6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Patrick
I only made it to the parking lot outside the diner before it hit me. Marcy and I were engaged.
Engaged . To be married.
Okay, so it wasn’t real. It was a means to an end that would work out nicely for both of us.
Work out nicely ? This was Marcy. Not some fictional idea of a wife.
A wife. Marcy as my wife.
Marcy had already taken off while I’d covered the bill and stopped at the bathroom. I got into my car and texted her. How are we going to tell your family?
Shoot—she was driving. I should have waited.
My phone rang in my hand. I answered.
“Seems like we should have covered the finer details of our engagement ruse before squaring up the bill,” Marcy said.
“You’re being awfully casual about this.”
“You said it was fake!”
“Right. I know.” Fake. Yes, fake. As in not real. Not the truth. Crap. “I can’t lie to your family.” But I could lie to the public in a campaign? Great. Already, I’d compromised my campaign when my whole deal was honesty and forthrightness. “How about I text you about this later when you’re not driving.”
“Let’s keep these details to in-person conversations. No texts—too risky.”
“Law enforcement can pull voice records too, you know.”
“Who said anything about law enforcement?” Her voice lowered. “We aren’t breaking the law, are we?”
“You’re asking a lawyer that question?”
“Come on, it’s you. You’re ethical. That’s why you represent people who can’t hire attorneys on their own dime. You’re sitting outside a cheap diner in your car instead of some cushy office wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit.”
I hated to ask. “Do people really pay that much for one suit?”
“Rich people spend obscene amounts of money on things that don’t look much better than what’s at Nordstrom’s.”
I let out a breath. Marcy wouldn’t let her family murder me in my sleep when I broke their daughter/granddaughter/sister/cousin’s heart.
No, they would murder me to my face. That was the Russo way. They wanted you to see them murdering you before you could murder them back.
These were the things me and the guys talked about. I knew in detail how the Russo clan would take down someone who hurt their family. I’d only assumed I’d be on their side.
“You’re getting all quiet,” Marcy broke through my thoughts. “Hold on.”
The line abruptly cut off. A knock sounded at my passenger side window. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Marcy gestured for me to unlock the door. A moment later, she sat in my passenger seat. “I didn’t get far, so I circled back. When do you need to announce our engagement?”
With her sitting here again, the whole idea seemed less predatory somehow. She and I had been through a lot for a lot of years. We could do this. “As soon as possible. They want to announce by Friday.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, we should come up with something to tell my family by Thursday night.”
“Why Thursday night?” I answered my own question instantly. “Because they’ll find out as soon as I say a word to anyone outside of this car.”
“I can’t tell you how, but they’ll know.”
I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. Man, was it hot. I turned on the car to get the air conditioning going, continuing my fantastic start at a political career by polluting the air while I schemed to deceive potential voters.
“My family will suspect shenanigans immediately,” she said. “I just found out I can get a big chunk of money if I get married and days later—instant ramen fiancé.”
“You’re comparing me to noodles?”
“Let’s put a proper story together.”
Sure. Easy. “What if we just…told them? The guys, at least. We can tell them what we’re doing.”
“Are you kidding? Robby’s a weak link. He’ll crack at the slightest nudge if he has to keep the truth about the engagement a secret from anybody .”
“Frickin’ Robby.” Always the first to cave. “I’ve never kept anything big from the guys.” A nervous restlessness hit at that realization.
Marcy quieted. I glanced at her. The humidity sent her curls wayward and outward. In all her effort to control her life, her hair had a mind of its own. I loved that about her.
If no one else mattered in this equation, if we didn’t have to lie to her family, this fake engagement could be kind of awesome. Maybe even fun. I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.
I trusted Marcy. And if we were going to do this, we needed a plan that would save us both—and ideally her family—from hurt .
She slipped her sandals off and scrunched up her legs to sit cross-legged. Only Marcy could get away with bare feet in my car. “Obviously, we’ve been secretly dating for months.”
