Page 22

22

BLAKELY

When Jamie said that the rest of the information about our engagement was still to be revealed, I wasn’t sure what that really meant. He spoke to the media for a while after his game, and I was selfishly hoping that almost everything had already been explained.

I was very wrong.

My social media presence is fairly minimal. It’s not very fulfilling sharing photos of crowded streets or a selfie in the broken mirror in our old apartment bathroom online, so I’ve simply avoided it altogether. Today, as Jamie sits across me at the kitchen table and posts the photo of us Sadie instructed him to, I’m grateful that I’ve avoided the online world.

His cool five hundred thousand followers react instantly, and I’m so stiff, so stone-like, that I’m worried I’ll break and crumble if I so much as lean a hand on the table.

“This is the easy part, Bandit,” he murmurs.

“The easy part? You think having half a million people comment on our relationship is easy?”

He curls the corner of his mouth. “I like when you call it a relationship, wife. ”

I roll my eyes as I let go of the tiniest bit of tension. “Don’t tease me right now. This is serious. They’re going to hate me.”

“Why? There’s nothing to hate. We look great in the picture, and the whole fan-meets-her-hero narrative is going to kill.”

“Did you actually say that you’re my hero? Because I swear?—”

I reach out to snag his phone, but he holds it to his chest before I can, mischief lighting his eyes. “No, I didn’t. But maybe I should have.”

“At least they chose the photo with my face hidden.”

It’s a good photo. At least it is if you don’t know that I was only hiding my face in his chest because I was freaking out inside and the position was calming amongst the madness of the game.

He sobers slightly. “They won’t all be like that. This is just the beginning. Our engagement photos will be published online too. Which, speaking of, are still scheduled for tomorrow.”

“I know. Your agent was very thorough with his info dump.”

Including the location and when the stylists would be arriving to get me ready. It’s not enough that I’m being dressed by a stranger. A second one will be here to do my hair and makeup as well. I’ve never had any of those things done for me before, and my nerves are more from fear of winding up looking like a version of myself I’ll never be able to replicate on my own than they are anything else.

“Good. I don’t want you to be surprised by anything.”

“Do you prefer hydrangeas or roses?”

Jamie scrunches his brows but goes with it. “Roses.”

“White or yellow?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Silk or satin?”

“Are you just trying to get away with not making any wedding decisions, Blakely?” he asks coyly.

I cradle my forearm on the edge of the table. “It isn’t fair that the bride should have to choose everything for a wedding. It’s not the Stone Age.”

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. So, silk or satin?”

“I’ll choose the fabric, but you’re in charge of the colours. I’ve always been shit at that stuff,” he barters.

I take in the smoothness of his features and hold his warm gaze. Jamie has to be the easiest-going guy out there, and I’m learning quickly that I don’t hate that as much as I thought I would.

While he’s not someone you can walk all over, he’s also not the type of guy who turns everything into an argument. When I ask his opinion on something, he gives it while simultaneously not pushing one way or another. There’s room for discussion on everything, and he’ll sit and listen to my points without judgment or urging me to move quicker.

It’s a far sexier habit than him barking orders and relying on me to make all the decisions that neither of us wants to.

“That’s fine. There aren’t many choices we have to make since we’re not doing a reception. Only the flowers and decorations for the ceremony. Specifically, flower arrangements and fabric for the bows on the chairs,” I explain.

“Tony explained it well, then?”

“He did.”

Jamie nods before taking a drink from his tall glass of orange juice. His top lip is shiny when he says, “I told my parents about the wedding yesterday before the game and said we’d come over today so you could meet them beforehand.”

I sit with that, letting it hit me fully. Once it does, I’m panicking all over again. My nerves are completely shot after yesterday, and now this? It’s a miracle I manage to keep my tongue from lashing out.

“You could have run that by me first,” I bite out.

He grows still, glass in his hand. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been struggling with blindsiding them, and I offered without thinking about how it would affect you.”

“What exactly did you tell them?”

“That I met a special girl and decided to marry her.”

My pulse throbs in my neck. “And did they believe you?”

“Not yet.”

Not yet.

I stare down at the plate of crepes in front of me and frown when my appetite makes no sign of appearing. Other than the burgers Nate asked if we could get on the way home from the game last night, I haven’t eaten. The crepes were quick and easy to make while Jamie set the table and attempted to wake Nate up.

My little brother refused, leaving Jamie and me alone for breakfast.

