Kiss and Confess (Love Unscripted Book 1) (23 page)

“Dearly beloved,” the minister began.

What a weird thing to say, it occurred to Charley. As if the millions of strangers watching on TV and in the theater were somehow dear
or
beloved. She didn’t know them and never would.

Her father’s words from the meet-the-parents episode rang in her ears.
Our Charley isn’t one who will fight to be heard.

The phony minister’s voice, the anxiety emanating from her family, friends, and from Marc, the worry about Second Chance and the dogs needing to be helped, the pinching of the zipper in the back of her dress, and the single thorn in her bouquet that had managed to escape detection and was poking her thumb all combined to come crashing down around her ears.

Where was Luke? Why wasn’t he stopping this?

Our Charley isn’t one who will fight to be heard.

Creases of worry showed on Marc’s face. Mila hadn’t yet bounded up onstage, hadn’t shouted from the audience.

Come to think of it, Mila didn’t seem like a shouter.
Shit.

Charley began hyperventilating. Her mouth went dry and her forehead broke out in a sweat.

Our Charley isn’t one who will fight to be heard.

A huge gulp for air. She was panting now, like Howard on a hot day.

She flung the bouquet to the floor, where the petals scattered, a spot of blood from her pricked thumb also landing on the white runner. Then she pressed both hands to her waist, leaning forward as she tried to get her breath.

It isn’t in his DNA
, Tasha had told her.
If you think you’re going to end up with him, you’re only going to get hurt.
Luke had told her the same thing himself.

“Charley?” Marc took her arm. “You okay?”

She shook her head so violently, the pearls around her neck bobbed up and down.

She didn’t give a fuck right now who was watching this sham, or what was in Luke’s DNA, or why Mila was sitting in the audience letting this happen. The only thing that mattered,
and shit, that zipper was tearing into her skin,
was what Charlotte Grace Stephens wanted.

To be heard.

“Is there a problem?” she heard the fake minister ask.

“Yes!”

She thought she had said it, that her voice had somehow grown deeper. But when she looked up, she wasn’t sure. Marc hadn’t said it. He looked as startled as she did. Must have been her.

“I ca-can’t ma-marry you,” she told Marc between gasps. She tried to suck air through her nose and coughed instead. Her breath rattled alarmingly. One of the production assistants materialized at her side to urge a paper bag on her.

She put it over her nose and mouth and began breathing into it. Then she pointed a finger at Marc, shaking so hard that a drop of blood landed on his white shirt. “Sorry,” she mumbled into the bag. Because her mom was right there and you didn’t mess up someone’s shirt without apologizing. He looked down at the blood and back up at her with a helpless expression.

The paper bag seemed to be helping. She kept it in place. “You’re going to listen to me,” she said into the bag. “You,” she pointed at Marc. “You,” she pointed at Tasha. “You,” she said to the fake minister. “You,” she pointed at wherever Mila might be sitting. “And, and—” She looked around her, spotting Luke, who was coming up behind the altar, alarm on his face. He put his hands out, as though she were a mental patient he needed to calm. She pointed. “
You
.”

“Um, Charley?” Marc ventured. “It’s a little hard to hear what you’re saying. You know, with that bag and everything.” His startled eyes sought the camera lens.

She whipped the damp bag away from her face. Her voice rose. “Is this better?”

“Yes. Well, sure.” He tried, and failed, to laugh.

The entire scene and the people in it froze before her, waiting.

She turned to face the camera. “I don’t want to marry Marc.” Okay, that sounded harsh. “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “You’re a nice guy and a great friend.”

He shuffled his feet, his cheeks and the tops of his ears turning pink. “What are you doing?” Instead of looking at her, though, his eyes beseeched the audience. Mila.

Her voice grew louder. “There was a reason I never unlocked that door. I didn’t want to sleep with you. I
still
don’t.”

Brittany giggled. “Rude.”

Charley whirled and stilled her with a look.

