I spent the entire car ride having a panic attack about the bombshell that had just been dropped in my lap. A bombshell that provided a million questions and absolutely no answers. What in the hell was going on? Why would Julian just abandon me like that right after our ultrasound? Whatever was happening, I could have stood with him! I could help him make it right. To hell with the media or anyone else who thought our relationship was fake.

We made a child. I’d seen it with my own two eyes. That was something… That was real.

I leaned forward in my seat, my head in my hands as I tried my damnedest to remind myself that the world was not actually spinning and that it was all in my head.

I reached forward and pressed the little intercom button just below the privacy glass that separated me from the driver.

“I want to go back to my place,” I said quietly.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but you’ve got places to be. Julian wants you on a plane in thirty minutes,” came the reply.

I could already feel my chest beginning to tighten and the start of yet another wave of nausea rearing its ugly head. Julian had just stuffed me into this car, and now he wanted me on a plane?

I couldn’t help but wonder what Julian was doing—how he was handling all of this. It had only been a few minutes since we’d seen one another, and already I wished that he was in the car with me, comforting me with those gentle touches and the accent that I’d come to enjoy over the course of these last few days. I wanted to have him by my side to tell me that everything was going to be okay, and that no matter what, he’d be there when the smoke cleared.

Who cared if people thought this was a sham? What mattered was the way we felt about each other.

I cursed an errant tear as I pulled out my phone. I’d forgotten to take it off silent after we’d left the doctor’s office, which I supposed was understandable, given the news we’d received. I checked my messages, but to my surprise, there wasn’t even so much as a text from Jen. If there was big news about Julian Bastille, wouldn’t she have been all over something like this?

In a way, I felt abandoned. The whole world was speeding by me as I sat alone in this car, just waiting for some new bomb to detonate and bathe my life in nuclear fire.

I wanted to tell myself that it would all be all right—that Julian and I would weather this. We’d only known one another for a short time, but in that time, he’d shown me the kind of man he was—or at least, the kind of man that he wanted to be. Would he throw that all away at the first sign of trouble? Though if that were the case, then wouldn’t he have turned tail and ran when I’d said that I was pregnant with his child? He hadn’t done that—in fact, he’d stepped up.

“We’re going to be all right,” I said to myself, thankful for the privacy glass that separated me from the driver. I didn’t want to be seen. All I wanted was to be safe and hidden from the world, but the closer that we got to the airport, the more I began to realize that I would hardly get my wish.

We finally pulled up to a part of the airport I’d never been anywhere close to. A large hanger was labeled GULFSTREAM and a handful of small private jets sat quietly on the runway. A sea of paparazzi was waiting for me as the door opened, cameras flashing as they shoved microphones and smart phones in my face, eager to get something on tape. I pushed through them quickly and boarded the jet, thankful to leave those vultures behind. All they wanted was to pick clean the carcasses of whoever was unfortunate enough to fall along the wayside of fame and fortune. I’d only been famous for a few days, and already I hated them with every fiber of my being.

“Glad to have you aboard,” a man shouted from the cockpit. “Get yourself buckled in. We’ve got places to be and no time to get there.”

I didn’t ask questions. If Julian wanted me here, I knew he must have his reasons. I sat back in one of the huge comfortable chairs and closed my eyes as I waited for my plane to take flight. The nausea seemed to die down as I took deep breaths. Maybe everything was going to be okay…

* * *

I awoke to the sound of wheels chirping on tarmac. Huge skyscrapers filled the view out the small window next to my seat, and I knew instantly where I was…

New York City?

I’d barely been given a chance to react to my new surroundings. I stepped out of the plane just long enough to take a breath and get thrown straight back into another black town car. The driver sped across town as the towering skyline surrounded us in a man made canyon of brick and steel and glass. I’d never seen anything like this in my life.

We pulled up along the front entrance of the hotel, and just as expected, there was a crowd of press waiting for me there. I wanted to scream and cry and hide all at the same time, to curl into a ball and disappear completely from the universe. I felt so small, like an ant about to be crushed beneath the boot of someone so much larger than I. But even that would have been too merciful, too quick, compared to what was about to happen.

None of this made sense. What could possibly be going on that deserved this level of attention? I wanted my life to be my own again—I was so tired of the spotlight and the heavy chains it seemed to come with.

