by Lisa Suzanne
She giggles, and I want to kiss her.
God, do I want to kiss her.
But I don’t...because she’s not ready. She will be, though.
I hope.
The next night, I stand on the back porch of our house and I ring the bell—yes, there’s a bell by the back door and the front door. We’re super fancy.
It takes a few beats, but when she answers the door, it’s well worth the wait. She wears a white top that makes her golden skin glow and jeans that hug her body in all the right places, bringing back vivid memories of the night we spent together—a night she’ll never remember but one I think of often. I still haven’t gotten up the nerve to actually tell her the details I remember about that night, but someday I will.
Someday I’ll tell her how sweet she tasted, how the emotions I felt that night as we had sex were indescribable, how I’m pretty sure that’s the night I fell in love with her even though I hardly knew her.
I don’t feel like I can say that anymore.
We’ve slowly started getting to know one another, and with each new revelation about her, I fall a little deeper.
And tonight’s no different. Tonight I get to see what she looks like when she goes out on a first date with a guy—a date that’s just for us, no mic packs and no cameras and no audience.
“Why’d you ring the bell?” she asks, giving me a look filled with confusion.
I chuckle. “I’m here to pick you up for our date.”
“We could’ve just met in the kitchen.” She opens the door a little wider to let me in.
“I wanted to give you the full Adam Wilson date experience.” I step through the door and drop a kiss on her cheek on my way by.
“Mm,” she murmurs, and the little moan forces a quick reaction from my own body. My dick, specifically. I raise a brow. “Sorry. You just smell so good.”
I shoot her a smile. “Thanks. I showered today.”
“Finally.” She laughs, and I can already tell it’s going to be a good night just from how light and fun the mood is between us here at the start.
I pour us each a glass of wine from the bottle I chilled earlier, and I hand her one then hold mine up. She mirrors me. “To the real beginning,” I say.
A little smile plays at her lips. “The real beginning of what?”
“Of us.”
The little smile widens, and she touches her glass to mine. We each take a sip, and soon we’ve each put down our first glass.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
She nods and grabs her purse from the counter. “Where are you taking me?”
“I’d tell you, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” I hold my elbow out gallantly, and she slips her arm through mine.
She smells good, too.
I guide her out our back door, where she drops her arm from my elbow, and onto the boardwalk between the houses and the beach. I slip my hand into hers and she squeezes mine. I can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or not, but she seems to relax as we walk down the boardwalk that’s so engrained in her history. But we’re making new memories here tonight.
“What was your favorite part about coming here as a kid?” I ask.
“When I was little, it was the carousel at Belmont Park. When I got a little older, I loved the roller coaster. But it wasn’t just the amusement park. I always just loved the beach.” I glance over at her and her eyes meet mine. Hers are a little misty with memories. “There’s something so calming about watching the waves roll in and out. We’d spend all day in the sand and then hang out at a bonfire at night when I was a teenager. And now, all that is just so reminiscent of a simpler time, you know? Before we had real jobs and bills and responsibilities.”
“I’m sure we went to some of the same bonfires and sprawled on beach towels a few feet away from each other back then,” I say.
She chuckles. “Yeah, we did.”
I glance over at her again, and her cheeks are a little pink. When she looks up at me, she looks embarrassed. I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb as if to tell her it’s okay to tell me more, and she does.
But not before she blows out a mortified breath. “You know how big a crush I used to have on you, Adam. I always knew where you were. I’d watch you behind my mirrored sunglasses. You were always in my periphery.”
“I wish I hadn’t been so blind,” I admit. “I wasted so much time.”
She shakes her head. “We both had to go through our own things before we could end up here,” she says, and her words are laden with wisdom beyond her years.
“You think we were meant to be here?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know, but I do know that I’m happy I’m here.”
It feels like an enormous breakthrough to hear her admit that.
“I’m happy you’re here, too.” I clutch her hand a little tighter in mine, and it’s only another minute before we arrive at Oceanfront, a local bar and grill. We’re seated at a quiet table in the front corner with a view out the windows, per my request. I face the wall to avoid being recognized...and also because I don’t want to see anyone else but her.
I focus on her face as she studies the menu. I guess I always knew she was a pretty girl, but I never saw her as anything more than my annoying little sister’s annoying—but pretty—best friend.
But now?
Now that I can see clearly and through a totally different lens, I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Dark locks of hair fall in waves just past her shoulders. Vivid eyes the color of milk chocolate look at the menu, and her eyebrows move up and down expressively as she finds things she’s either interested in or not. Her lips move just slightly as she peruses the words there, and I can’t help but remember what they feel like cushioned beneath my own.
The waitress stops by to take our order, but I’m not ready.
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu,” I say a little sheepishly.
Emily’s brows dip down in confusion as the waitress walks away.
“What have you been doing?” she asks.
