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Prologue
Hot Celeb Newz
Monday, 7:15 A.M.
Do we hear wedding bells? Last night, once rising starlet, Alyssa Summers, was seen walking the 3rd Street Promenade with a two carat engagement ring on her finger. According to our sources, Miss Summers's long-time boyfriend, Ryan Knight, popped the question over dinner.
We wish Alyssa the best of luck—she's going to need it! Her future hubby is a family law attorney who specializes in the high-profile divorces of wealthy, powerful men. According to our insiders, Mr. Knight is utterly merciless when it comes to alimony and child support agreements. Remember, dear, get another attorney to look over that prenup.
We hope this means the end of her “mental health hiatus.” Together isn't the same without her!
Chapter 1
I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. Did I dream up last night or did Ryan really ask me to marry him?
Did I dream that I said yes and that Ryan whisked me back home? That he was some mix of affectionate and aggressive when he laid me on our bed and stripped me naked, and kissed me—serious kisses, not the usual pecks—until I asked for more? Did I dream about the close thrusts in missionary, my attention fading in and out, my gaze drifting to the ring?
And there it is, on my left hand. It's a big, showy thing, meant to broadcast my “engaged” status to anyone who even glances at me. Meant to broadcast Ryan's status to anyone who sees us together.
There's no way I dreamed up this ring.
I am engaged to Ryan.
I should be excited.
I am excited. Of course I'm excited. Ryan has done a lot for me. He deserves to be my husband.
Still, I try to avoid the ring's reflection as I brush my teeth. It's impossible. The enormous rock catches the light at every angle. It must have cost a fortune. Ryan is doing well, really well, but he didn't need to drop so much money on a piece of jewelry. It's not as if I'll be able to wear it often if I go back to acting. And I don't want to get into fights about why I'm not wearing his expensive ring.
In the kitchen, Ryan fixes our usual breakfasts—an egg white omelet for him, oatmeal and fruit for me. He kisses me, a soft peck on the lips.
“Good morning, Mrs. Knight,” he says with a smile. There's another fight I don't want to have—whether or not I'll take his name.
I fix our coffees—black for him, agave and almond milk in mine. I know, I'm one of those Los Angeles people, but there is no room for sugar or half and half on my recovery diet.
We eat quietly for a few minutes. I read on my Kindle. Ryan works on his laptop. It's our normal routine, but today Ryan is especially annoyed.
“What is this?” he asks, turning the laptop to me. And there it is—his name on Google, and half a dozen celebrity gossip websites running with the story of our engagement. And here I thought everyone forgot about me.
“You proposed at a popular restaurant. What did you think would happen?” I ask.
“It's supposed to be private,” he says. As if I had something to do with our names appearing on celebrity gossip sites. As if he didn't know, going in, that I am enough of a C-list actress to be interesting to people interested only in fame. As if our engagement is somehow less special because people know about it.
“If you wanted it to be private, why didn't you do it here?” I ask.
“I'm not going to ask you to be my wife over take out in the condo.” He sinks into his bad mood, poring over the gossip sites, the expression in his hazel eyes growing more and more irritated.
“I guess I under-estimated how much everyone wants to talk about you,” he adds.
