Chapter Four

Lena

I can't believe I was able to say all that to Riley.

I slap my forehead as I rest my head on a pillow. My eyes point to the turquoise ceiling.

I'd been meaning to say that since I saw him, since before the ceremony started. I rehearsed variations of the lines in my head. I didn't have a chance to speak up, though, not with the camera rolling. Not until a few minutes ago. Even then, I nearly faltered.

I place my hand over my chest. My heart has slowed down now, back to its steady beat. Earlier, though, when Riley put his arm around me, my heart was pounding like crazy. When I felt his lips on the back of my shoulder, I couldn't breathe. I still don't know how I managed to pull away. I still don't know where I got the courage to speak. Somehow, I just opened my mouth and the words came tumbling out.

My arms fall to my sides on the bed. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Thank goodness I was able to get that out of the way. And thank goodness Riley seemed fine with it.

Well, he seemed surprised at first. But he didn't get mad or complain or try to argue with me. For a moment there, when he grabbed the pillow from me, I thought he was angry. But he just wanted to give me the bed, which is sweet, I guess. I wasn't expecting that. I actually thought he'd be kind of a jerk. Stuck-up. Selfish. Vain. And hard to talk to. But Riley's actually nice. Friendly. Funny. Thoughtful.

I shake my head as I wrap my arms around a pillow.

Whoa. Why am I sounding like a girl with a crush? No. I do not have a crush on Riley Boyle. I'm just pleasantly surprised, is all. And maybe impressed. And maybe...

Oh, fine. I have a crush on him. I'd be a slab of stone not to. I may be a virgin, but I still am a woman, and Riley Boyle is very much a man. Just a while ago, when he caught me in his arms, I caught the smell of sweat off him--I didn't even know swimmers could sweat--and my knees turned to mush.

It's a good thing Riley agreed not to share the bed with me or I'm sure I wouldn't be able to sleep at all. I do feel a tad guilty that he's sleeping on the chaise lounge, though.

I get up and put another pillow on it and then the comforter so he can be, well, more comfortable. Then I go back to the bed and crawl under the blanket. It's thinner, but it should be fine. I have my pajamas on, anyway. Well, they're not mine. Paula got them from the wardrobe department since I didn't have time to get my things from my apartment. But they feel snug enough. I should be able to sleep like a bug in a rug.

In fact, I'm going to do that now, I think as I let out a yawn. It's been a crazy day and I suddenly feel tired. I close my eyes, and within moments, I drift off to sleep.

~

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the silence. Usually, the first thing I hear is Mrs. Diaz's Pomeranian next door barking at the spray bottle as she waters her plants while saying her morning prayers. Or the blender from Josie's apartment as she makes breakfast smoothies to earn extra income. Or the thuds from Nate's treadmill upstairs.

But right now, I'm hearing nothing. Weird.

Then I turn on my back and see the turquoise ceiling and understand why. I'm not at my apartment in downtown LA. I'm at a house somewhere in between Monterey and San Luis Obispo. I'm on a reality show.

With Riley Boyle.

I sit up and turn towards the chaise lounge near the window. My eyes grow wide as I find it empty.

Where is Riley? I don't hear the shower, so he must be outside. Was he unable to sleep last night? Did he decide to leave because of what I asked of him?

Now that I think of it, what I did is a little unfair to him. He came here to have a wife, after all, or at least experience what it's like to have one, to have an ordinary, married life. And of course he'd feel cheated if he couldn't get that. He has every reason to complain to Ms. Deedee, to ask to leave the show.

Shit. Why didn't I think of that before?

Panicking, I rush out of the bedroom. Each time I pass a room and see no sign of Riley, my anxiety increases.

Is he really gone?

Then, as I pass by the pool a second time, I see him. Of course he'd be in the pool. He must have been underwater earlier. That's why I missed him. Now he's emerging. As he grips the bars and climbs up, I find myself mesmerized.

Drops of water trickle down his skin, following the paths between well-defined muscles. They drip off his biceps. They roll down his spine, some seeping into his black Speedo trunks which cling to his firm backside and his thighs like a second skin. The rest make their way down his bulging calves and slim ankles to create a puddle around his feet.

Now, that is a body!

I swallow the lump in my throat and take in a gulp of air. Weird. Riley is the one who swam, but I'm the one out of breath.

