Her head tilts to the side. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes. Areyoubeing serious?”
“Uh…yeah. Renley, this is not Financier dot com. This is Fiance-er dot com. You’re on a modern-day mail-order-bride website.”
“No, that can’t be.” I glance down at the screen of the tablet, the fractures making it difficult to decipher the website, but she can’t be serious. I read the top website address to confirm that she’s the one in the wrong. But my eyes seem to play tricks on me, mixing up the letters, because…
No, it can’t be.
I blink.
And blink.
And when my eyes finally settle, dread fills me as I slowly look up at my friend. “Oh my God, I didn’t match with a financier, I matched with a fiancé.”
Tilly cringes. “So you didn’t know then…”
“Does this look like the face of a girl in the know?” I set the tablet down and start pacing around Tilly’s dining room. “Why…why are those two words so similar? Someone is trying to scam small-business owners. That’s what this is, it’s a scam.”
“Not to go against you or anything, but didn’t the profiles of guys telling you all about themselves kind of clue you in?”
“I thought they were talking about their interests so you could find the investor that you best match up with…not so I could marry them! There might have been margaritas involved too. But…but it felt like they were searching for a business partner. Oh God, this is so bad.”
“What about the ring as the icon? That didn’t throw you off?”
I lean against her wall in defeat. “Aunt Kitty said it represented wealth, especially with how big the diamond was on the ring.” I press my head against the wall as a thought crosses my mind. “Oh God! He said he was DTF…we thought that meant ‘down to finance.’”
Tilly lets out a wallop of a laugh. “DTF…girl, that’s the acronym for ‘down to fuck.’”
“I know that now,” I grumble as I start to rub my temples. “I can’t…I can’t believe this. I thought we matched with an investor.”
But the more I think about it, the more I feel like a complete and utter imbecile. Because who mixes up the two?
Sure, I had far too many margaritas—mixed by Aunt Kitty—and her tablet didn’t lend itself to proper reading, andfiancéandfinancierare pretty close in spelling, especially to someone inebriated by tequila, but by God, Renley. Common sense.
“Sorry to say, but you matched with your future husband. And as we speak, he’s on his way to meet you.”
My eyes widen as I push off the wall. “Oh my God, you’re right. He’s headed here, to my home…right now.” Without a second thought, I burst out of Tilly’s house and run across the street. “Aunt Kitty, Aunt Kitty!” I scream, not caring who can hear me. “Aunt Kitty, he’s a fiancé!” I shout, tripping forward with Tilly trailing behind me.
“Aunt Kitty!” I yell as I enter the house, tossing the door open to find her dressed in a flower dress, heels, and a floral fascinator, all in an off-putting salmon-pink and yellow color combination.
“Dear God, what are you doing?” She presses her hand to her chest. “I almost piddled right here on the floor.”
Catching my breath, I say, “He’s a fiancé.”
“Who is?” Aunt Kitty looks around.
“The guy coming today,” Tilly answers for me as she places her hand on my back.
God, am I out of shape.
That or the adrenaline is spiking just high enough in my body to make my breathing labored.
“He’s a fiancé?” Aunt Kitty looks between us. “Okay…should we make him a card that says ‘Congrats on your engagement’? Let me grab my colored pencils. I can whip something up really quick. Just need some twine, gold foil, and wax.”
“No,” I say, standing straighter now. “The website was for finding a fiancé, not a financier.”
Aunt Kitty looks between the two of us again and asks, “What website?”
