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It’s been a long time since I’ve felt seen. Me—Mase. Not just the grandson of Gordon Stirling, or even the hotshot second baseman for the Twins.
Fiona sees me, and I married her for it. I married her…
I married her.
I know that she sees me, but no one else will. What did I do to her? My family, the public, the fans, all the women I’ve been with are going to see Fiona as a nobody who latched on to me to make something for herself. For the money or the fifteen minutes of fame.
They’re going to eviscerate her.
What did I do?
Fiona has no idea what she’s gotten herself into, and if I weren’t so selfish, I would end this right now to spare her the hurt.
But I’m not sure how to do that.
I went along with Fiona’s decision not to tell anyone yet, not because this is Bexley and Grayson’s weekend, but because I don’t want the press to find out. Me getting married is going to be a huge story, especially after the paternity case, but me marrying someone like Fiona might break the Internet.
I don’t want anyone to know because that means my family will find out.
But I have to tell them; I need to tell my sisters, to get Carter started on damage control.
Grandfather will not be happy.
This will not be good.
The nerves I felt before are nothing like what floods my stomach, pushing and pulling like the rocking of a boat, making my stomach heave.
“Fee…” I murmur, stepping away from her. “I don’t feel so good.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fiona
Masethrowsup.
He makes it to the toilet with enough time to shut the door in my face, telling me I don’t have to see this.
I may not see it, but I hear it all because I stand outside the bathroom door. “Can I get you anything?” I ask when there’s a pause in the retching.
“No,” he moans.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No!”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Give me a minute.”
This is all very new for me.
I back away and take another look around the room. I only saw the wall of glass and Mase, but there’s more. Compared to the three-bedroom suite I’m supposed to be staying in, Mase’s room is simple—bed, bathroom, balcony, plus a tiny sitting area. But simple isn’t a huge bed, covered with pillows, and carpet thick enough for my feet to sink into.
The bed is very, very big, and I’m tired enough to think first about how comfortable it’s going to be. I go for sleep rather than anything else.
That can’t be a good thing for a wedding night. Wedding morning.
Neither is throwing up, I guess.