I’ll admit that it’s gotten easier to be around Jamie. He gives me my space and doesn’t push me too much unless, with the help of his apparent superpowers, he can read me well enough to be sure that I’ll let it slide. Things have gotten . . . comfortable recently. I don’t mind him hanging out around me or having random conversations about stupid, pointless things, and we’re not even married yet.

“What time are we supposed to be there?” I ask tightly, not letting him off too easily, even if I can’t fault him for wanting to warn his parents about this.

One of the things I’ve learned about him is that his family is an important part of his life. I can’t imagine that lying to them would be easy. It wouldn’t have even been possible for me to do it to Nate.

“If Mom had it her way, she’d have had us there from the moment we woke up.” I must look straight terrified at the idea of that because he quickly adds, “I talked her down to after lunch. Figured it would be less overwhelming if we didn’t have to have a sit down at the table with nowhere for us to run. ”

Nodding, I swallow and watch as he nervously digs his fork into the middle of his pile of crepes.

“Is Nate allowed to come?”

“He’s allowed to come anywhere, anytime. Always, Bandit.”

I flash a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I already did.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to let me win from time to time, you know?”

“Where’s the fun in losing?” I ask.

With a loud laugh, his eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s a good look on him. The best, actually. Being able to feel and accept such an open happiness is special.

Once he’s quieted, he scoots his chair forward and taps a finger to the side of his glass. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the cooking you do. First, there was the pot pie in the fridge and then the homemade lasagne the other night, and now crepes for breakfast. Maybe I’m just reading into it, but I’m starting to think that you like to feed people.”

“Is there a question somewhere in there?”

“Alright, Ms. Hardball. Do you have a passion for cooking?” he asks pointedly.

“Yeah, I do. Even went to college for a few months to try and get my degree for it,” I reveal.

His surprise is obvious, taking over every inch of his face. “What? Why only a few months?”

“That’s all the time I had. I dropped out to take care of Nathan.”

Suddenly, the air around me burns to breathe in. An ache so jarringly sharp cuts right between my ribs, and I push my chair away from the table before standing.

Jamie watches me prepare to run away, a sad glimmer in his eyes that hurts worse than the pain in my chest. I don’t want his pity. Not now, not ever .

“I have to get ready to meet your parents. If you leave the dishes, I’ll get to them before we leave,” I ramble.

He stares at me in silence for a moment before nodding once. I get a few steps from the table when his voice cuts through the dining room, carving words that I’ve needed to hear for years into my heart.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Blakely. Not everyone has the ability to put others in front of themselves. Especially when what you have to give up is a part of who you are.”

Tears blur my vision the entire way up to my room.

I pick at the hole in the knee of my jeans and cringe, knowing that in only a couple of minutes, I’ll be introducing myself to Jamie’s parents looking like I couldn’t be bothered to dress up.

In reality, this is an occasion that I would have put a shit ton of effort into. I’ve outgrown my dressier clothes and figured that yoga pants were even worse than ripped jeans. At least I remembered to grab my work blouses from our old apartment before they were lost forever.

We’ve yet to go back there, but I’m positive the locks have been changed and the things we didn’t bring with us have been taken to the dumpster. It’s terrifying to remember that once my time is done with Jamie, I need to find us somewhere else to live. We don’t have anywhere waiting for us.

“Are you sure that your parents like blueberries, Jamie?” Nate asks from the back seat of the SUV.

I still can’t get over the sharp scent of real leather mixed with Jamie’s cologne. The heated seats curve around my body, and the screen on the console is massive. Like a small TV, just without the unlimited movies and shows. His music is playing on it now, and while I may be na?ve to the interiors of expensive vehicles, I do know music. And the song he’s playing is “Golden Girl” by Noah Hutton, one I’ve had on my phone for a while.

Jamie uses the buttons on the steering wheel to lower the volume and glances at my brother through the rear-view mirror.

“My entire family loves anything berry flavoured, buddy. Why are you stressing?”

“Well, because we made blueberry tarts. I wanted to double-check.”

He softly jostles the platter of berry-filled desserts on his lap. We rushed to make them after he woke up this morning, but I think they turned out okay. I’d have preferred raspberry, but the only fruit in the fridge were blueberries, so we made do. There was no way I was risking showing up not only looking like a slob but without a dessert to offer.

It could just be my nerves making me feel like this, but I’ve worried myself to death thinking that they’ll take one look at me and disapprove. Our marriage isn’t real, but having to spend the next few months knowing that Jamie’s parents hate me would kill me slowly.