“Months.”
“Yup. A year is too long. That would include last Christmas and it would be a crime in my family to not announce our dating at Christmas.” She tapped her lip. “Five—no, six months. That’s reasonable enough, don’t you think?”
“Six months?”
“People get engaged after six months of dating, don’t they?”
“Maybe people who are more seasoned in life, who know what they want.”
“Or friends who’ve known each other since childhood.”
Fair point. “But we’ve hung out a lot around your family. Never once did we let on we were dating.”
She thrust a hand out and cradled my elbow. “Exactly! Because they’re meddling, nosy, busy-bodies, so we kept this secret. For us.”
If I were dating Marcy Russo, the last thing I’d want would be to keep it a secret. Wait, no. I’d be super nervous to tell Matteo and Robby I was dating their sister. Lucas not as much—he wasn’t as protective and not nearly as, I hated to say it, stereotypically macho about that sort of thing. “Yeah. I might buy keeping it a secret to give your brothers time to get used to the idea. Like, drop some hints or something.”
Her head titled to one side, and sadly, she retracted her hand from my arm. “You think my brothers catch hints?”
“Right. So, I’m nervous to tell them I’m dating you. That tracks. Doubly so for your parents and Nonna Russo. I’m definitely worried about keeping it from them, but ultimately, I don’t want to upset them when…”
“We don’t work out. ”
Only the soft rumble of the car engine and air conditioning sounded as that thought landed.
A whirlwind of familiar faces and imagined moments with my second family and most treasured friends sprung to mind. Engagement parties, campaign fundraising dinners, wedding planning. Christmas. No, wait. Not Christmas. The election was in November. By Christmas—no, Thanksgiving—we’d be over.
Sweat beaded at my neck. We’d need an exit strategy. Bea Clark—she’d know what to do. She’d been entirely unfazed by the fake engagement idea. It’d been her idea.
But what about Marcy’s family? Becoming betrothed to their precious Marcy and then at some point breaking that off?
My guts churned. No way would I be able to end an engagement with Marcy. Not only was it a horrible thing to do to Marcy and her family, but the Russos might kill me.
Like, actually kill me.
“Think of it this way,” Marcy continued, oblivious to my currently escalating digestive trauma. “At the party, I told you my great aunts and my nonna have been harping on me to settle down. Just think, if all that time we were dating and considering an engagement and they had no idea .” Her grin gleamed with mischief. “They won’t know what hit them!”
I pushed the exit strategy worries from my mind. Like a court case, we were in the discovery process here. Exchanging information and gathering evidence, er, insight, and preparing the witnesses. “Then why would we not have just told your family we were dating all that time? That would have gotten them off your back. You all get what you want, so why keep it a secret?”
“Because we hold the power when it’s a secret. Me, I can control when they know I’m ready to settle. They’re so freaking nosy all the time and demanding information. I do everything they ask and still it’s not enough. For once, I’d like to not do exactly as my family asks and do what I want for myself!” Her skin flushed .
“This is about the bakery.”
“It’s about everything.” She eased back against the seat. “You know I’m grateful for my family.”
We’d shared a lot of pretty deep conversations about our families over the years. We’d both been fortunate to be taken care of by our families. For both of us, that care came with expectations. Guardrails attached to our chosen paths.
My family had money, wealth both inherited and made from my family’s company. As a kid, I hadn’t cared about who had money, but I’d noticed differences. I got to play in travel sports leagues while other kids’ families couldn’t afford the cost. My family lived in a newer construction house in a neighborhood with attached three-car garages and pristine yards kept up by hired landscapers. The Russos lived in the adjoining subdivision with older, more modest homes. While the Russos spent their vacations camping across state parks and visiting museums, my parents preferred tropical cruises and resorts. Seemed glamorous on the outside, but I was often ditched to the kiddie pool for supervised activities while my parents socialized in a separate adults-only pool with a swim-up bar. Pricey vacations were never as fun as hanging out in a shared tent with the Russo kids. But I couldn’t complain. I’d sound like a supreme jerk to complain about vacations. So I played my part.
