Reality Check

30. Rupert

I genuinely don't know what the heck I'm doing.

Waking up next to Max in Coral Beach felt happy and right. Same thing in Nebraska. The cornhusker state might be home, but our time there still felt like a vacation. It wasn't real life.

Waking up next to him in New York is different.

Because we're in my messy apartment—the elevator still doesn't work, by the way—on my twin-size bottom bunk, and I'm realizing that Max is part of real life, too. Max Vaughn is a very prominent person in my reality.

And by reality, I don't mean reality TV. Not this time.

I won't lie. It scares the shit out of me.

I'm engaged, and I've got the ring to prove it. I'm getting married to a man I met just over a month ago. Our faces—and my ring—are on tabloids across America. I signed two autographs at the airport yesterday. Max signed five. I guess people are into the bad boy persona more than love triangle lady, which is fair.

I'm not who I was when I left New York on that plane, but in a lot of ways, I'm still the old me. I was on the Enlisted set for, like, a month, which isn't enough time to completely transform a person. But still, I feel like the ways I did change contradict who I am—was?—as a person.

I mean, as you already know, I'm Mia Benson. I'm not romantic. I don't think sappy thoughts or share my feelings. I don't let people in. Everyone in my life—with the sole exception of Laurie Benson, of course—leaves me for someone better. Entering an engagement is not something the old Mia—the Before Times Mia—would do. I don't sign myself up for heartbreak. Quite the opposite, actually. I run away as fast as my old Nikes can take me.

I'm impulsive, but I'm not reckless, and what I'm doing is absolutely reckless in a million ways. I'm opening myself up to a broken heart. I'm marrying a guy I just met. Yes, we understand each other on a weirdly deep level, but that doesn't change our timeline. We still got engaged a week after we became an official couple. Now, I'm gearing up to start a life with Max Vaughn, and I don't even know his middle name.

"Good morning, my sexy fiancée," Max murmurs.

"What's your middle name?" I blurt out.

To my surprise, he ducks his head into my pillow and chuckles. "I was hoping you'd never ask me that, Mia Grace."

"Why? Is it an embarrassing middle name?"

"Oh, yeah. Worst of the worst."

I'm intrigued. "Want to tell me, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

"I want you to guess," Max replies slyly.

I groan. "There are a lot of names out there."

"Think of the worst possible ones."

I gasp. "Is it something really bad? Oh, my God, Max. Is your middle name Adol—"

"No! God, no. Nothing like that. It starts with an 'R'. How's that for a hint?"

Well, that's a relief, but a lot of names start with 'R'. I wrack my brain. "Rudolph?"

Max snorts. "Good one, but no."

"Randall?"

"Randall's not bad."

"It's not good," I point out.

I guess correctly somewhere around attempt fifteen. Rupert. Max's middle name is Rupert. I think it's kind of cute in a way, like something you'd name a teddy bear.

"Are you psyching yourself out because we don't know basic facts about each other?" Max asks.

I have to applaud him on that. A couple weeks ago, he would have stated his guess as a fact. He would have been right, but I'm proud he had the courtesy to phrase it as a question. He's learning.