7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Marcy
I planned to make the fake engagement announcement as simple as possible.
Planned to— ha . I should have known.
My idea for dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant began simply enough, though shortly after I booked the table, a text lit on my phone.
Nonna: Dinner out on Thursday? What’s the occasion?
What? How? Who took that reservation at the restaurant? I hadn’t recognized the voice. But I’d used my real name. Gah! Rookie mistake.
But if I’d given a fake name to the very real restaurant my very real family would all show up to, they’d question using an alias. Even if I arrived before them to secure the table, Papá always peeked at the guest list at the host stand to see if he recognized any names.
Nosy. The whole lot of them.
Now the Thursday dinner cat was out of the bag.
Me: A thank you dinner for the future trusts. That’s a really cool thing you’ve done for us and it’s so appreciated.
I stared at my text. Nope, too much detail. I deleted it, unsent. We needed to spring the engagement on them in person, then address all questions and dispel rumors. Eat cannoli for dessert and be on our merry way.
Me: Dinner was Matteo’s idea. I just made the reservation.
Yeah. Cheap move, but I did it. She’d definitely buy Matteo farming out making a restaurant reservation to his more responsible sister. With Matteo lined up to get his inheritance money for his birthday, what better than to celebrate together? It was perfect.
Except for the detail that Matteo’s birthday was Friday, not Thursday. And I hadn’t told him any of this. But Friday would be too late. Patrick was already confirming details with his campaign team, and we needed to get ahead of any leaks.
Fake engagement planning was hard.
Next, and crucial to check off our I Do list (yes, I groaned even as I said it to Patrick) was to pick out a ring.
I’ll go today on lunch break , I texted him Wednesday from work. I could even hop over to the mall tomorrow on the way to the restaurant. No biggie.
Patrick: You’d go without me? We should pick out the ring together. It’s a special moment.
Sure, if we were actually getting married.
Patrick: I want to be part of the experience, is what I’m saying.
Me: Whose ring is this anyhow?
Wait, didn’t I say I didn’t want any of these plans communicated over text? Already breaking my own rules, here.
Me: Are your texts encrypted?
I switched over to my phone’s internet browser and typed: encrypting texts, how to
Patrick: Let’s meet after work to go shopping. I’ll meet you at five.
Me: Project Hoop: approved
Patrick: hoop ?
Me: Circle? Band?
Patrick: You know, someone could easily crack these texts
After work, I met Patrick at the nearest mall, its glory days long behind, but still the place offering the most variety of reasonable jewelry purchasing options.
Patrick, having come from court, wore a navy-blue suit, a light blue shirt, and a tie with a modern, abstract print. Clean-shaven. He, well, he looked good. “I think the jeweler is on the second floor,” he said as we progressed through the mall.
I fanned myself with my hand as I was, for some weird reason, quite warm despite the frigid mall temperature. “We don’t need a real jewelry store. The ring is as fake as the engagement.”
I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to bristle at my joke. I mean, we were both in on it—none of this was real.
He slowed to a stop in front a kiosk with a backlit store directory. “Where do we go? A department store?”
I scanned the store list. “How about Jemma’s?”
His nose scrunched in thought. Huh—kind of cute, I’d never noticed him do that before. “I’m not familiar. I’ll follow you.”
When we reached the store, Patrick balked at the entrance. “This looks like a children’s store. I thought you said it had gems?”
“No, it’s called Jemma’s with a J.” I took his hand and led him inside. True, the store catered to accessorizing pre-teens with a color palette that went from less pink to more pink, but this place would absolutely sell knock-off diamond rings.
I walked us past the wall of K-pop merch to what appeared to be the sophisticated corner of the store where sparkling tiaras and other precious items were kept locked within thick plastic showcases. My eyes skimmed the rings. “There’s a J Lo-inspired ring. A Princess Diana fake-out, and this one is supposed to be like Blake Lively’s.”
Patrick joined me to peer through the plastic. “They’re celebrity look-a-like rings? How do you know all that? ”
“Just a part of my DNA as woman. Most of this knowledge is against my will.” I shrugged and tapped the case. “How about this one? It’s cheap.” A simple silver band with a round cut diamond. A not-real diamond.
Patrick straightened, looking at me. “Do you like it? I want you to like it.”
That warm sensation from earlier took over. We were standing pretty close, so I stepped back. Did I like the ring? It was…fine. It was sensible. Not flashy.
