My heart thumps and I flick through my phone to find Andrew’s number. My thumb hovers over his name as I hesitate.
What if this is exactly what the anonymous email wants me to do? What if I’m supposed to confront him and it’s just a way to make our marriage fall apart?
Didn’t Andrew say that any controversy would be bad for the team? What if this is just a way to generate that kind of press?
But… what if it’s true?
That would mean that Andrew’s career is based on a lie. It would mean that the star player, the man who I thought had so much integrity—he accepted a bribe. He promised to marry someone for money.
Is that why he married me? Just to get out of his commitment to marry Hannah? Is that why she was at the reunion and she was so full of hatred?
The questions fly around my head until I feel like hyperventilating. None of this makes any sense. Suddenly, I regret not going home with Andrew. If I were with him, I could ask him about this, face to face. I could ask him if the whole reason he wants to stay married to me is to avoid this weird contract he’s allegedly signed.
My chest stings.
Even though it’s crazy, even though it makes no sense, I actually thought Andrew wanted to marry me for me. I know that it happened on a crazy drunken night, but I thought what we had was real.
How could I be so stupid? Of course there was more going on! An NFL star doesn’t just up and decide to marry his physical therapist while out in Vegas. He probably planned this from the start. He’s just using me to get out of this weird agreement.
I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. I tie my hair back and stand up, finding my purse.
There’s only one way to find out if this is true. I need to talk to Andrew.
31
Andrew
My house feels cold and empty. I never knew that I could miss Meg so much after such a short period of time. Being married is messing with my head.
I drop my bags at the front door and head to the kitchen. I start making myself a sandwich as my mind drifts back to the weekend. I can’t keep a smile off my face when I think of Meg in that ridiculous pink dress, or the way she looked in the shower the first time I finally got to touch her.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, it clinks against the wedding band on my finger. I glance at my hand and take a deep breath. This is really happening, and surprisingly, I’m really happy.
I pop the beer open and take a long drink. I have half my sandwich eaten when my phone buzzes. I smile, hoping it’s a text from Meg.
It’s not.
It’s a message from the last person that I want to talk to.
Hannah: Got some interesting information about your little wifey.
I shouldn’t answer. I know I shouldn’t. Nothing good ever comes from talking to Hannah. We parted ways two years ago, and that should have been it. I thought we left on good terms. I thought it was mutual. I promised to pay back the money that I’d received from them, and that should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t, obviously. She had to squeeze me for everything I have. Extorting me was never part of the deal. Now it seems like she just wants to twist the knife in my back.
Andrew: Stop contacting me.
Hannah: Now, now, babe. That’s not very nice.
My blood boils. I want to shout at her, to throw my phone across the room. Instead, I just ignore it and take a gulp of my beer. I take a big bite of my sandwich and chew angrily.
Hannah: I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get any nasty surprises. Meghan Ainsworth isn’t the angel you might think she is.
I take a deep breath. I know what this is. She’s needling me, prodding me, trying to get a reaction. She’s pushing my buttons.
She knows what she’s doing, and I know I should just walk away.
Despite my best efforts, I don’t.
Andrew: You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Hannah: Ever wonder why her family turned their backs on her?
I frown. How did she know that? Hannah is an evil, manipulative woman, and she must have spent the rest of the weekend trying to dig up dirt on Meghan.
By the looks of it, she succeeded.
My heart thumps and my mouth is suddenly dry. I take another sip of beer, but it tastes too bitter. With a deep breath, I take my phone in my hands. I’m trembling.
My fingers hover over the screen and I close my eyes, exhaling.
I have a choice right now. I can turn my phone off and ignore Hannah. I can leave it and try to find a way out from under Hannah’s thumb. I can choose to trust Meghan, and not give in to Hannah’s manipulation.
Hannah: If you care about your career in the NFL, you’ll want to know what your wife has been up to. She’s got worse skeletons in her closet than you have.
There it is. There’s the expert manipulation. She’s prodding my insecurities and reminding me that she has leverage over me.
I sigh. I’m too weak. I’m not going to be able to walk away from this.
Andrew: What are you talking about?
I can almost see her malicious grin through the screen. She knows she’s won. Three little dots appear under the messages, and my heart starts to beat faster. The dots disappear, and then they start again. I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment.
She’s enjoying this.
Hannah always enjoyed stirring the pot, and being able to insert herself in my new relationship—my new marriage—is exactly the type of thing that she’d relish.
And like an idiot, I’m letting her.
Still, Dan’s words ring in my ears. If this wedding causes a controversy in the press, it could be bad for me and it could be bad for the team. Maybe if I just know what I’m up against, I can deal with the fallout.
It’s worse to be blindsided by whatever skeletons Meghan has, isn’t it?
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I wait for Hannah’s message to come through as I sip the last of my beer. The rest of my sandwich goes uneaten.
Finally, my phone buzzes.