She turned her attention back to Marc. “You’re supposed to be with Mila. She loves you, and you love her. Don’t try to pretend you don’t. Don’t
anybody
try to pretend
anything
anymore.”

Someone in the audience coughed. Someone else called out, “You tell ’em, sister.” Burt the director waved his hands in the air, pointing at a clock.

“
I
,” Charley said, dropping the paper bag to again jam her hands on her hips, and looking down at the mess of petals on the runner, “am in love with someone else. And whether he knows it or not, he’s in love with me.”

Rob Smiley swooped in, from out of nowhere, to say, “That’s all the time we have, folks. We hope you’ve—” He shot a nervous look at Charley. “—enjoyed the live broadcast of our season finale. Good night from all of us at
Make Me a Match
.”

Burt yelled “Cut” and Rob hung his head and walked offstage. A most un-Smiley moment.

“Can we move now?” Charley’s father whispered.

Since no one else said anything, maybe because they were afraid to, Charley nodded yes. Her dad bolted from his seat, followed by her mom and brother, and folded her in a hard hug.

A production assistant ripped her microphone pack from the back of her dress, none too nicely.

“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “Guess the neighbors are going to be talking about this for a while.”

“I’ve never been so proud of you, honey.”

“Me either,” her mother said, tears streaming down her face.

“Nice,” her brother drew out the word as he socked her on the arm. “You make one hell of a battling bride.”

Someone close by heard him and, hours later when the video went viral, it was titled, “The Battling Bride Takes on Reality TV,” which was repeated, in various forms, by
People
,
Us
, the
Huffington Post
and the
Seattle Times
.

Charley had been heard. More heard than she ever could have imagined.

CHAPTER TEN

After

Charley had turned her cell phone off, quit reading email or looking at any social media; she refused to turn on the TV or radio. When she wasn’t at work, where everyone was sympathetic and blissfully supportive, she and Howard huddled in her apartment, watching Netflix. The people on
House of Cards
seemed to have bigger problems than she did, which was comforting.

Once the
Make Me a Match
cameras had turned off, and her parents had released her from a tearful hug, she’d shaken Marc’s hand and apologized again, then bolted back to the dressing room to tear off the wedding dress and shoes, get back into her clothes, and get the hell out of there.

She’d been in such a hurry to get the necklace unfastened, she’d broken it and sent the pearls rolling across the floor in a fury of white, careening ovals. She would reimburse the show for that. Hopefully, like everything else, the pearls weren’t real.

As she’d been rushing to her room she’d seen Jonathan corral Luke, so she knew it would take Luke several minutes to get to her. By then, she’d be long gone. If he even
wanted
to get to her. She’d just told a national audience she was in love with him and he was in love with her. No, she hadn’t named him, but he knew.

Next move was up to him.

If he had the balls to make it.

“Howard, how could I have done that on live TV?” she asked her dog, pressing pause on
House of Cards.
He raised his head, listening intently. “Normal people don’t do things like that. I could have a brain injury I don’t know about. Or a mental illness.”

Howard cocked his head, appearing to consider it as a possibility.

“Thanks a lot, Howard. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

He put his head back down on his paws but continued watching her.

A knock sounded at the door. Charley remained perfectly still and put her fingers to her lips to tell Howard to do the same. A reporter had found where she lived and showed up at her door yesterday, asking for an interview. She’d declined, politely, and quit answering the door.

One more knock then after a few minutes, she heard footsteps in the hall, leaving.

“Okay, Howard, I think we’re safe.”

He got up and walked to her. She rubbed behind his soft ears and kissed him on the top of his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Okay, let’s go back to this episode. These people are seriously screwed up. Worse than me.”

She pressed play on the remote.

Another sound at the door. Not a knock, but something else this time. She turned to look behind her and saw a piece of paper that had been slipped beneath and slid across her hardwood floor.

Curious, she padded over to it, followed by Howard.