I don’t need their approval; I just stupidly want it.

“They’ll love them. My mom’s been on a baking kick recently, and she’ll probably end up asking for the recipe,” Jamie says with a flick of his eyes across the console.

I turn my head and thank him with a stiff nod.

“Is that your house?” Nate gasps.

Jamie chuckles low in his throat. “My parents’ house, yeah.”

“It’s . . . woah.”

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Did your parents win the lottery or something?” I whisper, watching as the tall house at the top of the hill expands in size the closer we get.

“Not exactly.”

“So, what, they’re CEOs of some multibillion-dollar company, then? Because that house is not normal. I thought yours was too much, but this? I’m not dressed for this place,” I blurt out, cupping my knee in a tight hold.

The driveway at the top of the hill flattens out, leading to three garage doors. Six peaks extend from the roof, and the front entrance has a rounded cover, protecting it from the elements. If we weren’t heading into the middle of fall, I’m sure the massive lawn would be bright green, and the hedges would be springing with flowers.

“Did you not tell your sister anything about me, Nate?” Jamie asks, parking the SUV beside another similar one on the driveway. “Aren’t I your favourite player in the history of ever?”

Nate scoots closer to the front and pokes him. “Hey! Don’t blame me. Isn’t it your job to brag about yourself?”

Oh, he has been. He just decided to leave out everything about his family.

Jamie turns the engine off and twists in his seat to face us. Humour lines his expression, but he doesn’t laugh like I expect. He’s too zoned in, taking my lack of knowledge as an opportunity to teach me.

“A job I’ve failed but will fix right now. Starting with no, my parents didn’t win the lottery. My dad was in the NHL for a long time and built my mom her dream house before retiring at forty. My ma owns a non-profit ballet studio that gives lessons to those who can’t afford them.”

I grab onto the last bit of his explanation. “Why did she choose to do that?”

“I bet if you asked her that, she’d love to tell you all about it.”

“Is that my segue, then? Asking about why she cares about poor people?”

Jamie chokes on air, bewildered. I clamp my lips shut and let my brother try to pat Jamie’s back from the seat behind him. It doesn’t work, and instead, Nate just slaps at Jamie like he’s got a limp wrist.

“Jesus, Bandit. You fucking kill me sometimes,” Jamie wheezes .

My cheeks flush. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“I’d suggest maybe not wording it like that if you do choose to ask her about it.”

As if I’ll be risking mentioning that at all ever again.

“Should we go in now?” I ask, desperate to get out of this vehicle.

He turns it off and snags his keys from the cup holder. “Of course we can. But let me open the door for you in case we already have an audience.”

I don’t argue because he’s right. This isn’t a hug on the sidelines at a football game. We’re about to introduce our relationship to his parents. The two people who know him best.

With my hands in my lap, I wait for him to get out and round the hood. Nate follows suit once Jamie pauses at my door and quickly opens it up.

He offers me his hand, and I stare at it for a beat before taking it. It’s steady and warm, the way it always is.

With a backward shove, I close the door behind me and go to head for the house when suddenly, Jamie’s closing in. Lips parting on a silent question, I’m unable to evade him as he crushes his chest against mine and lifts our hands to his sternum.

I can feel Nate’s eyes on us. Who knows if Jamie’s parents are watching too. That doesn’t make me pull away from him the way it would have weeks ago.

His attention is so fierce, the kind that makes you feel like the only person in the entire world who matters to someone. Like you always have every ounce of their focus.

The constant glide of his thumb over my knuckles is just another reminder that he’s as aware of every point of contact as I am.

Leaning down, he lowers his voice. “There’s something I want to give you before we go inside.”

“Another gift?”

“In a way.”

I hold still in waiting. It’s almost impossible to see him moving, but I feel the shift of his thigh against mine and the pull of the tight muscles in his chest as he digs into his pocket.

When he glides something cool down my ring finger, I trap a breath in my throat and slowly, carefully, drop my eyes to my hand.

The size of the square diamond on the silver band is . . . is hard to believe. It’s surrounded by so many smaller ones that glitter just as bright. Dreaming of an engagement ring was never something I did. I didn’t have any idea of what I would want when that time came, yet this isn’t what I would have expected in a million years. Even from a ring that I’ll be returning.

“Do you like it? I would have had it for you at the game, but it wasn’t ready yet,” he murmurs.

