Page 39 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

M y dreams are scattered wisps of things.

Crows exploding into a winter sky from a mist-covered field.

Jumping into a pool and watching the shimmering sun grow smaller as I sink into an endless blue dark.

Walking a red carpet into nothing, cameras flashing like a thousand silver flames, cold and heartless, as I reach for a hand that isn’t there.

When I finally wake, warm and safe and tucked into Ansel’s body, I take a moment to breathe.

To remember last night. The way he took me over the couch, and later in the bed, near feral with need.

The confrontation with Lauren at the gala.

The way I love you refused to come out of my mouth, no matter how many times I tried last night.

But I do. I love him so much. I want a life with him and Rosalie.

I want to wake up every morning and know that the man next to me is the one I’ll be with for the rest of my life.

To live a long, happy life together. To play endless games of Marco Polo in the pool, then collapse into each other's arms at night.

I turn, burrowing deeper into his arms and relishing the squeeze he gives in return. He opens his eyes, and the love I see in them is breathtaking. And even though the words remain stuck in my throat, I hope he reads the same love on my face as I look at him.

“Good morning.” His voice is gravelly and low. Sexy.

“Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

With a shrug, I lean up to kiss him, then roll to grab my phone from where it sits on the bedside table. Ansel does the same on his side, and as I wake the screen up, a curse leaves his lips.

“What?” I ask, but I trail off at the notifications. Dozens of them. Texts and alerts from every social media app I have.

Ansel sits up, tension radiating off him as he grabs his glasses and swipes at his phone, stabbing at whatever link is in there. Dread fills my body as I open a text from Kari.

KARI

Have you seen this? Please tell me it’s fake.

I follow the link to the international news site she pasted into the next text, and a gasp leaves my mouth at the headline.

NATIONAL RUGBY LEAGUE STAR’S NANNY MAKES POWER GRAB: “SHE’S NOT YOUR DAUGHTER”

Nausea roils through me as I scan the article. Lauren. Lauren’s gone to the press and made me look like an absolute monster.

Beside me, the sound of my own voice wafts from Ansel’s phone. “Stay away from them. You don’t deserve them. I’m her mother now.”

Ansel looks over at me. “Is this?—”

But I’m already shaking my head, even as guilt and doubt begin to swirl in my belly. “That’s not what I said. I didn’t say it like that. She edited the recording.”

Ansel’s phone pings with a text. “This…” he starts, eyes scanning the screen as he moves deftly between apps. His face pales. “This isn’t good, Elle.”

My body tingles, my heart racing. This can’t be happening. None of this can be happening.

He holds up a different post, and it’s the two of us on the red carpet.

Tears spring to my eyes as I take it in: We’re looking at each other, and there’s the softest smile on his face.

The love and adoration shine through. Beside the photo in bold capital letters is the headline: NAUGHTY NANNY NABS RUGGER!

It’s endless. Shots of us at the gala overlaid with quotes I never said. Audio that twists my words into things that never came out of my mouth. As far as the world is concerned, I’m a money-grabbing home wrecker who’s deliberately keeping Lauren away from her daughter.

“I think I might be sick,” I mutter, letting the phone slide out of my hands as I stumble to the bathroom.

Ansel doesn’t answer, his attention focused on the phone he’s bringing up to his ear. “Lewis. I guess all those years of being your easiest client just went out the door.”

I try to pull myself together in the bathroom, splashing water on my face and staring hard at my reflection. This will blow over. It has to.

Then I turn and retch into the toilet.

When I pick my phone back up from where I dropped it on the nightstand, a new text waits for me.

MOTHER

I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Elodie, but you need to fix it. I have pageant press all over me. You know how hard I’ve worked to finally get to where I am. I can’t have something like this getting in the way.

A wrecked laugh escapes me. Of course my mother would reach out. Of course she would worry only about how this makes her look to the pageant world, and not about the toll this might be taking on her daughter.

I don’t bother answering.

An hour later, Kari appears at the front door, waving her phone like it’s her personal weapon. The scowl on her face drops as soon as she sees me. “Oh, babe.”