I chuckle. “Looking at something far more interesting,” I say with a pointed gaze, and her cheeks turn a little pink again.
She’s this perfect combination of beautiful and sexy and so damn cute. I want to hug her and cuddle her and fuck her until she can’t walk straight all at the same time.
I shake that thought out. This is technically just our first date, and I’m not typically the kind of guy who sleeps with a girl on the first date.
And so I won’t do that tonight...even though she’s my wife and we’ve already slept together.
CHAPTER 35: EMILY
Dinner was perfect.
Adam has this way of making me feel comfortable even though I keep managing to embarrass myself with dumb revelations of how I’ve been in love with him for-freaking-ever.
Maybe that’s part of what scares me so much about all this. I put him on a pedestal a long time ago, and there’s nowhere to go but down. There’s no way reality can come close to how much I’ve built him up in my mind over the years.
Except he’s proving that theory wrong with every move he makes. He holds my hand. He kisses my cheek. He makes me feel like the only woman in the room when his gaze falls upon me.
And it’s not just all that. He’s falling for me, I’m already there with him, and we’re married. I can’t stop thinking about how that should equal such a simple solution for us, but it just doesn’t. Cameras and television shows and kisses and cheating exes and, above all else, fear keep messing everything up.
And me. I’m the one holding back...the one messing everything up because of that stupid fear.
I’m giving myself time, but what if that doesn’t work? What if we wrap filming the show and decide to give it a try then?
Will I feel any different? Or will I always have this fear that it could all go off the rails at any time?
I think back to my conversation with my brother as I tip the wine
glass to my lips midway through dinner. Love is always risky, Emily. There’s no guarantees.
As I stare across the table at my husband while he stabs a piece of chicken with his fork, I can’t help but think David is right. It’s risky, and there aren’t guarantees, and it’s scary as hell...but when it works and it’s right, it can be the most beautiful thing in the world—and completely worth that scary risk.
Besides, how I’m living now is its own kind of torture. Wanting him. Needing him. Pretending I don’t.
Just as he lifts the fork to his mouth, he glances up and catches my eye. He offers a little smile, and my eyes are drawn down to his lips.
Those magical, beautiful, perfect lips that have only pressed to mine a handful of times.
I want more.
I want him.
I want this to work.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper. “Let’s give this a try.”
His fork falls to his plate with a clatter as his eyes widen in surprise. “Yeah?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
I can’t help a little giggle as I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I’m not sure. But nothing in life is sure, and all I know is that I’m terrified of this not working out, of six months of torture, but it can’t be any worse than this denial I’ve been living with.”
His lips turn up into a smile that lights his entire face. He stands and leans across the table to press a kiss to my lips. He breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes just inches from my face. My hand comes up to stroke the stubble on his cheek. “No more denying,” he says softly. “And no more fear.”
I nod, suddenly overcome with emotion as my throat tightens and my eyes start to water. He presses another gentle kiss to my lips before he sits back down.
He winks across the table at me. “I can’t wait to get you home to celebrate.”
I squirm a little in my chair as I contemplate exactly what that might mean, and then I down the rest of the wine in my glass in some attempt to quench my sudden thirst...but it’s not liquid I’m thirsty for. It’s him.
Those few moments as we finish our meal are pure and utter bliss.
He pulls my chair a little closer to him so we’re beside one another rather than across from each other. We both gaze out the window at the people passing by and the beach just beyond them. I draw in a deep breath of tranquility and exhale all the anxiety inside of me as his hand slides up my thigh.
This feels right.
Finally.
After he pays the bill, he says, “I have a few more surprises. Ready?”
I nod with a bit of reluctance, in part because I feel this odd sense of foreboding but mostly because I either want to stay right here next to him or go home and rip off his clothes.
It’s sort of out of character to feel that way, but this is Adam we’re talking about. Apparently nothing I do around him is in character anymore.
Except for the wishy-washy, should I or shouldn’t I analysis over the last few weeks. That’s definitely all me.
But now I’ve made my decision, and I stand by it. I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level. What even is the next level after marriage? Kids?
Yeah...definitely not ready for kids yet.
But I’m ready to date my husband and to see if we can turn this fake relationship into something real.
We hold hands as we walk the short distance from the restaurant toward Belmont Park. I giggle as we wait in line to purchase tickets for rides, smile as we ride the carousel together, and scream with delight at the twists and turns of the roller coaster, my hand firmly clutched in his the entire time.
It isn’t until we get off the roller coaster and weave through the Tuesday night Belmont Park crowd, bigger than usual because most people around here seem to have the entire week off work because of the holiday, that the strange sense of foreboding I had earlier is validated.
Some guy holding a camera yells, “It’s Adam Wilson from MFB!” As if from out of nowhere, a dozen or so cameras appear.
Adam does what he can to shield me from the cameras, but it’s fruitless in this huge crowd.
“Adam, over here!” a voice yells.
