“Really? Good for her. I’m Cal,” he says, holding out his hand. “I live upstairs. I’ve seen you here before, though?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m friends with Eli…in 3A,” I offer.
“Right, sure. How’s he doing?”
“Fine.” I don’t want to make small talk with this guy. I want to see Liv.
“Sorry,” Cal ducks his head. “I’ve lived in this building for a long time. I guess I kind of look out for everyone. Anyway, enjoy your evening. Tell Liv I said hello.”
A strange taste coats my throat bitter and acrid like jealousy. I know I will not tell her that her neighbor, who looks like a taller Hemsworth brother, said hello.
Just as I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open. I open and close my mouth a few times, like a stupid guppy, at all that is Liv Arden in front of me.
“Hey, Owen,” she says, and I can’t form words. Her dark hair, untamed this morning, now falls in elegant curls over the shoulders of her deep wine dress. It has a high collar, long sleeves, and stops just below her knees, but it’s the damnedsexiest dress I’ve ever seen. “Thanks for coming,” she adds when I still don’t reply. “I wasn’t sure if you’d go through with it.”
“Of course,” I stammer. I can hardly tear my eyes away from the way the dress hugs her every curve. “I promised I would.”
“Right.” Her voice clipped, and I’m not sure what I said, probably because I was gawking at her like a psychopath. “Should we go?”
“These are for you,” I say, regaining enough composure to hand her the pale pink peonies.
“These are my favorite.” She looks stunned. “But you didn’t have to. This isn’t a real date.”
Right.
I smile at her, but I feel like an idiot. This is not a date. She is not my girlfriend, and she certainly isn’t my fiancée.Shit.
“Then you’re going to hate the next thing I brought you,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small box.
“Owen.” She says with a rush of air when I open the ring box.
“It’s nothing, it’s from Chinatown,” I backpedal. “I thought it would help the story.” But now I’m kicking myself for doing something so stupid.
“It’s perfect,” she laughs. The laugh I’m already starting to crave. She holds out her left hand, and I slide the round, brilliant-cut cubic zirconia onto her finger. My throat goes dry at the sight of that nineteen-dollar ring resting there like it belongs.
“Alright,” she sighs, “Let’s get this over with.”
Right, I scold myself again; this is a fake date.Get it together and act like you’re faking it.She ducks back inside her apartment to leave the flowers, and when she returns, I offer her my arm. “Shall we, dear?”
“Aw,” she glances up at me, taking my elbow, “I kinda like Button.”
Chapter 7
Liv
This is a terrible idea.
I tighten my grip on Owen’s elbow, and he reaches around to place a comforting hand on top of mine. He’s good at this fake fiancé thing already.
My parents’ yacht club exudes old money and generational privilege. The guest list comprises a who’s who of Bay Area elites, all dressed in sleek suits and luxurious fabrics, with the sort of ‘natural’ beauty that requires a team of specialists to maintain.
Owen takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it to me before taking one for himself. Either he senses I need it, or he requires the liquid to resolve himself as well. I hope he isn’t already regretting his decision.
“Ready for this?” I ask under my breath.
“As I’ll ever be.” He clinks his glass with mine, and we both take a long sip.
“Good, because my mother is coming this way.”