As he turns, I hide behind a pillar on instinct--only to question it a moment after. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just... ogling a man. A swimmer. I'm studying a swimmer's anatomy.

Yeah, right.

I glance at the ceiling. Wait. The cameras didn't catch me spying on Riley, did they? Shit. I sure hope not.

But just in case, I try to walk inside the house as normally as I can. I go to the bathroom to wash up, then to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Just as it finishes brewing, Riley walks in.

My gaze pivots towards him, but I tear it away as I realize he's still in those trunks with just the addition of a towel around his shoulders.

Put on a shirt, damn it.

Then again, he's probably showing off for the camera. I'm sure the crew is loving it.

"Good morning, honey," he greets.

Honey?

"Morning," I mutter as I pour myself a cup of coffee. "Do you drink coffee or is it just all protein shakes?"

Riley chuckles. "For the record, I don't drink protein shakes."

"Oh."

"How does that coffee taste?" he asks.

I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. "Not bad."

Maybe a little too robust for my liking, but--

My thoughts evaporate as Riley walks towards me. At first I think he's going to take a sip from my cup, but then he places his hand on my cheek and presses our lips firmly together. Not just that. His tongue slips in between. As it brushes against mine, I feel something hotter than the cup in my hands swirl in my belly. My shoulders and knees quiver.

What the hell?

Afterwards, he whispers in my ear, "Don't forget the world's watching. We can't let them down."

I know. I haven't forgotten. And I know I agreed to play along. Still, was that kiss necessary?

"You're right," Riley says out loud. He licks his lips. "The coffee isn't bad. I think I'll have a cup."

"Okay."

As soon as my back is turned to him, I draw a deep breath. Then I set my cup down and try to keep my hands steady as I pour him one.

"You slept soundly last night," he remarks. "Then again, you must have been exhausted."

"Yeah. How about you?"

"Better than I have in ages. I think married life suits me."

Liar. I'm sure he's slept better.

Then it dawns on me that he's implying we had sex last night, which is probably what the world expects. When I turn to him, I find him with a wide grin. I give him his cup of coffee and lift mine to cover my blushing cheeks.

Damn, he's a good actor. And something tells me he's enjoying this.

I'm not, but I can't let him do all the work. And I don't want to disappoint Ms. Deedee after she picked me to be on this show.

"Isn't it too soon to say that, babe?" I ask him as I lower my cup. "Surely last night was just a warm-up."

His dark eyes grow wide. What? Did I go too far?

Then his eyes grow even darker as they narrow. "Oh, you bet."

Fresh heat tingles in my veins. Shit. I don't think I can do this after all.

Just then, I hear the front door open, then footsteps. Seconds later, I see the host of the show, Seth Sinclair, step into the kitchen. He gives Riley a pat on the shoulder as he congratulates him then shakes my hand.

"So, how are you two doing?" he asks as his teeth gleam in a perfect smile. "It looks like you've settled right in."

"We have," Riley agrees.

"And you look like you've already tried the pool," Seth tells him. "I knew you'd like that."

"It's smaller than I'm used to," Riley answers. "But it's fine."

Seth laughs.

"How about you, Lena?" he asks me. "How do you feel? Does this all still feel surreal to you?"

"Definitely," I answer. "I can hardly believe it's real."

Because it's not.

"Well, I'm sure it feels like a dream come true to be married to a celebrity," Seth says. "But yes, it's time to get more real. The honeymoon is over, and as you know, today, your challenges as man and wife begin. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Riley answers confidently.

"I hope so," I add.

Someone hands Seth a wine bucket brimming with confetti and he holds it up.

"Mr. and Mrs. Boyle, it's time for you to pick your first challenge."

I glance at Riley.

"You do it," he tells me.

I hesitate. "Sure?"

"Go on," Seth urges me.

So I dip my hand inside the bucket and lift the first cork I get my hands on. Then I hand it to Seth and he reads the tiny scroll tucked inside.

You've sworn to stick together through highs and lows.

Can you reach the top? God only knows.

I clasp a hand over my mouth as I let out a gasp. Is this challenge what I think it is?

Then someone brings Seth a pair of hiking shoes and I know I'm right.

"Today, the two of you are going for a hike," Seth announces.

I shake my head. "No way."

