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.

"Maybe."

"Let's order breakfast and learn basic facts, then."

"Sounds like a good plan, Ru—"

"Every time you call me that, I'm deducting one orgasm from all the ones I'm going to give you today."

My mouth pops open. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Grace."

Joke's on him. I don't mind my middle name. It doesn't fit me all that well because I'm anything but graceful, but it's pretty and flows well with 'Mia' and 'Benson'.

The joke is also on me a bit, because if he follows through on that threat, I'm not going to be a happy camper.

Breakfast arrives via bike delivery guy—I love New York—an hour later. "Favorites now, least favorites later?" I propose.

"Let's do this," he says with a grin.

In summary, Max's favorites are red, Die Hard, Fahrenheit 451, football, Dublin, Entourage, apple pie, lobster, and dogs. Mine are blue (aqua, specifically), Mean Girls, the Harry Potter series (the fourth is the best), football to watch and jogging to do, Aruba, The Office, chocolate mousse, mac and cheese with breadcrumbs, and dogs.

In case you're wondering how on Earth I managed to read every Harry Potter book, I'll educate you on something called hyper-focus. ADHD doesn't always mean zoning out and distraction. Sometimes, we become so enthralled in something that we can't focus on anything else. When I was a kid, I enjoyed drawing, even though I was terrible at it. I would sit outside with my sketchbook for hours, completely wrapped up in my doodles. I'm the same way now with a good book. I read the entire Harry Potter series in a month last summer.

Anyway, back to breakfast.

"Feel better?" Max asks.

"Yeah," I try to say as convincingly as possible.

I'm talking to Max, so my efforts are fruitless. "You really think I'm that gullible?" he laughs.

"I mean, I do feel better, but..." I sigh. "I'm not... I'm not acting like myself."

"Maybe you are."

"Aren't you supposed to be the Mia expert?" I tease.

"Exactly. What if this is what you've been burying?"

He is the Mia expert, so I follow with, "Do you think that's it?"

"The romantic part, yeah."

I ponder for a moment. Then, I ponder for a moment longer, but pondering is no use. The only thing I can come up with is, "Maybe."

"Your face always tells a different story. You loved the rose petals when we had our picnic date and the dinner at the top of that lighthouse."

"I guess." I pause. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

Max smirks. "Or what?"

"I'll deduct an orgasm from you."

Max leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. "Would you do that to your fiancé, Mia?"

"Sure would."

"What else is wrong?"

This is exactly why I'm not sure if anything should be wrong. Max sees right through me. He gets me. I probably shouldn't be second-guessing our relationship, but I can't help it. I'm afraid. "I don't want to talk about it," I mutter.

"Why?"

Good question. I know the answer. How to phrase it on the other hand... We just met and you don't know me all that well, and I'm scared that once you see all my quirks and flaws, you won't want to be with me anymore. Oh, and I'm afraid that I'll feel the same about you, but no offense.

Not really something I can say aloud.

"Spit it out, Mia. I have thick skin."

I glare at him. "What's the magic word?"

He rolls his eyes. "Please, Mia, would you be so kind as to spit it out?"

Well, he did ask nicely... I proceed to spit it out. All of it, up to and including the 'no offense'.

"So, tell me your flaws."

I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Your flaws. I'll let you know if I can live with them or not. Full transparency."

For someone who confuses me with half the things he says, he's very logical. Maybe he should have led the relationship therapy session instead of Dr. Atwood.

"Alright. You asked for it," I warn. "I'm messy."

"I'm aware. I can handle it. What's next?"

"I have a short attention span."

"I wouldn't call that a flaw, but yes, I'm aware. I can handle that, too."

"I'm grouchy when I don't get enough sleep."

"Everyone is. Next?"

"I never remember names and faces."

Max shrugs. "I'll remind you. Besides, I move from place to place every month. If you offend someone, we won't have to deal with them that long."

I sigh. This should be making me feel better, but it's not. I finally, in the words of Max Rupert Vaughn, just spit it out. "You think you can live with those now, but that's not even half of what's wrong with me, and all combined I'm a mess. Everyone leaves me because they find someone better, someone with less baggage. I don't want that to happen with you."

And, in the most un-Mia event so far today—and there have been a lot, what with all these discussions about feelings—I burst into tears.

"Look around you, Max." I gesture at the shoes spread everywhere but the shoe rack, the chair that houses clean laundry I'm too lazy to put away, the unopened mail piling up on the scratched coffee table. "You have this image of perfect Mia in your head, and that couldn't be farther from who I really am."

"Mia," Max murmurs, leaning against the arm of the stained secondhand couch, which is where we ate breakfast because the apartment is too small for a dining table. "Come here."

I sink into his open arms, resting my head in the crook of his neck.

"You're always saying that I read your mind. Maybe the image I have of you in my head isn't that far from the truth."

I shrug. I feel like it's more complicated than that, but I can't think of any arguments.

"How's this?" Max starts again. "We told Henry and Sarah we'd be married within a year, right? Let's have our wedding the three hundred sixty fourth day. We'll keep them on their toes, and that gives me almost a full year to get to know you more, flaws included, and convince you that I'm not jumping into marriage too soon."

"It doesn't matter if we're married," I sigh.

Max raises his brows. Somehow, they're more even than mine. I should have mentioned facial hair as a flaw.

"That came out wrong. I mean, it's going to hurt no matter what. Married, engaged, dating, any status."

"Were you planning to stay single for the rest of your life?

"I mean, I did go on reality TV, so it wouldn't be the worst idea I've ever had." I grin through the tears that refuse to stop raining. Assholes. "Seriously, though. Sean dumped me because he couldn't get to know me. If you end things, it's because of who I am, because you do know me."

"I drive you crazy, right?"

Not the response I was expecting. It never is with Max, I suppose. "Occasionally."

"But you still can't get enough."

"It's mainly your humility that attracts me, yes."

He snorts, and I smirk. It was a good one, am I right?

"Because you love me. That's how I feel about you, except nothing about you drives me crazy."

"Way to make me feel like an asshole, Max," I grumble.

"Why, because I irritate you?"

"Yeah, and I don't irritate you."

"I'm irritating. You aren't."

"Do you see how messy I am?" I exclaim. "That's irritating as hell."

"Not to me. It'll drive Cody up a wall, but he doesn't usually come when I work out of the country."

"Glad to hear I'll annoy my future brother-in-law."

Max shrugs. "Just the mess. I thought of the second thing you should do in Amsterdam, by the way."

I blink. What a subject change. "You did, did you?" No point asking what the first thing is. Him. The first thing I'll do in Amsterdam is Max Rupert Vaughn.

"I did."

"Let's hear it, Vaughn."

And so he tells me.

A week later, we touch down in Amsterdam.