Page 37 of All Fall Down

Chapter Thirteen

My dreamsof joining the Mile-High Club are dashed by the perpetual influx of calls Jameson takes on the way back to Las Vegas. Considering the shock numbing my body, it’s probably for the best.

The entire cabin of the West private jet has been turned into a miniature war room. The stack of newspapers waiting on the table when we boarded has been strewn across its entire surface. Each of the headlines is a glimpse into the situation awaiting us at home, and the picture it paints is bleak. Not only are the allegations against Hans as sickening as expected, but the reporters are doing an admirable job of tying all of the summer scandals into one big story.

Nathaniel West’s murder has nothing to do with Hans van Essen but the fact that my former step-father had been planning to make a movie based on his death has encouraged journalists to jump to bizarre conclusions. The coincidence might have been left at that if it weren’t for one common denominator between the two stories: me.

The milder features and editorials are in reputable newspapers. But the stack of gossip magazines delivered fresh from the presses take a bad situation and turn it into a nightmare. I’d been kidding when I joked earlier that the tabloids were reporting that I murdered Nathaniel West and was pregnant with Jameson’s baby. Apparently, I have a knack for creative journalism, but the tales the tabloids spun of treachery and twisted family loyalties were beyond my scope of imagination.

Jameson takes another call and I sneak one of the gossip rags off the table and begin to read the cover story.

Summer arrived with murder in Belle Mère, Nevada, Las Vegas’s most exclusive enclave. In a crime that shocked the nation, real estate mogul Nathaniel West was found murdered in his home atop the West Casino and Resort on the Las Vegas Strip. The discovery was made after his daughter, former reality star Monroe West, threw an end of the year party for her classmates at Belle Mère Prep.

The bizarre story doesn’t end there. Initial investigation seemed to be directed at Nathaniel’s son, heir to the West real estate empire. But what young billionaire is going to get his own hands dirty? Sources close to the investigation say that Emma Southerly, a friend of West’s sister and a party-goer that fateful night, was so lovesick over Jameson that she agreed to carry out his plans for Nathaniel’s murder.

What’s in it for her? Newly released pictures have us speculating that she’s providing Jameson West with more than an alibi. Is that a baby bump we spot? The two were seen canoodling in a New York eatery this weekend. According to a friend of Southerly, the couple was in New York to quietly elope. Has Emma Southerly seduced Jameson West or is this simply an attempt to secure their love child’s future claim to the West fortune?

Regardless, Jameson West better watch his back where Ms. Southerly is concerned. According to a friend of the couple, the eighteen-year-old prep-school senior has major daddy issues and might have been one of her step-father, Hans van Essen’s many victims.

If the two are looking for honeymoon suggestions, might we suggest a brief trip to couple’s therapy?

I reach the end of the page and a strange emotion begins to bubble inside me. A few seconds later, I’m laughing. Jameson steps back into the main cabin, eying me with concern as he finishes his latest phone call.

“No one will believe that,” he informs me, taking the magazine from my hands and dumping it ceremoniously into a nearby trashcan.

“People will believe it,” I tell him. “They’re always going to believe these things about me. I’m just a gold-digger desperate to get my claws into you, after all.”

Jameson’s jaw twitches. “If that’s the case, I take it I finally have my answer.”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s referring to his proposal. The gossip rags might take away my dignity, but they won’t take my freedom. I shake my head. “I’m not going to make life decisions based on tabloids. But you’re right. I have made my decision.”

“And?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“No,” I tell him softly. He begins to turn away before I add, “And yes.”

“That’s not an answer, Duchess,” he warns me in a cold voice.

“Let me clarify.” I stand up just as we hit a pocket of turbulence, and I’m thrown forward. Jameson catches me. I half expect him not to, given the chilling distance he’s demonstrating.

“Not right now. In five years, when I’m done with college, or my first parole has been granted”—at the rate we’re going, either seems equally possible—“then yes, I will marry you…if you still want me.”

“I will always want you.” His promise takes my breath away. There’s an absolute certainty to it that not even I can doubt.

“But I’m not marrying you to solidify an alibi or to legally prevent you from having to testify against me.” I need to be clear in this, especially as we jump into the fray at home.

“I don’t want you to marry me for those reasons. I want you to marry me because you love me,” he says sharply. “I didn’t ask you as a means of strategy. I asked you because you ran away and I thought I’d lost you. I never want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. But you don’t have to put a ring on it to keep me from running away again.”

“But you ran the first time,” he reminds me. A note of accusation in his tone.

“I had a reason to then.”

“There is never a reason to run from me, Duchess,” he growls. I want to point out that he’s completely wrong about that, or at least I thought he was. “Promise me you won’t run again.”

“I won’t run again,” I vow, starring up into his eyes. His arms tighten around my waist possessively.

“What does it matter if we get married young?”