A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2) (12 page)

She gives me a small smile, but somehow it lacks the usual
umph
. “Agreed. Let’s not.”

I brush my thumb over the fleshy web between her thumb and forefinger. The touch isn’t sexual. It’s a silent combination of “thank you” and “I’ll take care of you”. Until Dr. Silverman clears Paige for active duty, I really shouldn’t make a move, no matter how much my hormones urge me to remind her how good we can be together.

We’ve had too many things happen to stop us from really talking about the core issue of whether or not we can trust each other enough to go through with the wedding. It’s not something we can just gloss over. Perhaps making a decision about it would help me sort out my feelings. I hate it when I’m in limbo like this.

“About the job,” she begins.

I wave a hand. “I only used that to make you come back.”

“Still. I’ll do it, but I’m not sure about the wedding yet.”

It feels remarkably like she just kicked me in the nuts. I take a moment to process things. “Why?”

She shrugs. “You explained it yourself. I’m going to need a job that provides benefits, and I’m not going to find another position with all this media circus around me and my pregnancy. Not in this town, anyway.”

It’s nice to have her seeing things my way. But what she’s saying doesn’t relieve me of the pain. Rather, it intensifies it, and I can’t figure out why. She’s just repeating what I told her. But I hate it anyway, and I feel like a man on the run, although from what I don’t know.

Sighing, she lays down her utensils. “I’m not saying no, Ryder. But I want you to really think about why you can trust me if I’m your assistant, but you can’t if I’m your fiancée.”

The suggestion makes me blink. “What are you talking about?”

“You would never make somebody you don’t trust your assistant. You were always very clear on that point.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with you being my wife. You know I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t trust you.”

“Yeah, I know. But still, the first thing that came to your mind when you heard about the sex tape wasn’t
there must be an explanation for this
. You thought I did it to become famous.”

“Are you ever going to forgive me for that?” I ask, my whole body numb.

“It isn’t about forgiveness. It’s about how it’s going to be between us going forward. This matters to me, Ryder. So please. Take a moment and really think about what I’m saying.”

“But we have less than three weeks before the wedding.” I’m starting to feel a little panicked. What she’s asking for isn’t something I can come up with in the next twenty-four hours. But at the same time, I can’t imagine marrying anybody but her. My mind just won’t consider it.

“You’re a smart man, Ryder. I’m sure you’ll figure out the answer soon.” She stands up.

I rise too. I haven’t finished my lamb chops, but my appetite’s gone. “Are you going back to your sister’s?”

“No. I don’t think that would be wise.” She hesitates. “If you don’t mind, I was thinking about staying here.”

The tightness in my gut loosens. “Of course you should stay here,” I say. “Like I said…welcome home.”

She gives me the same small careful smile I’ve been seeing all evening and goes to the third floor.

Rubbing my face, I grab some scotch. I so need to drink.

Jesus
.
Stop panicking
.
It won’t solve anything
.

I tap my fingers on the table as the scotch burns my throat. She’s
here
—with
me
. And she’s going to stay, at least for now. And she hasn’t said no to our marriage.

When a woman is trying to make me jump through hoops just to see if she can do it, I can tell. That’s not what’s happening with Paige. She genuinely needs to know the answer to her question.

Thinking back on it, I have no clue why I didn’t trust her on the night of our engagement party. I should have. Even if I wasn’t sure, I should’ve at least given her the moral support she needed rather than demanding that she explain herself, like she was on trial or something.

It’s a long time—and a large bottle—later when I finally go to bed. But I still don’t have an answer.

Paige

The next morning, I crack my eyes open with a renewed sense of purpose. Since I told Ryder I’d go back to my job, I follow my standard routine. Get up. Shower. Get dressed and put on my conservative work makeup with a pink lip gloss.

The only difference is that I don’t have a commute, and I eat breakfast at the counter in Ryder’s kitchen.

Elizabeth is there already, munching on a piece of toast with extra jam. She’s in another of her designer dresses, this time a magenta Armani. I saw it on display during my post-engagement shopping spree.

