Hearing the click-clack of tiny toenails on hardwood, I looked up to find my dog Munchkin trotting toward me, a silly grin stretched across his face.
“Hi, you little mush!” I greeted him, setting his stubby tail a-wagging.
After sweeping his little bulldozer body up into my arms, I burrowed my face into his soft black fur. It was hard to believe he and his littermates had been rescued, half frozen to death, from a downtown dumpster in the middle of winter. Not for the first time, I thought about how lucky we were to have found each other.
“What do you think about me pretend-dating Ford for a month?” I asked.
Munchkin, of course, had no verbal response, but he did let out a huff.
“It’s going to be fine,” I whispered, even though I knew, deep down, it wouldn’t be.
Because I knew that Ford Malone was going to break my heart.
Emzee
Chapter 4
“Em? Earth to Emzee?” A gentle voice pulled me back to reality. “You okay?”
I glanced up to find my sister-in-law Tori standing by our table at NoMI, looking a little concerned. She was wearing a designer maternity dress, a floral wrap maxi with little bows on the sleeves, and as usual she looked radiant.
“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” I fibbed, standing to greet her. “Also you look amazing, mama. Have some breadsticks before I finish them all, they’re to die for.”
Tori grabbed one and bit into it with a grin. “I feel like that bratty girl in Willy Wonka’s factory who turned into a giant blueberry, but thanks for the compliment.”
We exchanged cheek kisses before sitting down. It took her a little longer to get into the booth than it did me, lowering herself carefully, her belly huger than I’d ever seen it.
“So how’s things?” she asked. “Have you, umm, had any contact with your dad?”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know if that’s going to happen, honestly. I need some time. He’ll always be my dad, but…it’s still kind of a mindfuck. You spend your whole life around someone and you think you know them, and then…you realize you don’t. At all.”
She nodded. “I get it. Really. And I won’t push. Just know I’m here if you want to talk. Stefan’s been a mess, too.”
It wasn’t just dad-in-jail stuff that had me in a slump. After last night’s whirlwind of emotions with Ford, I was really counting on my bi-monthly Lunch With The Wives (that’s how I had it down in my calendar) to be the distraction I so desperately needed.
Having grown up in a house full of men, I appreciated the fact that the family now included Tori and—more recently—Brooklyn, my brother Luka’s wife. No more boys’ club for me. Still, it was an adjustment. For someone used to being around a bunch of emotionally distant males, it was taking me some time to warm up to the idea of being completely open with my sisters-in-law. Mostly I let them spout their troubles and humble brags and pregnancy anecdotes while I pretended they weren’t talking about my older brothers. Because ew.
“Your charcuterie board and wine,” the waiter said cordially, dropping off the items I’d ordered. “May I get you started with something?” he asked Tori.
“I’d love a mocktail,” she said. “Something fruity?”
As they chatted about the faux-alcohol selection, my mind immediately reverted back to Ford and our conversation last night. Could I survive pretending to be his girlfriend for a month, possibly two? What if it made our friendship weird? What if I got too attached to the ruse, and couldn’t act normal around him afterward? It seemed so risky…but maybe worth the risk?
That was when Brooklyn showed up, calling out our names across the restaurant as she wove through the tables. Even without the verbal announcement, it would have been hard not to notice her; as a top Danica Rose model and popular social media influencer, not only was she breathtakingly beautiful, but she knew how to make an entrance.
It was part of what made Brooklyn who she was. She was all about “moments”—appreciating them, capturing them, and sharing them. They were the focus of her IG account, and her followers loved the vicarious experiences they “lived” via her posts. Whenever she taught classes for my charity, I got great feedback. Taking photos for social media was very different from artistic or commercial photography, and she was really, really good at what she did.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered as she slid into the booth next to me.
She wasn’t as far along in her pregnancy as Tori, but thanks to her bodycon dress, I couldn’t help noticing that Brooklyn’s cute little baby bump was getting a lot rounder.
“One blueberry rosemary lemon mocktail,” the waiter said, repeating Tori’s order back to her. “And for you?” He turned to Brooklyn.
“That sounds so good—I’ll have the same,” she said with a grin. “Oh, and an order of the lobster beignets, please. Thank you!”
They immediately launched into a discussion about morning sickness, which Brooklyn was only just starting to experience in full force, and I nodded along and tried not to think about Ford Malone. Stupid Ford Malone. Stupid, gorgeous, dimpled, always-gets-what-he-wants—
“Emzee?”
