My eyes go between them. “You think someone would do that?” They both stare at me with brows raised as if I’m ridiculous for asking that. When I realize they’re right, I blush deeper than I already was. “Stupid question. I’ll shut up now.”
Chase tries to hide a smile, but I see the way his lips curl slightly at the corners. He and Garrick may not be blood related, but they have the same mannerisms. His older brother just doesn’t hide his amusement as well.
Garrick puts a hand on the small of my back and gestures for me to walk down the same narrow hallway that leads to the back doors we came in. We’re quiet for a few moments before he says, “Breathe, Rylee.” His hand puts more pressure on my back, gently soothing me. “Are you okay?”
When I was little, I figured my wedding day would be the happiest day of my life. My father would tear up when he saw me, and let a tear shed when he put my hand in my future husband’s to officially give me away, and my family would watch with tender smiles as I said ‘I do’ to the love of my life.
Instead, I can’t sort through the wide variety of emotions all swirling around in my head. There’s fear, regret, and panic, and deep down, contentment, hope, and faith that everything will work out how it should. But not even that little faith eases any of the guilt over my family not being there.
Relaying that information to Garrick is near impossible in the moment, so I remain silent until I can express myself with words instead of emotions.
Not pushing the matter, he stops us by the door and squeezes my shoulder. “This is going to work for the both of us, Rylee. Everything will be okay.”
I inhale slowly, lifting my eyes to his and see the sincerity staring back. We don’t move, don’t say a word, as we watch each other in the silence of the building.
It isn’t until his chin dips once, his hand returns to the small of my back, and the other pushes open the door for me, that we leave the courthouse behind us as Mr. and Mrs. Matthews.
In the quiet ride back to the house where we don’t touch or put any effort into expressing ourselves and the severity of what we’ve done, something drastic happens.
Everything changes.
12
Garrick
Normally, I don’t bother ordering nearly every item off the takeout menu unless the guys are here, but I have no clue what Rylee likes.
Despite not having said a word since we got home, she’s curled up at the end of the couch absentmindedly watching TV instead of locked away in her room like usual. I think she feels obligated to stick around down here considering what today is, not that I’d blame her if she needed space.
I’ve never given much thought about marriage before now, never considered who my future bride would be or what it’d feel like to find love. Mum never preached anything of the sort to us because she wanted us to find happiness in any way we could—whether that was in a significant other, family, career, or otherwise.
But Chase is right. When Mum finds out what I did, she’ll be furious. She may have never pressured either of us to get married and settle down, but she’d want to meet the person I’d put a ring on and be at the wedding to support me.
Frowning, I reach into the pocket and pull the velvet box out. Peering over at the couch where Rylee’s blonde hair cascades over the back, I let out a small sigh and walk over to her with the jewelry I purchased the day after she said she’d marry me.
Without saying a word, I hold out my palm with the closed box positioned in the center of it. I watch as her eyes slowly trail down toward the offering before widening comically large.
“What is that?” she squeaks.
I nudge her to take it, lips wavering at the corners. “I didn’t want to give it to you at the courthouse in case there were paparazzi. This is your story to break, not anybody else’s. But this is yours to have. For show. When this is…” My lips press together as I clear my throat. “When all is said and done in a couple years, you can do as you please with it. Sell it. Keep it. Whatever you want. You could get good money for it if you choose to put it on the market. No hard feelings if you do.”
Rylee doesn’t lift her gaze from the box before hesitant hands reach out to take it. She doesn’t open it and doesn’t speak despite her lips being parted as if she wants to.
The ring isn’t anything too fancy. According to the man I bought it from, it’s a Waverly Diamond—an oval-cut 0.75 carat diamond set on a plain silver band. The manager of the shop tried getting me to spend more money on something far more extravagant, but I had a feeling Rylee wouldn’t like that. Any time I offer her anything, she cringes at the thought of accepting it like she’ll break out into hives if she touches anything that I buy her.
As refreshing as that is, it’s also slightly grating. I want to help her, provide what she needs to be content. But if she constantly refuses, it’s impossible for me to feel needed. And that’s inevitably what I want to be.
Needed.
Essential.
Ever since my name became known, I’ve had to sort the differences between being loved and needed, and used and wanted. The only thing I’ve pictured for the woman I’d give my name to someday is that she’d feel the former toward me—to give me a reason to work my ass off and come home knowing there’d be someone there who saw me without the masked persona.
Rylee
