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Prologue
Shay
Tonight’s the night. I know it. I feel it.
Devon left early for practice this morning. When I woke up I found a beautiful card with a note to “wear something nice” and the address of a Hollywood hotspot.
My heart melted.
The time has come. At long last.
I had to scramble to be prepared, but I’ve pulled out every trick. My entire body is waxed, polished and lotioned. My eyebrows have the perfect microblade. My hairstylist fit me in for a balayage and blowout a couple of hours ago. I dug out my Louboutins to wear with the little black Prada dress I bought for this profoundly special occasion.
By the end of tonight, Devon and I will be engaged. The thought makes my stomach flutter with excitement. Or hunger. No carbs have passed my lips for nearly eight weeks. God, maybe I’ll splurge tonight and have some potato purée…
God, Shay. Keep it together.
I put the finishing touches on my makeup. Subtle but sultry. I’m going to knock Devon’s socks off. Maybe I’ll even give him a blowjob tonight if the diamond is big enough.
Kidding.
I’ve adored Devon from the day I met him my freshman year at UCLA. We hit it off immediately at a frat party and have been inseparable ever since. He and I share a complementary sense of humor, work ethic, and ambition. After college, at his request, I put my own aspirations on hold to support him in his athletic career. After all, he has a limited window of opportunity and I can figure out what I want to do…whenever.
He and I have been through numerous ups and downs. Devon had tremendous success in college followed by a surprisingly low NFL draft pick that, at least, kept us in Los Angeles for his rookie season.
Unfortunately, he suffered a terrible knee injury during preseason, which took six months to heal. The next year, his contract wasn’t renewed. I found the best trainers and athletic mental health coaches and we got to work. Day in and day out, he visualized. Got strong. Prepared himself.
Then it happened. He got a break. We moved across country to Cincinnati when he was offered a one-year contract as a backup quarterback. Two games in and his coach promoted him to starter and he led the Bengals to the playoffs with record-shattering statistics.
By the Super Bowl, every team that originally passed him over suddenly came calling. We’re west-coasters, though, and two days ago my man signed a multiyear, multimillion-dollar contract with the Las Vegas Raiders. Training camp starts next week. While he’s there, my plan is to pack up our West Hollywood condo, put it on the market and fly to Sin City to locate the perfect house in the perfect gated community.
We’re leveling up.
I twirl in front of the full-length mirror. I look pretty epic. Definitely suitable to be the wife of an NFL starting quarterback. Thank God all the sacrifice has been worth it. We’ve hit the jackpot. I can’t wait to start planning the wedding. I’m going to make every single one of my Pinterest dreams come true.
Shoot. I’m getting ahead of myself.
My phone pings with a text from the driver I hired to take me to the restaurant. It’s not too far away, but Devon is meeting me there so there’s no need for us to have two cars. Within ten minutes, I push through the door to BOA Steakhouse, ignoring a flurry of paparazzi who are fawning over some actress.
The hostess leads me through the busy restaurant to a corner table where Devon is already seated. When he sees me coming, ever the gentleman, he stands and helps me into my chair. My God, he’s gorgeous in a tailored black suit that makes him look every inch the NFL star he’s become.
“You look stunning, Shay.” Devon’s smile is dazzling and confident when he reaches across the table to take my hand.
I blush, thrilled that he’s noticed the effort I made to look nice for him. It’s not always the case. “Thank you. You look incredible yourself.”
We toast with champagne, and the evening unfolds in a magical haze. We talk about his contract, a staggering $86 million deal over the next four years making him the highest-paid quarterback in the league. He’s excited and animated when he tells me about his new coach and teammates.
As I listen, pride swells in my chest when he talks about his goals and his determination to be the best. He’s worked so hard for this, and I’ve been there every step of the way, supporting and believing in him. Our future has never seemed so bright, so full of promise.
We’re nearing dessert when the conversation unexpectedly turns to me, which is rare. “What about you, Shay? What would you like to do with your life?”
“Um…” I hesitate, because I’m so confused by his question. I can’t find the appropriate words, so I opt for the truth. “Well…obviously, I want to be with you. I like supporting your career. I’m excited to raise a family and build a life together.”
“That’s it? Your ambition is to be a housewife?” His smile fades. His eyes go cold. He pulls his hand away, leaving me feeling suddenly adrift.
I blink, taken aback by his tone. “Well, yeah. I want to keep up my charity work, of course. But, I’m totally fine supporting you and our family in whatever way possible. It worked for my mom. Isn’t that what we talked about? Isn’t that what we planned?”
“I don’t remember ever having that specific conversation.” He leans back in his chair, his face hard.
