting.
But as I look into his eyes, I see something there that strikes a chord within me. Exposure. Fear. It's a side of Bryce that he rarely shows anyone. And suddenly, I soften, my initial anger and frustration giving way to a flicker of empathy.
"Bryce, I ... I don't know," I stammer, my mind joggling with a million thoughts at once.
"Marissa, I know I'm asking a lot," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. "But I'm desperate. I feel like I'm drowning, like I'm losing everything I've worked so hard to build."
His words resonate deep within me, striking a chord of empathy that I can't ignore.
I've seen the toll his reputation has taken on him, the way the media's relentless scrutiny has chipped away at his confidence and sense of self. And now, here he is, turning to me for help, for a lifeline in the storm that threatens to consume him.
I pause, my head spinning at what he’s suggesting. It’s dangerous, a risk to both of us and our hearts. But as I look into his eyes, I see a spark of hope, a hint of the man he could be, the man I know he really is.
"I need your help," he pleads, his hand reaching for mine, his touch electric against my skin. "I need someone who believes in me, who sees the person I want to be, not just the man I've been."
I bite my lip, feeling sympathy for him despite my qualms about his plan.
Bryce may be a cocky, arrogant jerk most of the time, but deep down, I know there's a man with a heart of gold. One who actually cares about what people say about him.
"But this isn't the answer," I protest, my voice tinged with frustration. "We can't just pretend, especially not with something as serious as marriage. It's not fair to you, me, or anyone else involved."