Page 17 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Blakely

A ren’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?”