“CJ believes it,” he murmurs, more talking to himself than to me. I try to follow his train of thought, but replaying it has caused deafening panic to strike again. Every single breath—each thought—takes an enormous amount of effort. How we are going to fix this? “So will everyone else.”
Exactly, I want to scream at him. Everyone will believe it’s us. How could they not?
Colton turns my chair around so I’m facing him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I’m already shaking my head no because that gleam in his eye means he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. And God yes, I trust him, but this isn’t a normal, “can you trust me?” type of question. “CJ watched this. He believed what they said.”
“Huh?” I’m not following him.
“Don’t you get it, Ry? They have no clue the woman is you. Your face . . . it’s not identifiable in one single frame.”
“But every other part of me is,” I shriek, as the sudden knowledge of where he’s going with this forms in my head. He can’t be serious. My stomach knots, forcing me to focus on breathing for a moment as my eyes look deep into his and question what I see there.
“Watch it again.”
“I don’t want to watch it again,” I shout, shrugging his hands off my shoulders and not liking what he’s suggesting one bit. “And I refuse to entertain whatever idea is in your head.” Panic returns with a vengeance.
“Hear me out, Ry,” he says, getting down to eye level with me as I avert my eyes to where my hands are resting on my belly. “Please look at me.” I take a moment before I raise my eyes and I’m glad that when I do, he seems as conflicted as I feel. “Do you really think that if we pay off whoever this person is they won’t keep an extra tape for insurance? That they won’t get their money and accidentally let the tape end up on the Internet?”
“Colton . . .”
“No, Ry. You just told me TMZ called you. They’ve already contacted media and planted a seed. Do you actually think they’d do that if they’d planned on taking the money and then disappearing with the video for good? Something is off here, and I can’t figure out what the fuck it is.”
His comments weigh down the atmosphere around us and it takes everything I have to blink, to breathe, to think, because this just can’t be happening. He’s right. The fact they’ve already contacted a tabloid tells me it’s something more . . . and hell if I know what the more is or why the video is surfacing right now.
“I’ve been wracking my brain, have some ideas, but that’s beside the point, right now. The point is they want money, want to make us panic . . . want to tear us apart right when we’re about to be happiest we’ve ever been with the baby coming.” His eyes soften momentarily as he looks down to where my hands rest before looking back up to me with more resolve than I want him to have. “Think about it, Ry,” he urges, and I hate that he makes so much sense.
He can tell my mind is spinning and my ears are tuning him out. I grit my teeth and fight a wave of nausea. “What exactly are you thinking?”
His chest rises as he takes in a deep breath, and I fear he’s preparing himself for the backlash from whatever he has to say. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“What’s not? The video? The situation? The idea in your head?” My voice rises with each word.
“All of it,” he states.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, eyes wide with disbelief. “There’s a video of you screwing me on the hood of a Ferrari!”
“No. There’s a video of me fucking somebody on the hood of the Ferrari. Your face is never shown. The only people who know that dress is red are you and me. The only people who know you hold your hands over your tits when you’re about to come, or that you reach out and scratch your nails over my hip like that when I come, are you and me. No. One. Else.”
I just keep shaking my head, eyes blinking, pulse pounding in my ears. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.” I throw my hands up, helpless and astounded. “So easy for you to suggest when the video is so dark you can barely see your dick but you sure as hell can see all of me, laid out and spread-eagle.”
“Listen to me, Ry. I couldn’t care less if my dick was on display or not.”
“Stupid me. I forgot you’re used to being seen by the masses. After all, you were the playboy once upon a time. You had your dick on display for more women than I care to count.” I take a dig at him, wanting him to be as upset as I am over this whole thing.
“That’s exactly my point. I’m the notorious playboy. The player. People expect this shit from me.”
“But they’re going to think you cheated on me,” I say, completely dumbfounded by the turn of events. And while I may have learned not to care what people think, I do care about that.
“I don’t give a fuck what people think about me . . . you know that. The only person that matters is you. You know I didn’t cheat on you—”
“This is a bad idea, Colton.”
“I’m not paying some bastard three mil so he or she can turn around and release the tape anyway. I don’t bow down to threats, Ry. Never have. Never will.” We stare at each other in silence and his words sink in, take hold, and as much as I want to reject the idea immediately, I fear that what he says is true.
“But what about your parents? My parents? The baby?” I say, each passing moment adding more panicked dread to my voice. “There’s going to be a video out there, documented for them to google and know about.” I have to stop. A gasp falls from my lips because as the baby moves into my ribs my breath doesn’t come fast enough.
“Calm down, Ry. Please.” He sits on his knees again and pulls me against him. I close my eyes, attempt to wish this all away, yet know there is no way that’s possible. “We’ll tell our family it’s not what they think. That it’s Photoshopped. We’ll have Chase issue a press release to the media. It’ll say something like we were sent this tape that’s been tampered with. That we were being blackmailed for a ridiculous amount of money and we won’t entertain paying for it because my image has been cut and pasted into it somehow, and it’s not true.”
I push him away and just stare at him, seeing the logic but at the same time, that’s us on there. Him and me. “No one’s going to believe it, Colton. You know better than anyone the press is going to run with the story and report it in the worst light possible. Sensationalize it. Try to document how distraught I am. Dig up old photos of you with other women, plaster them all over the pages to show that’s how you are.”
“Who cares?”
“I do,” I scream, causing his head to startle while I stare at him with blank, disbelieving eyes. Surely it’s not possible that what I’m thinking and what he’s saying is the same thing. “I’d care that people think you are fucking around behind my back. I’d hate that people would think I’m this meek woman holding on to her famous husband because she has this new baby and can’t get any better so she stays.” The first tear falls over my cheek and I shove it away, hating that it fell and despising I just admitted that.
“No! All that matters is what you and I know,” he emphasizes but it falls on deaf ears. “The press isn’t going to—”
“That’s what they do.”
“Rylee—”
“Don’t Rylee me! Do you want some sick fuck somewhere jacking off to images of you and me having sex? I mean, seriously? Doesn’t that make your stomach turn, Colton? I’m your wife. Not some whore you slept with and discarded for God’s sake.” I push myself out of the chair needing to get away from him and get some perspective. He’s talking crazy, and right now, I have enough crazy in my life.