No fucking way. I've tried hiking before with my family and I still remember how much I hated it what with all the cuts I got and the insect bites and the aches after. Of all the challenges in that bucket, why did it have to be the hiking one?

Riley, on the other hand, looks thrilled. He grins as he puts an arm around my shoulder.

"Come on, honey. Where's your sense of adventure?"

~

This isn't adventure. This is torture. Or so I think as I follow Riley up the dusty trail.

The sun is beating down on us. I can feel the sweat sticking to my armpits and piling up between my breasts. My throat feels dry because I don't want to drink too much water because I don't want to have to pee in a bush. My feet are killing me.

And yet Riley makes it seem so easy. He's sweating too, but he's hardly out of breath. I even heard him humming a while ago.

It must be because he's an athlete. For him, this is just like training. It's fun. For a couch potato like me, it's hell.

"Are you alright?" Riley asks me for about the hundredth time as he stops and turns.

I sit on a nearby rock. "I don't think I can take any more of this."

And I'm not acting. I really am fucking tired.

Besides, this is pointless. We get to the top and then what? We'll just have to climb back down.

"Yes, you can," he encourages me.

I shake my head. "You go ahead. I'll wait here."

Riley shakes his head in turn. "I'm not going without you. Even if that means I have to carry you."

My eyebrows arch. Is he serious? Well, he looks like it.

"You don't have to do that."

"Then why don't you walk ahead of me? That way, you can set the pace. And I can push you from behind if you need it."

I frown. "We'll never get there."

"Yes, we will as long as we keep moving."

"It's too far."

"Nothing is ever too far. And something is only far when you're not walking towards it."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Wow. You could write a book on motivation."

Riley chuckles. "If you can still make fun of me, you have enough energy to walk."

He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

"I'm not making fun of you," I tell him. "I really am amazed at how you athletes manage to train so hard and push yourselves to the limit. Why?"

"Because we're masochists," he kids.

I pout.

He takes a towel out of his backpack and wipes the sweat off my forehead. "Well, I don't know why other athletes do it, but for me, I do it because I can't imagine not doing it, because I know no other way to feel alive."

My eyebrows crease. "You feel alive when you're killing yourself?"

He shrugs and gives another chuckle. "All I know is that there's nothing like the thrill of pursuing a goal like your life depended on it, nothing like the joy of surpassing your former self and triumphing over your own doubts."

"But you can do that when you're doing other things, too, like when you're making a movie or--"

"But in sports, especially in individual sports, it's all up to you. And sometimes, just a small amount of extra effort can make a world of difference."

I say nothing. I think I understand what he's saying, but I really don't think I can go on.

"Come on." Riley pulls my arm. "You're not a quitter, are you? And I'm definitely not quitting on you."

I lift my head to meet his gaze. My breath catches.

He means it. He really means it. And somehow, I can't turn away. An athlete's determination is a dangerous thing. It's powerful. Contagious. Before I know it, my body is moving forward again.

"That's it," Riley praises my effort. "One step at a time."

I take another step. I guess it's amazing what you can do when someone believes in you. My dad usually just let me give up. If I didn't want to do something, he didn't force me. Same with my mom. And yet Riley's not letting up.

I guess I'll do my best to continue. For him.

"I sure hope we get to the top soon."

~

When we do, I'm even more tired and sweaty, and I'm aching all over. But the cool breeze sweeping through my hair and caressing my cheeks gives me some relief. The spectacular view washes some of my exhaustion away. I commit it to memory since I don't have my camera with me.

Then there's that feeling Riley talked about--the feeling of reaching your goal, of accomplishing something you never thought possible.

I feel that now. And yes, I have to admit it's pretty amazing.

"You're smiling," Riley observes out loud.

I glance at him. "Well, we reached the top, didn't we?"

He pats my shoulder. "You should be proud of yourself. I'm proud of you."

The smile he sends my way makes my heart speed up again.

"Thanks," I tell him. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."

"But you will next time," Riley assures me. "You're stronger than you were before."

Am I? I don't know. But I do know this. I won't ever forget this sense of accomplishment.

Or this beautiful sunset.

When Riley grabs my hand, I don't jerk it away. I just let his fingers entwine with mine. Warmth, blazing orange just like the sky, bursts in my chest. My head naturally falls against his arm.

I guess some things are worth almost killing yourself for.