“Morning.” She smiles at me over a mug of coffee. Her cup reads
Beauty Is What You Make of It
.

“Good morning.” The chef places tea in front of me.

“Nice to have you back,” she says with a smile.

“Thanks. Ryder around?”

“Probably still asleep. The housekeeper said he went to bed late.” Then she adds, “He didn’t go out with Elliot.”

I laugh. Elizabeth is so sweet, and I can’t help but love her more when she treats me like I’m a
real
fiancée for Ryder, even though she has to know the truth.

“By the way did you see the latest issue of
Lifestyle?
” she asks.

I shake my head. It’s a fashion and high-society gossip magazine, and I don’t read it.

“They did a feature on your wedding.”

“What?” I blink. “We aren’t even married yet.”

“Oh, not like that. They have photos of some of the designs and motifs you’re going to be using. They’re gorgeous.” She sighs. “The ceremony’s going to look like a fairy princess dream come true.”

A sense of unease tugs at me. People are already making a big deal about our ceremony, and I’m not even sure there’s going to be one. The fallout… Good god. I can’t imagine.

I finish my simple breakfast of a bagel and cream cheese and go to my office. It’s still the same, despite my extended absence. The antique Louis XIV desk, the armchairs, the view of the pool and the garden…and the über-expensive ergonomic desk chair that’s set specifically to my body’s dimensions. I pause at the sight of the barbed wired wall in the middle distance. I always thought it made Ryder’s estate look like a prison compound. But after having been in the spotlight for a while, I have a new appreciation for it. Actually, it’s a miracle Ryder hasn’t razed the mansion and built a bunker.

After booting up my laptop, I find the article Elizabeth was talking about at breakfast. Sure enough, it’s on the main page of
Lifestyle
’s website. The photos are stunning, displaying bridal whites and some lovely spring green shades. I scroll down to the end, then spot the first comment, from a user named
lifehack
.

What a waste when they’re probably going to divorce within a year
.
It’s not like the girl’s hot enough to keep him
.
He’ll get bored with her once the novelty of fatherhood wears off
.

The rest of the comments, and there are hundreds, are much uglier. It’s like
lifehack
set the tone for everyone else. The consensus seems to be that I am not worthy of any of this because I don’t fit the image of “beautiful” and “glamorous”. One of them even wrote,
Read that Ryder is behind some anonymous funding for animal shelters in NC
.
He really deserves better than this dog
.

Then one of them posts a meme with a manatee with my face photoshopped onto it. A wedding veil and flowers sit on my head. The caption reads
Paigatee
.

The picture is hideous, the photoshop work clumsy and obviously done on the fly, but the effect still knocks the breath out of me. My face heats, and the area around my eyes prickles.

But
Paigatee
isn’t the end of it. There are more memes, each nastier than the one before, as though people are trying to one-up each other on the thread. Many of them also reference the sex tape, mocking my body because “who the hell would want to see a fat chick get laid?” Each comment comes with a “Report Abuse” button, but if I clicked all of them I’d give myself carpel tunnel.

Anger and resentment surge inside me like a tidal wave. My hands shake so hard, I have to curl them into fists. What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?

A tight knot lodges in my throat, and I breathe audibly through my mouth. I need to calm down before I start hyperventilating and throw up.

The rational side of me understands that these people don’t matter. They don’t know me, and their opinions are ignorant and mean. They’ll move on when they find a new target. Really, I should feel sorry for them; they obviously don’t have anything better to do with their own lives than try to pick apart other people’s.

But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

* * *

Ryder

I get up later than normal. It feels like death to drag myself out of bed, but I have a meeting with Mira later in the morning. I stick my head into Paige’s room to see if she’s asleep, but she’s already gone, her bed neatly made. I sigh. Clearly, she’s taking this job thing seriously.

She can be so dense.

I stop by her office. Given the awkwardness between us, I should’ve told her to sleep in. I’m pretty sure pregnant women need more rest than usual, and until her doctor looks her over and says she’s all right, I don’t want her to really do anything. Besides, I didn’t ask her to be my assistant to actually make her work. It was just an excuse to have her back where she belongs.