The moment I stepped out of the car, they were on top of my like a pack of wild dogs taking down a kill. Flashing lights blinded me, almost making me stumble as I did my best to push past them.

“Ms. Lawson! Ms. Lawson!” one of the reporters cried over the throng, “Why did you fake your marriage to Mr. Bastille?”

“I didn’t—” I tried to say before I was cut off by yet another question.

“Was it his money? Were you planning on taking everything he had in the divorce? Who helped you take advantage of him?”

“What?!” I felt like I’d been punched right in the stomach. Taken advantage of Julian? What in the world were they talking about?

“Is it true that you traveled to Las Vegas specifically to sleep with Mr. Bastille?” another reporter asked. “How long had you been planning this con of yours?”

“I would never—” I stammered, the sting of tears forcing me to shut my eyes. I couldn’t hold back the sobs as I tried all the harder to get to the front doors, wincing every time someone demanded I answer for a thousand different theories concerning my relationship with Julian. I felt so violated, so exposed, that I might as well have been naked out there on that street, all eyes on me as they immortalized the moment for all the world to see.

“When did you decide that Julian Bastille would be your target?” another reporter asked.

“Were you trying to flee to the United Kingdom? Was this attempt to get UK citizenship all a part of some plan to escape your crippling debt?”

“What are you talking about?” I shouted as more and more reporters tried to squeeze themselves closer.

I swatted the nearest microphone away, finally breaking free from the crowd and pushing through the doors into the lobby of the hotel. Already I could hear some of the press following after me, hoping to get the upper hand on their fellows and maybe even catch an exclusive.

“Ms. Lawson!” a man—someone I even recognized from television—called after me. “How could you do this to Julian Bastille?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. All of these wild accusations had driven me over the edge—and despite promising myself that I wouldn’t say anything to these monsters, I couldn’t spend another moment helplessly hounded by them, either. I wouldn’t just cower when the world called me such awful things—I was going to fight back.

I was going to take control.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I would never hurt Julian,” I said, whipping around on the reporter and his accompanying cameraman. They both flinched backward, eyes wide, apparently not anticipating my wrath. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not in this for the damn money. Our life—Julian’s and mine—is exactly that. Ours. And that means it’s none of your business.” I could have stopped right there, but taking the reins like this had opened up the floodgates on my anger. Seething, I added, “Now fuck off!”

As though they’d smelled blood in the water, a flurry of additional questions came roaring in, and more and more of the reporters from outside began filing in, convinced I was not willing to answer their questions.

“Ms. Lawson! Are you faking your pregnancy?” a new reporter demanded to know. “Is the child even Julian’s? Has there been a paternity test? Whose baby is it?”

I wanted to kick myself for giving them even a bit of an answer. The longer I stood there, fixed to the floor of the lobby, the louder and more demanding they became for answers, cameras once again flashing in my face.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, frozen, until hotel security finally intervened, pushing back the crowd and swiftly guiding me toward the elevator. They asked what room I was staying in, and I readily told them. Whatever it took to get me out of this mess, that was what I was willing to do. They could have asked me for my social security number in exchange for safe haven, and in that moment, I might very well have given it to them.

Everything after that passed by as if I was in a dream, time moving in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, my brain reeling from the trauma of what had just occurred—the accusations that had been leveled at me from people who didn’t even know me. Why the hell were they accusing me of conning Julian?

Before I knew it I was in a suite. The security officers were standing at the threshold, asking that I stay in my room until the reporters could be removed from the premises. I nodded numbly and shut the door behind me, slumping against it. Just like that, I was alone again, my face wet from the fountain of tears I had cried in the elevator, still shaking as I tried to hold back the tide of sobs threatening to wrack my ribs. How had all of this gone so wrong?

I never should have gone along with this, I thought, shuffling toward the couch in the common area. My knees gave out just as I reached it and I sat, hard, letting the cushions all but swallow me whole. We should have just told the truth right from the beginning. Let the world know we made a silly drunken mistake, and see what happened from there. This could have been done quietly, instead of trying to have our cake and eat it too. We should have—

I took out my phone again and tried to call Julian, but the moment I hit the “call” button, a prerecorded message played instead.

“We’re sorry, your device has been disconnected from the network. For more information, please contact…”

I threw the cell onto the bed and reached for the hotel phone on the table. Before I could dial a single number, a large television on the wall caught my attention. Julian had just stepped into view. Shaking, I grabbed for the remote and turned up the volume.