Hannah: Looks like your new wife wasn’t always a physio, but she did work with lots of men. She put herself through college by being a sugar baby. In case you’re not aware, that’s another word for a prostitute. Your new wife was a whore.
A wave of anger washes over me when I read those words. I’m angry at Hannah for calling Meg those things, and then I realize what she’s saying. The floor falls out from under me. I re-read the text over and over until I finally make sense of it. My breath is short, and there’s ringing in my ears.
This… actually makes sense. All the comments that her family made at the wedding fit this. Tears prickle at my eyes as I frown. It’s difficult to swallow and I take a deep breath. My hands are shaking.
Andrew: How the fuck do you know this?
Hannah: I have my ways.
“Argh!” I scream, sliding my phone across the kitchen counter. It hits the backsplash and I turn away, marching to the sofa and punching a cushion.
She was a prostitute?! Is that what sugar babies are? I frown, bringing my hands to my forehead and buckling at the waist. I take deep breaths, pulling my hair out and squeezing my eyes shut.
It feels like a weight is pressing down on my chest. I try to breathe in, but I can’t get enough oxygen in my lungs. Finally, I sit on the floor and catch my breath.
Anger flares through me. Who is Meghan, really? How could I be so stupid as to marry her? How could I think it would work?!
I squeeze my eyes shut. What if it’s a lie? What if this is just Hannah being Hannah, trying to get under my skin? That would benefit her. She’d have more power over me. I breathe in and out of my nose as I try to calm myself down.
I know one thing for sure: I need to find out the truth, fast. I need to find out if this is true before it gets out to the press. And knowing Hannah, I don’t have much time.
I need to talk to Meghan.
Pushing myself up to my feet, I find my phone on the counter. I ca
ll Meghan, and she answers on the first ring.
“Hey. We need to talk,” I say without preamble.
“Yes, we do,” she answers. “I’m on my way to your place.”
I frown.
“You’re on your way here?”
“I got your address from your physio file,” she says. Her voice sounds tense and my heart starts beating harder. Something isn’t right, and it’s not only the story that Hannah just told me. Meghan sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.
“Okay.”
“See you soon.”
I hang up the phone and stare off into nothingness. A vice is slowly tightening itself around my chest as I wait for Meghan to get here.
32
Meghan
Instead of calming me down, Andrew’s voice just stresses me out. He sounds tense, and I know that we won’t have an easy conversation.
What was I thinking, storming over to his house asking him about his past? It’s not like I’ve been an angel! I keep meaning to tell him about being a sugar baby, but it’s so hard to find the words.
I cringe at the thought. What if he found out some other way, and he thought I’d actually slept with my clients? My heart thumps and I take a deep breath.
This will all be fine. I’ll go over there and ask him about his past, and then I’ll tell him about mine. It might even bring us closer together. I clutch my purse on my thighs and stare out the window as the cab gets closer and closer to his address.
The closer we get, the tighter my chest feels. A lump forms in my throat as we turn down a long driveway. As the cab crunches on the gravel and approaches the huge house, dread curls in the pit of my stomach.
This could be the end.
As quickly as our marriage started, it could be over. If I open up to him and he turns his back on me, it’ll be over. If I find out that he’s not the man I thought he was—that he’s just someone who will take bribes and use marriage as a way to get out of his obligations—then it’ll be over, too.
It feels like there’s no hope for us.
I shouldn’t care as much as I do. I just met this guy a couple weeks ago! Why do I care whether I’m married to him or not?
But I do care. I want to be with him. He makes me happy in a way that I hadn’t thought was possible for me. Maybe all the things my family said to me about being a whore, being worthless, being a fuck-up actually did get to me. Andrew has shown me that I am worthy of love. I’m not a whore. I’m not worthless.
But now, that could all fall away before I even get a chance to know if it’s real.
The cab pulls up to the house and my mouth goes dry. I look up at the wide steps that lead up to the front door, and all I can think of is my childhood. It’s just like going to my parents’ house, feeling like I don’t deserve to be there.
I take a deep breath before climbing the steps. Before I have time to ring the doorbell, it swings open and Andrew’s body fills the frame.
He’s silhouetted in the light of the house, his face cast in shadows. I take a deep breath as dread creeps into my heart. He doesn’t come toward me, he doesn’t kiss me or hold me or hug me. He just stands there for a few seconds, and then steps aside to let me in.
His eyes drop to the ground as I step through the door.
“Thanks,” I say, and Andrew closes the door behind me.
Something is wrong. It’s not just his past, or the conversation we’re about to have. Something has changed. I swallow past the lump in my throat and follow him as he pads down the hallway toward the living room.
My eyes wander as we walk through the house. It’s the first time I’ve been here, and it’s everything I’d have expected from an NFL star. It looks like it’s been pulled straight out of the pages of a home design magazine. Here and there, I see personal touches—a picture of his family, football memorabilia, a sweater thrown over the back of a chair.
But all in all, the house feels a bit empty. Or maybe it’s just me that feels that way?
