Hooked (5 page)

“Well whatever you did, it seems to have worked,” Brit says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, none of this is true!” I say before shoving the phone back at her. “I didn’t chase him here or force him into anything!”

“Charity, are you all right?” Maggie asks, ignoring Brit.

I shake my head and stand from the couch. “I just need a minute.”

“Of course. Here,” Maggie stands and without asking, leads me to the bathroom. “Let me know if you need anything,” she says before turning to leave me alone.

I sit on the edge of the tub and struggle to hold back the hot tears that have been building up as I pull up the article and read it again.

The second read through somehow settles me, and I start to shake out of my panic. I don’t know why it really matters. Why should I care that the general public is being led to believe that I am this desperate, clingy mess that pined away for Brandon for three years? If I know that it’s not the truth and Brandon knows it’s not the truth and we’re genuinely happy together now, then people should just leave it alone. Let the past be the past.

There is a soft knock on the door and I hurry to wipe off my tears. For a moment I’m frustrated with myself for the way I reacted, knowing that I’ve made a bigger scene than if I had just brushed it off when Brit brought it up in the first place.

I open the door and Brandon is standing to the left. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry if I made it a big deal. It’s just a stupid tabloid thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. Maggie told me what happened after she asked Jim and Brit to leave.” He stops to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against the side of my face.

“I know. It’s okay, really.”

We break apart and Brandon studies my face for a moment, as if determining whether or not I am telling the truth. He kisses my forehead and takes my hand to lead me back to the party. “We’re setting up a bonfire on the beach. You up for a s’more?”

The yucky pit in my stomach wishes I could say ’no’ and retreat back to the security of Brandon’s house again, but I suck it up, smile, and square my shoulders, trying to exude some confidence. “Sounds great.”

“Brandon? Are you awake?”

Nothing.

Dead to the world.

Meanwhile, my brain refuses to shut down, and the dark silence of our bedroom is not helping. I toss and turn for a few minutes, halfway hoping to wake him up, but eventually I fling back my side of the covers and head downstairs.

LeeLee follows at my heels as I shuffle around the kitchen, trying to decide if I want to bake something or if I should have a cup of tea and try to sleep again. I spot Brandon’s phone on the counter and flick it on to check the time.

Seventy-six voicemails. Holy crap. I casually scan through them but it’s all a blur, none of the names sound familiar to me.

Since the story of our past engagement was released, there has been an absolute tidal wave of publicity. The phone calls, emails, and texts have been relentless despite our best efforts to stay low and keep away from crazy town. The story has turned into quite the hot news item and bounces around the different entertainment talk shows and a surprising number of gossip magazines. Requests for appearances, comments, photo shoots, and book deals have been nonstop. The worst part, by far, has been the flock of paparazzi that somehow managed to get past the gates and started camping out on the sidewalk across the street from the house.

The term ’vultures’ becomes more and more appropriate by the day.

His publicist has been trying to wrangle everything and do damage control, but no matter how much he protests, every interview and appearance Brandon has had scheduled suddenly turns into a dissection of his personal life. Our personal life.

I can’t even remember how many times I’ve asked Brandon why these people don’t have something better to do with their lives. He never seems to have an answer for me.

I drop the phone back on the counter and decide to stick with tea. I make a cup and, settling onto the couch with LeeLee draped across my legs, I grab the laptop and boot it up while I wait for the tea to cool down.

I don’t know what possesses me, but next thing I know I’m on a celebrity gossip website scanning headlines.

There is very clearly something wrong with me.

Surprisingly, most of the news outlets seem to put a positive spin on everything, gushing about how happy we are and turning the whole thing into some over-hyped, fairy-tale story. They don’t all get the details consistently right, but the gist is correct. Their biggest concern is when there will there be a second engagement.

Hmmm. Good question. I sit back and take a few careful sips. Things have been so chaotic, I haven’t really had too much time to think about it. I smile to myself, remembering how he proposed the first time, a memory I hadn’t let myself recall in what seems like forever.