But probably not what Patrick would want for his future wife. Not that he was a flashy guy, but if this was for real, he wouldn’t want the woman in his life to pick the cheapest option for that reason alone. He’d want them to pick what they liked best, or a ring with meaning behind it.
But we were at Jemma’s with a Kidz Beatz version of a Kelly Clarkston song chiming in from the overhead speakers. Oh, and I wasn’t actually going to be Patrick’s wife.
Still, we needed the engagement to be believable.
I took a second look. “The Blake ring is pretty, but it’s pink, and a real pink diamond would be out of a legal clinic attorney’s price range.” I glanced at Patrick. “No offense. Besides, I think I want one with a vintage feel. A smaller center stone and more intricate detail around it.” This kiddie accessory place wasn’t going to offer what I really wanted, but they had at least one ring that fit the style I liked. “That one there.”
Patrick grinned. “That’s the ring I saw you choose in my head.”
My heart flipped. “It is?”
“Yeah. It’s the vintage thing, like you said. That’s most like your style out of these.”
Huh. Look at Patrick knowing things about my style. Not a total surprise as we commented in detail about reality show contestants’ clothes when we watched together. That was a good forty-to-fifty percent of why we watched .
A little hum of pleasure sang through me. I liked the ring. He was right, this was fun to shop together.
A Jemma’s employee appeared to our right. “Need anything?” Her dull tone implied she hoped we didn’t. She looked young enough to have needed parental permission for a work permit.
“This ring, please,” Patrick announced proudly.
The girl shuffled through a key ring attached to her belt without speaking and unlocked the sacred fake jewels. “You want another? It’s buy one, get one.”
I smirked at Patrick. “Maybe I get the Blake ring as a back-up?”
He winked. “Only if we can get soft pretzels on the way out.”
“Deal.”
At the register, Patrick took out his wallet.
I muscled my way beside him with my open purse. “Nope, I got it.”
His responding laugh was a translation of: get real. “Absolutely not. Out of principle, I pay.”
“Half. I’ll pay half.”
The girl at the counter took out her cell phone and scrolled.
Patrick angled away from her and toward me. “What if we need to show proof of our engagement? Me buying the ring could factor into our case evidence.”
“The ring is $29.99. You think that holds up in court?”
“It’s intent, not price.”
He was a lawyer and all, but that seemed far-reaching.
In the end, he paid for the ring and filed the receipt into his wallet. Fine. We’d need to learn to compromise for the sake of our engagement.
I Venmo’ed him the money an hour later.
He Venmo’ed the same amount in return.
I’d get him back. And soon.
The next day at work, I waited in the break room for a new batch of coffee to brew. Just waiting and tapping my fingers.
A jolly little hum sounded behind me, followed by a soft gasp. “Is that…I just saw a flash—the ring you’re wearing? Is that…?”
A coworker hovered behind me, her question dangling between us. “Oh, this is noth—” It wasn’t nothing. It was an engagement ring. Not a real diamond, but intended for a not-real engagement I needed to be believed. And this was my first test.
“It’s er, new.” I lowered to a near whisper. “My parents don’t know yet. We’re telling them tonight over dinner.” I brought my finger to my mouth in the universal sign to keep this quiet.
Her delight came out in a silent squeal. “Congratulations,” she mouthed to me. “No worries, I won’t say a word.”
I peeked past her through the glass wall to the office hall. Who else might be lurking to report back to Nonna Russo Central? I wouldn’t put it past her to plant a spy here.
By the time I made it to the restaurant that night for an early (for me) dinner at six, my stomach knotted. Forget being a ball of nerves. I was a full-sized blimp of nervous energy. Pitching the fake engagement to my coworker had been fairly painless. To my family? Who knew all my most embarrassing stories and how I tugged at my ear when I was nervous?
No ear-tugging. NO EAR-TUGGING.
As if we’d coordinated our arrivals, Patrick shut his car door three spaces from mine at the same time I locked up. Instantly, a chunk of those nerves fell away. I lifted a hand in greeting.
Patrick sailed over—how did he do that? He was so smooth sometimes, even with walking. Not a chaotic mess like I felt. He stopped and began to swing an arm around me—our usual half hug casual greeting. Only he froze. He looked past me, then toward the restaurant. Those tinted windows were deceiving; watching eyes waited behind them, always.
“We should probably hug for real,” he said. “Is that okay? Like, a full hug?”