It was a note in masculine handwriting that read:

I know you’re in there. I can hear you talking to your dog and if you don’t open the door right now, I’m going to tell you what happens on the season finale of
House of Cards
. I’ll yell it through the door.
Luke.

Butterflies took flight inside her stomach.

He was here.

She looked at Howard. He looked back.

She opened the door.

Luke put a hand on the frame and leaned against it casually, looking every inch the sexy, adorable, infuriating man she’d fallen for. “Battling bride, huh?” he said.

She rolled her eyes, not easy to do when every part of her tingled unmercifully. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“I can do better. If you let me in.”

She swept a hand toward her living room, where the TV show was still paused.

Howard padded over immediately, expecting head scratches, which Luke gave him, even though they’d never met. “This must be Howard.”

“This is Howard. And he’s a fierce guard dog, so you’d better be careful.”
Howard. Who might lick you to death.

“Fierce. I can tell.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her shoes, then over at the TV, and finally, the ceiling. If she looked too deeply into his eyes, she would melt into a puddle on her hardwood floor. That wouldn’t solve anything. “I suppose you’re angry I ruined your TV show. I’m sorry about that. I really am.”

“Why did you and Marc agree to do that? Get married.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Why did you guys pull something like that, staging a live wedding?”

His eyes flashed. “The show’s on the LUV network. Enough said.”

She tried to make her eyes flash but suspected it didn’t work. “So you arranged a forced marriage. Because that’s love.”

“No one forced you. You volunteered.”

“It wasn’t real. Tasha said so.”

He made a sound of exasperation. “Did you read the papers she had you sign?”

“There wasn’t time. She told me what was in them.”

“She lied.
Lied
to you. You had to get married the next week, for real, and
stay
married. Or you would have had to give back the prize money.”

“Oh.” When the holidays came around next, she would make a resolution to read contracts thoroughly. Not that she’d keep it. She never kept her New Year’s resolutions. “That wasn’t the plan, though. The whole idea was to make Mila jealous enough that she’d stop the wedding. Stop Marc from going through with it.”

“As plans go, that’s a pretty bad one.”

“We had two minutes to decide, remember?”

Now he looked at the TV, where Kevin Spacey’s face was frozen on the screen. “I actually came over to ask you about something else.”

“So ask.”

He looked at the floor, then at Howard. “About that last thing you said.”

She crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to get the damn butterflies to land somewhere. Instead, her heart picked up its beat. “Refresh my memory.”

His gaze met hers, holding an intensity and vulnerability that caused her breath to catch and the butterflies to soar. “You said you were in love with someone.”

“I did.” She swayed on her feet but managed to recover before she fell over onto Howard. “I also said that same someone was in love with me.”

“Who were you talking about?”

She blinked several times. This was ridiculous. And the new Charley, the one who was going to be heard, no matter what, was having none of it. She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him toward her. “You’re either an idiot or pretending to be an idiot. Both are beneath you.”

His eyes searched her face. “I’m not perfect. I’m actually sort of fucked up.” He fixated on the floor beneath his feet. “There are more reasons I left college than I told you about.”

“And they are?”

“I was caught in a game-fixing scandal.”

Her eyes widened.

“I wasn’t the one who did it, but I found out. There were threats, which I didn’t care about so much for me, but they threatened you. Because they knew how much you meant to me.”

“They?”

“The players willing to shave points were doing it for people in Las Vegas.”

“Ahhh…”

“Yeah, ah. That’s why my grades tanked, and that’s why my scholarship was yanked. I figured if I just disappeared, they’d forget about me, and most importantly you. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, for both of us. And in a way it was. No one knew and no one came after either of us.”

“And now?”

“I know I fucked up.” He gave a half-shrug and a lopsided grin. “Are you worried I’ll leave again?”

“Nah. I’ll hunt you down.”

His eyes softened. “That’s kind of sexy.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Admit it.”

“I love you.” His voice caught. “I’ve only ever said that once before.”

Happiness. And a sweet memory. “Twelve years ago. College. Your room. In bed.”