That’s all it takes. I start sobbing as she steps over the threshold, lunging into her arms and squeezing her tight. “I didn’t say any of those things,” I manage to say between gasps of air.

“That’s good,” she says, shutting the door behind her with her foot and running a hand down my back. “But we have to figure this out.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whimper. This is my nightmare. My absolute nightmare. And because it’s Kari, I admit the rest. “My mother texted.”

She stills, then leans back to meet my eyes.

“Seems she’s worried how this will look as she’s rising through the pageant ranks.

God forbid anything stop her from becoming the head of the organization.

” I want to be pissed. I want my voice to be razor sharp.

But instead, the words come out in a choked sob.

A series of whimpers revealing the soft underbelly that only Kari knows.

“Come here,” Kari says, pulling me into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Elodie. We’ll figure this out.”

“I don’t think so,” I whisper. That text tells me everything I need to know about her. “I think I need to have a long talk with her when this blows over.”

Kari winces. “That…might take a while.”

My stomach drops. “Is it that bad?”

She fidgets, and instead of answering, she asks, “Where’s Rosalie?”

“Next door. Ansel called and asked Sharon if she minded keeping her a few more hours.”

“I need you to fix it!” Ansel’s voice rises from where he paces in the kitchen behind us. “That’s what I pay you for.” A pause. “Then find me someone who can.” The unmistakable sound of a phone clattering to the counter. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! ”

My eyes go wide as they meet Kari’s.

But hers only narrow as she squares her shoulders. “Time for me to do my job.”

Then it hits me like a physical blow to the chest. She’s not here for me. She was never coming over for me. She’s here for Ansel. For the Granite.

“Oh,” I whisper.

Her expression is full of sorrow as she steps forward to pull me into another crushing hug. “I’m so sorry, Elodie.”

A knock at the door has her pulling away and tucking my hair behind my ears. “That’s going to be Lewis,” she says, her voice turning businesslike. “I’ve got to handle this.”

This being the mess that I’ve made.

“Are you going to be okay?”

I swallow and shrug. “Do I have a choice?” I mumble as she turns to open the door.

A giant hulk of a Black man stands there, and he is easily the biggest human I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He’s immaculately dressed in dark jeans and a cream knit short-sleeved sweater, with gleaming retro Air Jordans that I’d wager he spent a pretty penny on.

His fade and beard are sharp, not a line out of place, and the diamond studs in his ears are probably two carats each.

“Kari Edwards,” he says, his voice a soothing rumble against my frazzled nerves. “Should have figured I’d see you here.”

Kari gestures for him to come in, her smile bright but polite. “You know you’ll find me where the scandal is. Have you met Elodie Cole?”

Lewis turns his attention to me and extends a hand. It’s warm and calloused, and my eyes snag on the Super Bowl championship ring he wears. “Nice to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

I try to smile back, but it’s forced. Then I realize with horror that I’m still in my pajamas. “I…should go get dressed.”

“Lewis.” Even Ansel’s voice is different as he comes up behind me. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ve got some of that matcha shit you love.”

“Always knowing the way to my heart,” Lewis jokes.

Ansel barely looks at me as he steps to the side and waves Lewis toward the kitchen. Kari follows, throwing me a wince as she goes.

All I can do is watch them file off, ready to tackle a problem I created.

“I’ve got a list of talking points,” Kari says, her voice fading as they move into the kitchen.

“And I’ve already lined up some calls to your sponsors,” Lewis says. “I don’t think they’ll be too worried about this, but we can’t be too careful.”

I swallow, fighting back a fresh round of frustrated tears.

The thing is, this isn’t my fault. Not really.

Sure, I lit into Lauren—because she deserved it.

But she’s the one who baited me. Who took my words and spliced them into the hateful vitriol making its way across the internet. And now I’m the one taking the fall.

But it’s worse than that. Because why is Lauren even doing this, if not to get back at Ansel? If she uses this as the way to somehow force Ansel to share custody, or worse?

What have I done?

I head upstairs and take a long shower, dressing in my comfiest clothes and wondering if I need to start packing up.

No.

He loves me.

But am I enough?