I take a deep breath and take a seat as he gestures to the couch.
“Coffee? Tea? Beer? Water?”
It’s the first things he’s said since I walked in. I nod.
“Water’d be nice.”
He goes to the sink and gets me a glass of water, and then pulls a beer for himself out of the fridge. We’re quiet, and my heart sinks. This won’t be the conversation I thought we would have. I thought I’d come here and we would open up to each other, and then maybe even get closer in the process.
But when Andrew sits down across from me, staring at his beer, I know that won’t happen. His thumb plays with the edge of the label as he breathes in and out through his nose.
I gulp.
“So,” I start. “I got an email tonight.”
His eyes flick up to me. They sharpen as he frowns, searching my face.
“An email?”
I nod. “It was about you.”
“Who was it from?”
I take a deep breath. Words aren’t coming easily. “I’m not sure.” I take a sip of water, looking around for somewhere to put the glass. I decide to rest it on my thigh. A drop of water rolls down the side of the glass and soaks into my jeans.
“What did it say?” His voice sounds strangled, and the distance between us feels vast.
“It, uh,” I pause, trying to find the words. Why is this so hard right now? Just spit it out! Just tell him what it was about, and then he’ll tell you the truth.
I take a deep breath. “It talked about your past—at college. Some contract that you entered into that involved taking money in exchange for going to college at Penn State. It said that the information would be made public and you’d lose your career.”
Andrew’s eyes narrow. A vein in his neck bulges as he stares at me. I swallow and keep talking.
“It said that you’d taken money to go to the college, and you’d promised to marry that girl—Hannah. And it also said that you were in breach of your contract.”
Andrew opens his mouth and closes it again. His eyes shift to the carpet between us, and I take a sip of water.
“Is it… is it true?”
Instead of answering, Andrew chuckles. I frown. He looks at me, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. He takes a long drink of beer and then stares at me.
“You know, I got a text tonight, too.” His eyes bore into me and I try not to squirm. My heart starts thumping. “It was from Hannah, of all people.”
Jealousy burns through my stomach and my cheeks burn. Even though I know it’s a ridiculous reaction in this situation, I can’t help it. The thought of his ex-girlfriend—who he was supposed to marry, apparently—the thought of her texting him tonight leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I nod.
“Yeah, she texted me,” he says. His voice is hard. “Maybe she was the one who emailed you. She said some interesting things about your past, too.”
My heart sinks. I know what she would have told him. If she knew my parents, it wouldn’t have been that hard to find out about the rumors about me. I shake my head.
His eyes harden. “You know what she said?”
“I have some idea, yeah,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I was a sugar baby,” I say. “It paid for my college degree.”
Andrew scoffs, taking a long drink of beer and then staring at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Outrage starts to build inside me. I wanted to tell him! I wasn’t hiding anything from him any more than I hid it from other people that I’ve just met! Naomi and Ariana are the only people on this side of the country that even know about it!
“What, like you’re innocent in all this? You tried to tell me that Hannah was just another ex, when you’re in some weird contract and you’re supposed to be marrying her! Is that the only reason you married me? You got me drunk enough to say I’d do it and then convinced me not to get an annulment? Fuck you, Andrew.”
I stand up, still clutching my glass of water
. Andrew’s face is red. My heart is slowly shattering into a million pieces. I wait for him to speak.
“At least I didn’t sleep with people for money,” he says slowly.
And there it is. Those cruel, awful accusations that I thought I’d left behind in Vegas. Tears smart in my eyes as I nod.
“The only one of us who slept with people for money is you, Andrew. You sold your body to the highest bidder, and that happened to be Hannah’s father. All I did was go out on dates and make old men feel a little less lonely.”
I start to walk away, but I can’t resist one more comment.
“For the record, Andrew—not that you deserve any more of my time—but just so you know, I never slept with any of my clients.”
He says nothing, so I walk away with my fists clenched and my chin held high.
33
Andrew
Just like that, it’s over. I hear the front door slam and I close my eyes. All the breath leaves my body as I slump down in my chair. I realize my beer is already empty when I tip it back, and then I sigh in frustration.
That wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have. I wanted to be rational and reasonable, and I wanted to learn the truth. But when I saw her at my front door, my emotions got the better of me.
Fucking Hannah! How does she do that to me? She just put words in my head and I couldn’t think straight.
As much as I hate to admit it, the thought of Meghan with other men is driving me crazy. The thought of other men—old men, disgusting men, men who paid for her—the thought of those men touching her perfect body makes my whole body burn.
I can’t think straight. I put my beer bottle down on a side table and stare out the window.
She’s gone now. I let her leave.
I don’t know what to think. It’s true—she was a sugar baby. She said it herself. But she also said she never slept with any of them. How does that make any sense? What is a sugar baby, anyway?
Does that really make a difference? Even if I did believe her, which I’m not sure I do, would it make a difference in the eye of the public?
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 47
