I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
While his words are meant to bring me peace, something stands out. There’s no mention of the mother, father, and sister I know he has.
“Do you think it’s suspicious?” I ask, looking up at Nate. “That we’re trying to sell an engagement without being surrounded by the people we love.”
He shakes his head in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. This is normal for New York City. Events like these are viewed as networking opportunities. Everyone in there is either a friend of Melanie’s looking for a free dinner or a business associate.”
“But that isn’t what we’re looking to do.” I tilt my head. “People already think our getting together is suspicious. If this gets out in the media—”
“I know how it looks, okay?” Nate interrupts, his voice hardening as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just—” He takes a breath in, avoiding my eyes. “My parents are ridiculously in love, and growing up, I wanted the same for myself. Fuck, I still do. Introducing them to someone when I know we aren’t endgame doesn’t sit right with me.”
My head lowers to my lap, a sadness brushing over my chest as my fingers start to fidget.
It’s a loaded admission for a situation that I wish could have turned out differently for him. Yet at the same time, envy surfaces at that very knowledge. It’s wrong of me to feel this way, but how lucky is he to have a family he admires so much? Though I feel the same way about Phil and Margaret, the memory of what could have been still haunts me.
“Let’s get this shit over with.” I grasp the door handle, about to pop it open.
A large hand lands on mine, halting my movements. “Let me be a gentleman and open the door for you.”
For once, I don’t protest, only wait anxiously for Nate.
A few seconds later, the passenger door swings wide, and he reaches his hand to guide me out. With slight hesitation, I place my palm in his, and as soon as my heels touch the granite, the flickering bursts around us.
I rise from the seat, the glare making it hard to see, but Nate swiftly steers us down the paved sidewalk. We break into a light jog, bursting through the restaurant’s glass doors and into a room alive with cheers of “Congratulations.” Gold confetti bursts and smiles light up on faces I hardly recognize, with the exception of Sutton and the two elders next to her.
I don’t have time to gather my emotions as Nate’s voice filters in.
“Are you good to make rounds?” he asks, keen eyes fixed on me.
I nod, unsure why he needed confirmation when it was my purpose for being here.
We make our way around the room, greeting and shaking hands. From investors to high-profile clients and Melanie’s friends, we make polite small talk and hash out our supposed love story.
Throughout the night, I pass by Sutton about a dozen times, who sends me one too many winks as she mouths, “Check your phone.” I shake my head at her insistence, relief washing over me when she gets caught up talking to an investor.
Similarly, Margaret and Phil spend their evening tucked away in a corner, laughing their hearts out as they drink champagne and point fingers in our direction. They must have received the same invite as Sutton.
I stop to talk to them while Nate is off in the washroom.
“So…” Margaret lifts her brows, eyes focused on my finger. “He’s not your boyfriend because he’s your fiancé?”
When my face falls, Phil starts howling with laughter.
“You’re supposed to back me up here, man.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You saw us at the coffee shop. You know I barely know him,” I whisper the last part, looking around the room to make sure no one overhears.
When they both lose it, that’s when I make my exit, snatching a flute of champagne from a passing server on my way to the snack table. I grab one of the many cookies on display, my eyes rolling in delight at how great it is.
“If it isn’t Nate’s fiancée.”
The words drag my attention away from the cookie in my mouth to a man walking in my general direction.
Fluffy light brown hair. Well-kept mustache and five o’clock shadow. His button-up shirt is slightly undone beneath the jacket of his suit, and though his features are opposite to Nate’s, something about the two of them is oddly similar.
I smile politely, the muscles in my cheek strained from our earlier pleasantries. I’m trying to place my finger on whether we talked earlier when my hand is lifted in the air, and his lips graze over my knuckles.
Nervous laughter bubbles out of my throat.
“Grayson Vale.” He smiles, eyes glimmering at something behind me. “And you are?”
