“A gift.” Millie blinked at me. “From Tiffany.”
“Yes. Look, I know it’s a bit extravagant, and I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen. He said he knows diamond rings are normally reserved for people you’re asking to spend the rest of your life with, but since he knows he always wants me in his life, it’s fine.” I picked up my coffee for a sip. “We’re not really getting married, and it’s fine.”
“It’s fine?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” But my fingers trembled as I set down my cup.
Millie glanced at my shaky fingers a moment, then met my eyes. “I don’t think you are. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I sipped my coffee, cradling the cup in both hands. “I’m tired is all. I didn’t get much sleep in New York, and I had to work last night.”
My sister broke off a piece of her scone and put it in her mouth. As she chewed, she kept looking at me.
“What?” I said, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.
“I know you. Something has you nervous. Jumpy.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I tried to sound dismissive.
She took another bite, never taking her eyes off me. “Did Hutton tell you he loves you or something?”
“No!” I laughed as if she’d said something hilarious. “Things aren’t like that with us. This isn’t a real relationship or a real engagement. It’s something I made up, remember?”
Millie rolled her eyes. “I remember.”
I took a bite of pain au chocolat without tasting it. Glanced out the window. On the corner, a woman took a small child by the hand and looked both ways before crossing the street. “I know it might look real on the outside, but that’s just because we’re having a good time. It’s one hundred percent fake. We are not together.”
“If you say so,” she said.
“I do.” My head was spinning, my breath was short. “It’s not real.”
I’m fine.
Nothing’s the matter.
Everything’s good.
As days went by, I said it out loud to anyone who asked if I was okay, and I said it to myself, trying to convince myself that this pit in my stomach wasn’t anything to worry about.
So I had the ring and the dress—so what? They were just gifts.
So there was a wedding date on hold at Cloverleigh Farms—it was part of the act.
So I was lying to people who loved me—it wasn’t hurting anyone.
So the internet continued to obsess over photos of Hutton and me—some sleuth had even managed to get their hands on a prom photo （I suspected Mimi, who kept texting me asking to meet, like we were old friends）， and even reputable news sites ran it along with captions about “the hometown honey that bagged herself a billionaire.” It was fine—I only let myself read a couple hundred shitty comments before putting my phone down and walking away. And I deleted Mimi’s messages without a second thought. The last thing I needed was her voice in my ear.
So I spent every night in Hutton’s arms, woke up next to him every morning, and desperately tried not to think about the day it would all be over—all good things must come to an end, right?
I threw myself into work.
I responded to lots of inquiries about catering and booked half a dozen new jobs for the fall. I created new recipes and took stunning photos in Hutton’s kitchen. I took phone calls regarding some of the offers for collaboration that had come in.
Hutton spent a lot of time alone in his office getting ready for the hearing, but he’d warned me on the flight home from New York that would happen. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It will seem like I don’t care or like I’m self-obsessed, but that’s not it. When something like this is hanging over my head, I just get really focused. I can’t think about anything else.”
“I get it,” I told him. “And you don’t have to apologize or worry about me. Concentrate on you.”
He wasn’t exaggerating—I hardly saw him the week after we got home. And when I did, he was quiet and introspective. But we still had mind-blowing S-E-X before falling asleep in each other’s arms every night, and in many ways, it was the happiest I’d ever been.
It was also the most terrified.
Which made me crazy mad at myself. Because it’s not like I didn’t know what was going to happen. It wasn’t like walking into my bedroom imagining there might be a witch about to jump out—the fucking witch was in there and I knew precisely when she’d show her face. This thing with Hutton had an expiration date.