I guess I get caught up in the drama of it and keep reading.

I see the headline “Frumpty Dumpty Snags Prince Charming”

With my picture next to it…

Suddenly, I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole into a deep, dark place—the seedy underbelly of the entertainment news world.

I jerk back in my seat, my pulse racing. Deep down, I know the best thing to do would be to slam the laptop closed and go back to bed. But for the life of me, I can’t bring my fingers to shut the computer down or even close the web page.

Link, after link, after link leads to foul, hateful articles and comments. There are entire posts dedicated to pointing out and analyzing my every flaw. Nothing is off limits to these people. The internet has judged me and I’ve been deemed a fat, loser, train wreck of a nobody, who is completely and utterly unworthy of Brandon’s love. As if having a small army of anonymous people dissect my every deficit, the other ’angle’ the so-called news has come up with, is that I am a gold digger who only came out of the woodwork to get at Brandon’s money now that he is rich and famous.

After what seems like an eternity of reading, I finally find the strength to shove the computer away. I stare into the darkness, a rush of emotion flooding over me. Eventually the dam breaks and I crumple into a ball on the couch.

“Charity?”

I stir slightly, brushing a hand over my face.

“Baby, wake up.”

I open my eyes and see Brandon hovering over me, his face etched with concern.

“What’s wrong? Why are you down here?”

“They all hate me.” I wave my hand at the computer screen.

Brandon glances over, his concern shifting to confusion. “Who hates you?” He runs his finger over the trackpad and the screen lights up, revealing the dozens of tabs I had pulled up. “Oh, fuck. Cherry,” he looks back over at me.

I don’t meet his gaze, keeping my eyes on the floor in front of me. He cups a finger under my chin. “Baby, look at me. These fuckers don’t know what they’re talking about. They trash everyone. You shouldn’t even be looking at this stuff.”

I nod. He’s right, but there is nothing I can do now, to erase the hateful words from my memory.

I wish there was.

“Oh, Cherry,” he whispers, pulling me into his chest. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I let him scoop me up off the couch and he gently carries me to our room and tucks me next to him in bed. I fall asleep on his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears that slip down my face and land on the pillow.

***

The next few days pass slowly. I feel like I’m living a zombie life as I wander around the house, refusing to leave. But eventually, things shift. I start to let it go and after week goes by, some new pseudo-scandal hits and everyone moves on with their lives and the spotlight shifts off of us.

Things seem to be dying down and going back to normal—or at least our strange version of normal—just in time for the big banquet.

“You ready for tonight?” Brandon asks, cuddling up to me in bed.

“I think so. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to walk down the red carpet. Ashley is insisting I document everything with my phone,” I answer with a laugh, remembering her excitement. We had talked about all the details at length the day before on video chat, while I contemplated what jewelry to wear with my dress.

Brandon smiles down at me, brushing my hair back. “It’s going to be great. I know it’s been a rough week with the press and all that.”

“I wasn’t expecting it, that’s for sure,” I say, scooting closer to Brandon’s side.

“Well I have some special surprises for you today that might help take your mind off all of that ugliness.”

“You do? What kind of surprises?” I ask, thinking that I’ve probably had enough surprises in the past couple of months to last a lifetime.

The doorbell rings before he can answer. “Ah ha! Part one, starts now.”

He kisses my forehead and gives me a broad smile before sliding out of bed. He throws on his gym shorts and a T-shirt. “Meet me outside in a few minutes. You don’t have to get dressed. Just put on a robe or something.”

I wrinkle my brows together, not sure exactly what is going on.

“Just trust me,” he says in response to my bewildered expression.

“All right,” I hold up my hands. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

He gives me another smile and leaves the bedroom. I hear him jogging down the stairs. As instructed, I get out of bed and pull on my robe.

When I get outside onto the back deck, there are two massage tables set up and a pair of massage therapists waiting. Brandon comes up behind me and leads me to the first table. He holds up the sheet to cover me, while I slip out of my robe and get situated on the table. He runs a hand along my bare back, slides it under the sheet along my lower back, and gives me a wink before going to his table.

