“Sure thing.” She inputs it into the computer, and the total pops up.
I reach for my phone, but it’s not in my leggings pocket, like it usually is.
I’m patting the sides of my thighs, trying to locate it so I can pay since I never bring my wallet with me to the Pilates studio, when Nicole appears from out of nowhere, shrieking, “Oh my God!” She grabs my left hand. “You’re engaged? How did I talk to you several times this weekend and you forgot to mention that?” She moves my fingers up and down and laughs. “How do you even lift your hand? It’s so heavy.”
I yank my hand back with a groan. “Ugh, stop. It’s ostentatious and nothing like one I would’ve picked out. Men who buy rings this size”—I lift my hand to emphasize my point—“have something to prove.”
Nicole’s eyes go big, and she covers her mouth, stifling what I assume is a laugh. When I look at her in confusion, she nods over my shoulder, and I slowly turn around, coming face-to-face with Kane.
“And what is it that I have to prove?” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.
When I was running out the door this morning, he said he was going into the office, so I’m not sure when he followed me here, but, oh well, it’s not like I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You tell me.”
His jaw tics, and I know I got to him.
Men have such fragile egos, and him knowing that I despise the ring he spent hundreds of thousands on has to irk him.
“You left your phone at home,” he says, handing it to me. “Figured you might need it.”
I take it from him, almost feeling bad that I hurt his feelings.
I scan my phone to pay for my coffee and muffin and then step to the side so the line can keep moving.
“So, when’s the big day?” Nicole asks, trying to ease the tension.
“Valentine’s Day,” I tell her.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she coos. “Have you decided where you’ll be having it?”
When I glance at Kane, waiting for him to answer, he says, “That’s up to Brielle.”
“Me?” I scoff. “What do I have to do with it?”
Nicole snorts out a laugh, and Kane glares.
“You’re the one planning it,” he says.
“Oh, great,” I hiss. “Not only are you forcing me to marry you, but you’re also making me plan the damn thing? Would you like me to pay for it as well?”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a black card. “Put everything on there.”
“Oh!” Nicole squeals. “This will be so much fun. We should book the Mayfair House Garden and?—”
I love Nicole, but the woman cannot read a room to save her life.
“You know this is a fake marriage, right?” I whisper so no one will overhear. “We don’t need to do anything special.”
Nicole pouts. “But remember how much fun you had planning Dani and Matteo’s wedding? And as your maid of honor, it’s my job to make sure you’re a pampered bride. We can do a spa day … manis and pedis. It will be so much fun. Plus”—she glances at Kane, still holding his card between his fingers—“he’s paying”—she waggles her brows—“so why not give yourself the wedding of your dreams?”
“Maybe because the wedding of my dreams was supposed tobe with themanof my dreams,” I blurt out.Or at the very least, with a man who loves me,I think to myself.
Nicole’s gaze turns sympathetic, and I instantly regret voicing my thoughts. I don’t want anyone to pity me.
When I sneak a glance at Kane, knowing he must have heard what I said, he shows zero emotion, and for some reason, that annoys me. He knows he’s hurting me by forcing me to marry him, yet he doesn’t give a shit. He has one goal in mind, and I’m nothing more than a stepping stone to get him to where he wants to be.
Well, fuck him.