“It’s stunning, Jamie. It’s too much. I’m not the girl for this?—”

His voice is strong despite staying muted as he cuts me off. “Don’t finish that sentence. This ring is yours, and it’s not too much. You’ve got it backward, Blakely. You deserve something bigger and brighter, but this one will have to do for now.”

Will have to do?

“I’m not your real wife,” I argue weakly.

“Tell me what’s wrong. What are you thinking in that head of yours that’s making you feel like I should have gotten you some flimsy, fake ring from the dollar store?”

It’s not the time to be dealing with this, yet that doesn’t make the insecurities that have been building and building go away. I have to deal with the wreckage they’ve caused, even if I risk doing it with an audience.

“Look at how I’m dressed and how my hair is styled and the lack of makeup. I don’t look like the fiancée of a sports star and certainly not like I fit into a neighbourhood and house like this one. I’m the girl who you’d expect to be escorted away from somewhere like this. From a guy like you,” I say, fighting against the urge to let my voice wobble with emotion.

One blink and he’s released my hand. A rough, callused palm smooths over my jaw instead, tilting my head back in a way that forces our eyes to hold.

“If you don’t tell me to step away, I’m going to kiss you right now,” he rasps, such a confident determination in his gaze.

It cuts right through me. “Why?”

“Because I’m hoping it will help convince you that you’re the opposite of everything you just told me. If I wanted to find someone who wore designer dresses, dyed their hair blonde every few weeks in the salon, and wore makeup all the time, I would have.”

“And you think us kissing will help convince me of that?”

His small smile wavers. “Well, that, and it would start our performance today off with one hell of a bang.”

He’s still holding my face, and once I realize I’ve been leaning into him this entire time, I still don’t stop. It feels like it would be harder to break away than continue to sway forward.

Am I really going to let him kiss me right now? I guess it has to happen eventually. Nobody will believe that we’re in love if we don’t kiss. Do I really want our first one to be at the aisle during our wedding ceremony?

The soft, reassuring press of his thumb to the middle of my chin is comforting and warm, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t also make my toes curl ever so slightly in my shoes.

I part my lips and then wet them, hoping he can read my acceptance in the action. By the subtle flare of his pupils as he watches my tongue glide across the bottom one, I know he has.

Holding my breath, I start lowering my lashes and wait for him to make the move?—

“Uncle J!”

The high-pitched squeal is a shock to my system. I stumble back and hide my reaction to the sudden bite of cold against the cheek just cradled in his hand.

“Uncle J! Were you just about to kiss each other?”

Jamie clears his throat and opens his arms to the girl now launching herself at him. He bundles her in a hug and mouths an apology to me.

I shake my head at him, not needing an apology, before turning in search of Nate. He’s leaning against the side of the house, his phone in his hand but attention on us now, if it were ever anywhere else at all.

“Hi! I’m Nova. Who are you?” the girl asks, standing in front of me with Jamie at her back.

Her blonde hair is braided in two halves down her scalp, and her yellow overalls are just the slightest bit too big for her. Freckles are splattered across the middle of her face, making her look a bit younger than I’d bet she is.

“I’m Blakely. It’s nice to meet you, Nova,” I say.

She grins wide. “Why were you about to kiss my uncle?”

Jamie chuckles, palming her shoulder. “Blakely is my fiancée. We’re getting married next weekend.”

“Oh! That’s fun. Will it be like Mom and Ollie’s wedding?”

“Kind of. Not quite as big, though. Only my favourite people are invited.”

Her eyes widen. “That means me, right?”

“Sure does. You’re my absolute favourite.”

“Who are you? Are you another favourite person?” Nova asks Nate, finally spotting him.

My brother slides his phone into his pocket and introduces himself with a welcoming smile. “I hope so. I’m Blakely’s brother, Nathan. You can call me Nate.”

“Awesome.”

Jamie takes my hand again, rubbing the band of my engagement ring with the tip of his thumb. “Is everyone ready for us inside, Nova?”

“Yep. We got bored of watching you through the window upstairs, so I came down to see what was taking so long.”

I nip at the inside of my cheek, debating whether I should look up to see if they’re still there .

“Well, we’re coming inside now. Want to lead the way for us?” Jamie asks his niece.

“Sure!”

She skips in front of us, and Nate sneaks ahead, not appearing nervous to meet Jamie’s family. I wish I shared the same confidence.

Jamie all but suction cups himself to me, offering a silent support that I’m over pretending not to want. My grip grows tight on his hand as I straighten my shoulders, silently slipping my mask of bravery back on.