Once we are both situated, the therapists start to work on us. I instantly start to relax and before long, I feel like I’m melting into the table. I’ve never had a professional massage before, and suddenly wonder why in the world not! It’s amazing.

After an hour and a half of pure bliss, I somehow find the strength to get up from the table.

“Well, we have about three hours until part two of your surprise gets here. What would you say to a bath?” he asks playfully.

“Oh, a bath! Well I’m not sure,” I say, giggling. “I didn’t think I was allowed to use the bathtub, since I made fun of you for taking baths in the first place.”

“If I remember correctly, you had a way to convince me otherwise,” he says with a laugh. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.

As promised, the second part of the surprise arrives a few hours later. Brandon hired a professional hair and makeup team to come and help me get ready for the awards show.

Brandon makes sure I’m all set up in the master bathroom with the hair and makeup people, and then sneaks off. I settle in and before too long I’m laughing and having a really good time with Trina, the hair stylist, and Gina, the makeup artist. They are probably my age or younger, and make it really easy for me. It actually feels like an old-school sleepover with all the hair accessories and makeup stuff scattered across the counter, as we try different looks and flip through fashion magazines.

Gina tries a few different things, and I end up with a dusty, smoky eye with different brown and gold tones. Trina messes with a few up-do looks but then we decide to do something totally different and we go with a stick-straight look. On a whim, she actually gets out her scissors and gives me side-swept bangs.

I say good-bye to the girls, and then get changed into my dress. I turn to face the mirror and do a double take, hardly recognizing myself. I stare at my reflection for a long moment and run my hands along the front of the dress, smoothing away invisible wrinkles.

“Wow.”

I turn at Brandon’s voice and see him standing in the doorway of the closet, his eyes wide.

“Aww, you ruined my big entrance,” I protest. “I’m supposed to come down the stairs and do the whole big dramatic moment.”

“Sorry baby, but I gotta get dressed too. I don’t think you want me going to the party like this,” he says, looking down at his workout clothes.

I do my best to pretend to pout at him.

“Do you wanna do a twirl?” he asks with a smile.

“Yes,” I say, returning his smile. I do a slow spin and give him a seductive look over my shoulder before turning to face him again.

He comes closer and holds out a box. It looks suspiciously like a jewelry box.

I gasp. “Another surprise?”

“Oh I have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he says. He opens the lid to show a beautiful diamond necklace. It sparkles like something straight out of a jewelry store commercial.

“Oh my—Brandon, you can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says. “Come here. Let me put it on for you.”

I spin around again and hold up my hair as he puts the necklace on. His fingers linger and slide down my back. His hands settle on my waist as he pulls me against him and he leans down to graze my exposed neck with his lips, sending a shiver down my spine.

I look up and catch a reflection of us in the mirror. The moment feels so surreal and the image staring back at me only makes it stand out more.

I feel something get pressed into my hand. I look down and see a smaller jewelry box. It’s ring sized and for a moment my heart seems to jump out of my chest. I open the box slowly to reveal two diamond studs that are the same cut as the necklace, just on a smaller scale.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he says.

I reach up and kiss him softly.

Neither one of us makes a move to pull away for a long time, but the awareness that we only have a little bit of time left to finish getting ready seems to hit and we separate. Brandon gives me one final kiss before he walks to the other side of the closet and starts to grab the things he needs to get ready.

I put my new earrings in and give myself one final look over, still not used to the new ’glammed up’ version of myself. For the most part, I normally feel pretty comfortable in my own skin and with my sense of style. This whole day has been outside of my normal comfort zone, but I have to admit, I feel pretty amazing right now. I glance over at Brandon as he starts to pull off his shirt and think of how lucky I am.

I don’t know why, but suddenly the memory of the blog articles comes back to haunt me, and I can hear the echo of their harsh words in my mind. In that moment, Brandon looks over at me and smiles, and the words fade again.