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I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Brioni Rose Timmons.” He pulls out a ring box and flips it open.

My stomach turns in somersaults. Feeling like a fool, I realize I should’ve expected this, given the restaurant and the cameras and the high profile of this evening. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Liam, on one knee, holding open this velvet box.

Inside, my dream ring sparkles up at me, larger than I’ve ever imagined it. An enormous marquise cut emerald, flanked by clusters of diamonds in a vintage rose gold setting. My mouth goes dry, my heart pounding inside my chest. He remembered.

“Will you marry me?”

Outside the window, camera shutters click like mechanical applause. They’re all watching. Waiting for my reaction.

I stare at the ring I once drew in the margin of my English notebook. We’d read “The Wedding-Ring” by Henry van Dyke for class. I barely remember anything about that story, but apparently Liam remembered every detail about my silly doodle.

“Brioni,” he says, jarring me back to the present.

“Yes?” I blink several times.

He reaches for my left hand, so limp in his firm grasp. The cameras’ snapping speeds up as Liam slides the ring on my finger. A perfect fit.

Then he stands up, pulling me to my feet. This is the part where we kiss, but I can’t bring myself to do it, especially not with the cameras outside.

I slide my arms around my best friend, his toned body so warm and secure. We’ve hugged countless times before, but it’s like the ground beneath us is tilting. All I know is that disorienting sensation I’ve been feeling around Liam lately, heightened to an impossible degree with us so close.

Panicked, I break apart more quickly than I should. Liam holds me by my elbows and gazes into my eyes. I’m no good at pretending, but he’s a fantastic actor. His eyes shine with adoration as he looks at me, and the cameras eat all of it up. He kisses my forehead, then lets me go.

Knees shaking, I collapse back into my chair. When Liam resumes his seat across from me, his eyes still have that strange shine. And now, he’s also got a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“See?” he says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I guess not,” I admit. Overwhelming and shocking, but no, definitely not bad.

I’m in a daze through the rest of dinner, too confused to think straight. Beyond the window, the cameras’ presence reminds me that Liam’s proposal was all for show, no matter how genuine it seemed to my addled brain.

I tell myself it’s a good thing. If I can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake, then hopefully the public can’t either. For this arrangement to work, our engagement needs to appear convincing, not just to Harrison, but to the entire world.

This is for my safety and Liam’s happiness.

I eat my chicken without noticing what it tastes like. Liam and I have eaten so many meals together that it should be mundane, and that’s what I try to focus on. We’re just Liam and Brioni. An engaged Liam and Brioni. I can’t stop admiring my perfect ring.

“You like it.” Liam phrases it like a statement, but he’s tentative, vulnerable in a way I’ve rarely seen.

“I love it,” I assure him, and he flashes me his dazzling smile.

When we finish our meal, he helps me don my jacket, then takes my hand as we wind back through the ghostlike tables. The blank white circles should be filled with their own fricassees and cocktails, surrounded by intimate conversation and laughter.

I know Liam doesn’t want me dwelling on it, but I can’t help it. I think about all the people with canceled plans, other couples who might’ve been celebrating their own engagements. Real engagements. I sigh, and Liam stops in the wood-paneled entryway, turning to face me.

We’re concealed by the brass door, the surrounding walls, no windows in sight. No cameras. He frowns at my heavy sigh, and I feel the need to explain myself.

“Other people must’ve had reservations for tonight.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “You are the only person that matters to me, Brioni. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“You do.” I cross my arms. I won’t let him lie to himself like this. “You care about your family. You care about the people who work for you, and⁠—”

“Stop.” He takes a step toward me. With me in my heels, we’re eye to eye, our noses less than a foot apart.

“You care about them,” I insist.