“You can be grateful and still push back on expectations,” I said. We’d been over this with each other more than once. “I have to remind myself of that too.”
“I figured once I’d done it all—once I’d finished college and got the good job, that would end the expectations. But there are always more. Like grad school and marriage and babies. And then the babies will grow up and they’ll expect good schools and grades, and oh my gosh, it will never end.”
I slid my hand to hers and gave it a squeeze .
Marcy’s parents had been strict with her about homework and grades. Always more so with her than with her brothers. She’d asked to work at the bakery longer hours because she liked it, but her family limited the time in favor of after-school clubs that looked good on college applications. That’s where Marcy and I both played our parts. Academic clubs, student government, debate team. More reasons for us to spend time together, which hadn’t been so bad. Not bad at all.
She squeezed my hand back, then let go. “I need to prove to my family I’m willing to go against their directives.” Marcy pieced the words together slowly. “It makes sense to hide our dating and the engagement as a lead up to my career detour to the bakery. Our secret relationship can be my first real rebellion. My first taste of getting what I want. That makes sense, doesn’t it? I want you, and nothing will deter me.”
A vise squeezed at my heart. It was like a dream to hear her say those words. She wants me. She wants me .
“But we’re just friends and this isn’t real, so it will all be fine,” she continued.
I found myself nodding through the chest ache. Keep it together, dude. “That’s the key. We make this fully believable but also end things so we stay friends afterward. We need to still be friends.” That wasn’t up for debate.
“Of course. We can tell them we were…testing things out.” She shrugged and looked out the window. “It’s not as if the idea’s never been mentioned.”
“I know, right?” I laughed, then winced. Too loud, too forced. But if I treaded too carefully, she’d suspect something was up. The awkward silence cushioned what wasn’t said.
A memory hit. Fifth grade, riding the bus after school. My parents hated me riding the bus, but I’d begged to since we lived on the same bus route as the Russos. Austin Goodwin went around asking each guy which girl they’d gone out with (what? To where?) and who was hottest. If you didn’t answer, you were called names or punched (and if you complained, then you couldn’t take a joke). Super fun. The whole thing felt gross, rating girls by their looks.
When the question landed on me, I mumbled an answer. “Cara Blake, I guess.” She was pretty enough and hadn’t been named yet.
“Not Marcy Russo?” Austin taunted.
Marcy and I were friends. Yeah, she happened to be a girl, but making that a big deal was super stupid. “No.”
Austin didn’t miss a beat. “You like Marcy, Patrick. You stare at her.”
“Do not,” I mumbled again, my face as red as my knit scarf. I remember wanting to loop that scarf around Austin’s neck and pull it as tight as I could.
“You stare at her and her janky hair.” Austin and the surrounding boys snickered.
“Shut up, that’s my cousin!” Lucas launched across the aisle to jab Austin in the ribs. Quick as lightning, Lucas zipped back to his own seat, unseen by the bus driver.
Austin had moved on before I formed any sort of comeback. Being from the same neighborhood, he knew Matteo’s wrath was real. Matteo, two grades above us, walked to the middle school in our neighborhood and wasn’t on the bus to our upper elementary, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hear about some dopey kid making cracks about his sister. We weren’t the toughest kids out there in the suburban streets, but a hierarchy existed, and Austin notched lower in that hierarchy.
That memory floated back from time to time. Maybe because it’d been the first instance of someone questioning me and Marcy’s friendship as something more. Annoyingly, it got me questioning whether it was supposed to be. And if so, how would that change us?
That’s what I’d never wanted. To change us. To change the friendship Marcy and I had for so many years.
Except, now? That was a lie. The real lie.
I did want us to change. I wanted more with Marcy.
And wasn’t this life’s sick little way of giving me what I most wanted? Now Marcy and I were engaged. Only none of it was real.