Page 163 of Proposal Play
That’s when it hits me—there’s fallout. When you lie, there’s always a price to pay. “Oh god, what is it? Is it going to affect your charity?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Well, yes, but I’m not really worried about that.”
“You’re not worried about it?”
He shakes his head again. “Soraya messaged me. Some of the donors reached out too, asking if it’s true. But I’m not worried because the truth is simple—I’m with you, and it’s real,” he says, grasping my hand, holding it tight. “I’ll happily say that to anyone. I’ll tell the board, the donors, the team. I’ll tell them we got married for fun, and stayed married because I wanted to make you fall in love with me. That’s the only truth that matters. Whatever happens happens.”
God, that’s sexy. “How are you so hot when you say stuff like that?”
His serious expression softens as he leans over, cupping my cheek. “Maybe this started as a ruse, but the truth is I’ve been falling for you for years, like I said last night. And I will tell anyone the truth of the way I feel. Because I knew at Mr. Vincenzo’s party, which was less than twenty-four hours after we were married, I wanted to explore how I really felt. I wanted to win your heart. And that desire’s only gotten stronger.”
I want to grab him and kiss him right now. I love how he’s solved this problem, how confident he is about us, but something still isn’t adding up. “So…what’s the issue?”
He sighs again. “Everly’s been texting me. She said Eleanor’s kind of freaking out. She feels like you deceived her.”
My heart plummets, and it’s like all the air’s been sucked from the room. Eleanor thinks I’m a liar? Eleanor, who’s been so kind to me?
I gulp, panic setting in. I don’t have the same protection Asher does. The charity is his passion, but it’s not his job.
His job is safe.
Mine might not be.
59
HOLD MY BEER
Asher
This is exactly what Beckett warned me about. He said it that morning at the gym, right to my face.
I get up and start pacing. “Beckett was right.”
“About what?” Maeve asks, watching me closely.
“He said, ‘She’s trying to make her way in the world, dealing with an overbearing aunt, while you’re already a successful hockey player. If this goes south, you’ll be fine. But if this blows up, she might not be.’”
Maeve’s eyes widen, but she stays quiet, blowing out a breath.
“And he told me to protect you,” I add.
She moves around the bed, stepping closer. “And you did. You have.”
“Yeah, but not enough,” I mutter, tension knotting up inside me—not the same kind I get over health worries, but a real fear for the woman I love. She’s worked too hardto lose everything. “I want to protect you. I love you. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“I love that you feel that way,” she says quietly, then her tone shifts, more playful. “But you know what my brother said to me about you at the picnic?”
I scoff. “Was he doling out advice all around?”
“He pulled me aside and told me, ‘Don’t break his heart.’”
I shake my head, amused at Beckett’s behind-the-scenes machinations with both of us, even though I have no right to be lighthearted at this moment. “So, he was onto us?”
“He was ontoyouclearly,” she says, and of course that’s true. “And you know what that tells me?” Maeve asks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. That’s my Maeve. Always up for an adventure.
“What?”
“It tells me that everyone else could probably see it in you too.”