“Sure.” It wasn’t as if we hadn’t hugged before. His arms came around me with such wide berth he might as well have been playing the old Operation game where he couldn’t make contact with the body. “That’s not believable if anyone’s watching. Give me a real one.”
His embrace tightened. Being much taller than me, his arms encircled my shoulders as I went for his middle. A lean, muscled torso beneath his button-down shirt.
He pulled back. We stared at each other. “They’re going to expect us to—”
“We’ll deal with that later.” I spun and grabbed his hand, heading for the restaurant.
We were going to have to kiss. In front of my family. That would be the absolute hardest part of all of this. Not because I couldn’t stand the idea but, well, it was complicated.
If we’d been keeping our relationship secret for six months, it would naturally be embarrassing to suddenly act affectionate with each other in front of the people who’d known us forever.
Yeah, we could push the kiss for later. Easy.
Inside, the host greeted us and showed us to our table. My parents were already there.
“We can never get the jump on them,” Patrick muttered.
From another direction, Nonna appeared. “Why hello, you two. I was just in the ladies’ room.”
As we hugged, her calculating glances at Patrick did not escape my notice .
Moments later, Matteo arrived wearing work clothes, a nice shirt and tie from working the sales floor at the car dealership, followed by Robby and a woman I didn’t recognize.
Hugs and greetings made their rounds as we sat down. Everyone talked at once, as if we hadn’t all seen each other at the house a few days ago.
“Patrick, sit by me.” Nonna patted the table beside her.
He did as requested and I sat on the other side of him, farthest from her.
“Robby?” Mamá looked pointedly at him, then more subtly toward the woman who held his hand.
Robby beamed. “This is Roxanna. Roxanna, I’ll introduce you.” He went through our names and everyone exchanged pleasantries.
My younger brother was clearly on his best behavior. Rather impressive, actually.
Roxanna wore a full face make-up look that I could never manage, where her skin appeared airbrushed and flawless. Expertly shadowed eyes with high-gloss lips in a pale shade. Voluminous hair that looked straight from a beauty tutorial. She wore a tight top that flattered a pretty hot body. Wow, was she a knockout. Go, Robby.
Papá cleared his throat. “Now, is somebody going to tell us why we’re all here?”
Mamá swatted him. “Our children set up dinner for us. It’s very mature of them.”
“They better be paying,” he grumbled.
Matteo clasped his hands together. “We’re here because it’s my birthday. Thirty-years old. Thanks, sis, for arranging this.”
Perfect. He’d taken my coaching notes to heart. Those notes coming in the form of a text stating: The dinner is for your birthday. Go with it .
“Matteo’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” Nonna spoke over her glass of ice water, raised close to her lips. “Why a day early?”
I knew she’d be suspicious. Beneath the table beside me, Patrick nudged my foot with his. My smile ignited. “Oh, you know Matteo and his busy social life. Should we order apps? Everybody loves a good selection of Italian apps.”
This was much harder than I’d anticipated. Thankfully, Robby started chatting away, stealing all the attention.
“Me and Roxanna work together,” Robby was explaining. “Both on the night shift unloading stock.”
Roxanna toyed with the ends of her long, dark hair. “I was unloading pallets of cat litter when he found me.” She blushed.
“Those must be heavy,” Nonna commented. “The litter comes in those dense packages. I bet Robby was a big help with lifting.”
“Oh, I unload them with a forklift.” Roxanna swept her hair back over her shoulder. “But I got stuck because someone unloaded a pallet of squeaky dog toys and didn’t line it up flush, so the boxes stuck partway into the aisle.”
Robby held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”
“And so when I backed up the forklift, I hit the pallet of toys—”
“And they started squeakin’! All of them!” Robby laughed.
“I was stuck!” Roxanna laughed too. At least I interpreted the sound as a laugh. The noise came out like a nasal-toned foghorn. Hahahahaha , then intake of breath. Hahahhahaha . Loud and intrusive, like a warning siren on a loading dock.
Papá’s mouth hung open. Mamá swatted him. Nonna appeared delighted.
I refused to make eye contact with Patrick. I’d break for sure.
Roxanna’s laugh won us bewildered looks from two tables. I glanced around. Should we clear the area?
“And get this.” Robby grinned from ear to ear, grabbing Roxanna’s hand and facing the back of it toward us.
My breath froze. No. This couldn’t be happening.
A dazzling diamond ring glittered on Roxanna’s hand.
“We’re getting married!”