“Adam!”
“Is this your wife?”
“Adam and Emily!”
A ripple of fear races down my spine.
I’ve never been the subject of the paparazzi. I’ve never had people I don’t know yelling my name or taking my picture or invading my private space.
This is a fear I’ve never known before. I’m scared for my safety—and Adam’s. I feel a little claustrophobic in this crowd, and I don’t know how we’ll get out of it without someone following us home and knowing where we live.
I didn’t think about that when I said I wanted a house on Mission Beach.
But Adam had to have thought of that. Right? Wouldn’t he want to protect himself from this? Or is he just used to this because it’s part of his life now?
I don’t know if I want it to be part of my life, though—even though I literally just agreed to give this a try less than an hour ago.
I knew our wedding video went viral...but I didn’t really think about the ramifications of what over a million views—or seven million at last count—actually meant.
And apparently it means that I’m now thrust into a spotlight I never wanted. People know me. They want every single detail of my private life.
It’s part of who Adam is, and being married to him means sharing the spotlight with him. It’s something that has to be okay with me, or this will never, ever work.
But what’s not okay?
When one of the men in the sea of photographers takes a step closer to Adam, flashes a picture of him kissing Bree so only the two of us can see it, and says, “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 36: ADAM
Fuck.
I should have known someone would catch Bree kissing me on camera. Like Kylie told us, the cameras are always watching.
But in the moment, I wasn’t thinking. I was being ambushed by my ex.
The moment Emily stepped through the door of my hotel room in Las Vegas, my life changed forever. I didn’t know it yet back then, but I sure as fuck do now.
But this asshole with the photograph has the potential to blow it all up. And if there’s one photograph, well, there’s probably more. Maybe even video footage.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
Taking Bree out back behind Emerson’s seemed like a good idea at the time, but I know what’s at stake here if this photo is released—and it has a lot more to do with Emily than it has to do with me.
I don’t care if I end up looking like an asshole. My friends and family know who I am, and that’s truly all I care about. Everyone else can go fly a kite.
I don’t care if this takes away the happy ending Kylie has been so adamant about for this season of Rock on the Road.
I need to protect her. Emily will publicly look like she was cheated on by her husband—something she certainly doesn’t need after the way her last relationship ended the way it did.
We’re in the middle of a crowd with lots of eyes focused on us, but everything slips away from me for a beat as only three people really stand out: myself, Emily, and this paparazzo. I won’t let this ruin her...ruin us. Not after what she just said to me at dinner.
Not after she agreed to everything I’ve been hoping for.
But we’re stuck in the middle of a crowd. I have my ways of slipping out, things I’ve picked up over the years. I decide to put one of those ways to use right now. I brush my lips to Emily’s temple first and draw her in a little closer to my side. It’s definitely a practiced move for the cameras, but it’s also for her.
I need her to know she’s safe.
“Dax Hunter and Brody Jensen are here tonight, too,” I lie to the photographers. “They’re on the roller coaster now.” I nod toward the ride on the other side of the park from where we are. A few of the girls gathered
around us scream and run that way, while three-quarters of the paparazzi take off that way as well. The heat is off us for a second while most of the eyes move in the direction I just pointed even if they don’t head over right away, and I use that time to my advantage.
“Behind Eight Ball in ten minutes,” I hiss to the asshole who told me we need to talk.
He nods and takes off toward the bar I just mentioned. I sign a few autographs for the girls who stayed behind, pose for a few selfies that’ll end up on social media in seconds, and, most importantly, never allow my hand to leave Emily’s. She’s right by my side as I do whatever I can to assure her that she’s my number one priority.
I saw the wide-eyed terror all over her face when I was first recognized here, and I refuse to allow her one second of fear because of stupid shit like this.
I refuse to let her back out of her promise to give us a try.
“Thanks everyone,” I yell to the people who are still standing around, and then I wave and simply walk away. Most people intrinsically understand that means my time here is over. I pull Emily along with me, and we walk at a rapid pace. I check behind me every few steps, but it doesn’t seem as though we’re being followed.
I duck into an alley and wait a few beats, and no one appears.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Emily.
“That guy has a picture of you and Bree,” she says flatly.
“I know, and I’m going to take care of it.”
She shakes her head as tears fill her eyes. “How?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see what he wants.” I take both her shoulders in my palms and turn her toward me so I fill her vision. I lock genuine eyes on hers. “I will take care of you.” I press my lips to her forehead. “I promise,” I whisper against her skin, and when I back away, she swipes at a tear on one of her cheeks. I thumb away a tear on the other side, and then I grab her hand. “Okay?”
She nods, pressing her lips together without words, and then I drag her along with me toward Eight Ball.
The same asshole stands there with the photograph of Bree and me in his hand. He’s got dark hair greased back and wears glasses over his beady little eyes. I want to punch this motherfucker right in his stupid nose.