“Hey, you should be taking it easy. Don’t bother with…” My voice trails off when I see her face.

There are tear-trails down her cheeks, and her eyes and nose are red. She’s biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering, but I’m not sure if she’s aware that’s what she’s doing. Her gaze is focused on her laptop monitor, and her fists rest in her lap.

I stride over quickly. “Paige, are you all right?” I glance at the laptop and see a crude meme with a dead whale on a beach. It has Paige’s face on it. The asshole who made it also crossed out her eyes with two
X
s. THE ONLY WAY SOME WHALES CAN DIET, says the caption.

All of a sudden there’s a blood-red haze around everything I see. “What the fuck is that?”

Paige shakes her head, lower lip still caught under her teeth.

I kill the browser, nearly breaking the mouse along the way. Paige shouldn’t look at such vile shit. I’ve had my share of disgusting lowlife haters and psychos, and I’ve made it a policy not to bother with social media myself for that reason. But Paige doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of nastiness. Fact is, nobody should ever have to learn how to deal with it.

“What did I do that was so wrong?” It’s just a whisper, her chin lowered. “Why do they think it’s okay to be so mean to me?”

I kneel before her and uncurl her hands so I can hold them in mine. They’re cold and clammy, but I don’t care. “It’s not you. It’s them. They’re the assholes.”

She lifts her face and looks me in the eyes. “But they all hate me.”

The devastation on her face twists my heart, and I hurt for her. “There are more assholes than you realize.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Paige, trust me, it’s not you. Not at all.”

“The attack outside Samantha’s office…and now this…” Her head turns to the laptop.

I take her face in my hands and gently—but firmly—turn it back to me. “Paige, listen. This is not your fault.
It is not about you
. It’s
their
ugliness, their smallness. And you know what? Their loss. Because when
I
look at you, I see a beautiful, smart woman who takes my breath away. And when you aren’t with me, I feel like I’m missing something vital.”

I’m not saying any of it to make her go ahead with our ceremony as scheduled. I mean every word, and I would gladly step between her and any ravening crowd to keep her safe and happy.

“Ryder…” she says tremulously. Her hands wrap around my wrists as she leans closer and rests her forehead against mine.

Her hair falls forward, creating a curtain around my face, and the universe tightens and contracts until there is only Paige. I kiss away her tears because that’s all I can offer right now in the way of comfort. I want her to know she’s not alone.

She angles her head, and her lips find mine. Everything inside me stills as I rein in an instinctive urge to deepen the connection. This is about Paige and her needs. I want her fearless and bold again. Like in the screening room before things unraveled.

She runs her tongue over the seam of my mouth, then uses her lips to relearn its shape and texture.

I adore her lips, the fullness of them, their soft fleshiness. My blood boils with a heat that has nothing to do with anger. It’s all due to Paige, who is exploring my mouth to her heart’s content.

Oh
,
the hell with it
. I part my lips, and she flicks her tongue inside, letting me have a small taste. She’s so damn sweet, like spun-sugar happiness and light all rolled into some kind of fabulous girl-dessert, and I crave more. I drive my tongue into her to take it.

A throaty moan vibrates through her. She slides off her office chair so we can be at a better angle. Her lush breasts press against my chest, and my cock swells.

She lets go of my wrists and rests her hands, no longer cold and clammy, on my cheeks. The contact seems to sear my skin, and I want her hands everywhere on me, exploring, stroking, fondling and loving.

Just as I want to—

“Uh… Ahem, guys.”

I jerk back and curse under my breath.
The meeting with Mira
.

Paige’s face is suddenly bright red, but at least she no longer has that hurt and angry look. Her lips swollen and her eyes dilated, she looks like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed.

“Don’t suppose you’ve had time for coffee yet,” Mira says, barely containing a schoolgirl smirk.

“Ah, not yet.” I stand and help Paige up. She takes her seat again.