Mira still looks at me, her eyes sharp with skepticism. “Then he should’ve watched it in peace. Besides, he hasn’t released tapes with other women, has he?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Mira!” I almost shout at her. “You know my being Ryder’s fiancée is going to put him right smack into the spotlight. I didn’t want this, okay? How am I going to face the people I know?” Then it dawns on me. “Is this the reason Ryder’s made himself scarce?”
“He’s understandably upset. Any fiancé would be, don’t you agree? This doesn’t look good.”
I bury my face in my hands. Of course. Who would be okay with something like this? It’s ugly and fucked up. And we’re only three weeks away from our big ceremony. With our upcoming nuptials still of interest to the public, this tape is going to get additional press. I can just see the way the talk shows are going to go.
Let’s talk about the grand and rather unexpected wedding between Ryder Reed and Paige Johnson.
Absolutely, but before we do that, have you hear about the scandal?
The tape? Of course! Who hasn’t?
Then there’s what Mira’s said before—when a woman has sex, she’s a slut. When a man does it, he’s a stud. This doesn’t hurt Shaun one bit. It might get him the face-time he wants on TV, a way to talk himself up…a first rung on the ladder to his dreams of acting.
“Where’s Ryder?” I ask. I have to talk to him before he jumps to conclusions.
“Shouldn’t you be looking up reporters’ phone numbers?”
“I don’t want this!” I yell. I can’t help it. This is my life. “Do you think I can face my parents with that out there? My friends? Can you just for once understand that not everyone wants to be famous?”
Mira’s gaze wavers for a moment, but her voice stays hard. “Last I saw, he was in his office.”
I turn and rush up the stairs as fast as I can in my four-inch heels and a floor-length gown.
Ryder’s still in his office. A scowl darkens his face, and his mouth and chin are set in grim lines. He is pacing, which makes my spine prickle. When he’s upset, he drinks. For him to pace… He’s beyond upset. He’s only a hairsbreadth away from blowing up.
“Ryder…”
His head snaps in my direction. His jaw works, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Are you?”
“I don’t know what happened. I didn’t make the tape, I swear.”
“Do you think I’m upset about the tape?”
I pause for a moment. “Aren’t you?”
He rubs his face with both his hands. “Why did you arrange for an interview with Derek?”
The interview? What does that have to do with the tape? “He contacted me. He has my number from that time when—”
“He was supposed to go through Christopher.”
“Yes, but Christopher wasn’t letting anybody interview me, and Derek thought I should be able to tell my side of the story. People are out there saying horrible things about me. Why shouldn’t I be ab
le to defend myself?”
“They’re just a handful of hateful comments,” Ryder says, flinging an arm out. “I can’t believe you fell for it. It’s the journalists’ job to make you feel like you have to talk to them.”
“They aren’t just ‘a handful’ of comments, Ryder. Have you seen them?” My chest rises and falls shallowly. I’m too upset now, as all my anxiety and unhappiness over the negative publicity floods into me. “They’re nasty. They’re calling me names because I am marrying you when I’m not a size two, or don’t have a model’s face, or don’t come with a huge trust fund in my name. They’re furious because I don’t deserve to be with someone like you. It’s my weight and it’s because I don’t fit the mold. Maybe any publicity is good publicity for people in the industry, but not for me. I never wanted this, and yes, I resent it, and I want to talk about how wrong they are to judge me based on my dress size or my job.”
Ryder’s gaze hardens, anger still seething in their blue depth. Nothing I said has penetrated.
“And I’m not paying for her mistakes,” I say.