Chapter 11 - Evania
I was happily munching away on my muffin when my sister gasped so loudly that the woman two tables over nearly dropped her coffee.
"You're joking," Elena said, hand flying to her chest. "You have to be joking."
I calmly licked the chocolate syrup off my thumb and shook my head. "I'm not."
The café buzzed softly around us - cups clinking, the low hum of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine - but Elena might as well have been the only sound in the room. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she leaned closer, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.
"Eva," she whispered, as if she were afraid God Himself might overhear, "are you telling me you went on a date with a billionaire?"
I smiled into my muffin. “Yes,” I said simply.
"Are you sure? Did you see proof?"
"I made him show me his bank account, so I'm fairly certain."
She stared at me as though I’d just announced I’d won the lottery without buying a ticket. “You’re not joking.”
“No.”
“You’re not exaggerating.”
“No.”
“You’re not about to tell me this is some kind of metaphor.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like someone who speaks in metaphors?”
Elena stared at me for a beat too long, then did something completely unexpected.
She clapped.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she breathed, already tilting her face upward. “Thank you. Thank you, Father God. When I said bless this family, I didn’t mean like this, but I’ll take it.”
I snorted despite myself. “Elena, stop.”
“Tell me everything,” she demanded. “Start from the beginning. I want all the details.”
I told her about the date. About the restaurant with the absurdly expensive menu, where I pretended not to notice the prices. About the way Callahan had helped me change shoes, the way his voice softened when he laughed, the way his attention had felt like a spotlight trained only on me.
I told her how he’d admitted, calmly and unapologetically, that he was obscenely wealthy.
What I didn’t tell her was the pause that had followed.
There was a flicker of something like hesitation in his eyes. He seemed reluctant to entertain the thought of entering a marriage of convenience with me when it was clear he needed to enter it with someone. So why not me?
“So,” Elena said when I finished, eyes shining. “You’re basically engaged.”
I choked on my muffin. “What? No.”
“Well, not officially,” she amended quickly.
“Elena.”
She leaned back, grinning. “So when’s the wedding?”
I shrugged, and this time the motion wasn’t playful. Elena might only be teasing me, but it opened up questions that I truly couldn't answer,= which was telling.
“I don’t know.”
Her smile faltered. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean,” I said carefully, “we didn’t… decide anything. Not really.”
She frowned. “But you said he wants to marry you.”
“I said he's being forced into a marriage of convenience,” I corrected. “I didn't say he'd marry me.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s really not.”
Elena studied my face, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. She’d always been better at reading people than I was, probably because she’d had to be as the oldest daughter.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
And just like that, the air shifted. I opened my mouth, ready to give her an answer. Ready to say, "We’ll see," or "He’ll call me." Nothing came out. Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly.
"You don't know." Elena blinked. “What does that mean?”
“As in I don’t know what happens next,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I don’t even know how to reach him.”
Silence stretched between us.
“You don’t have his number?” she asked slowly.
I shook my head.
“His email?”
“No.”
“Socials?”
I winced. “No.”
Elena stared at me as if I’d just told her I’d lost a winning lottery ticket.
“Eva,” she said carefully, “how exactly do you plan on becoming a billionaire’s wife if you can’t even text him?”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling like it might offer divine intervention.
I was still mentally kicking myself when Elena’s voice dropped into that dangerous, syrupy calm she used right before violence.
“So,” she said slowly, “explain to me why you didn't get his number.”
I stared very hard at the condensation sliding down my glass, hoping for a distraction—maybe even wishing it could swallow me whole. “I don't know. I didn't think about it.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. I felt it without looking. Years of sisterhood trained me well.
“You didn't think about it,” she repeated flatly.
“I was having a great time,” I tried. “My brain short-circuited. It happens.”
Her hand shot out and pinched my arm.
“Ow—Ellie!” I yelped, jerking away and finally looking at her.
“That,” she said sweetly, “was for fumbling the bag.”
“I didn’t fumble anything!”
“You talked to a beautiful man,” she hissed, leaning closer, “who was clearly interested, clearly single, yet still you walked away without his number.”
My cheeks burned. “I thought I’d see him again.”
“And how,” she demanded, “exactly were you planning to contact him? Smoke signals? Telepathy? Carrier pigeon?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
She leaned back in her chair, exasperated. “Unbelievable. You finally meet someone who makes you smile like that, then you let him disappear into the wild of the dating world.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself when a voice—deep, calm, and entirely too familiar—cut cleanly through our bickering.
“I can assure you,” he said, “that won’t be an issue anymore.”
Both of us froze.
Slowly, almost afraid to confirm what my heart was already screaming, I turned.
He really was here.
Close enough that I could see the faint crease between his brows, the quiet confidence in the way he held himself. His coat was unbuttoned, his presence calm and grounding in a way that made the rest of the room feel suddenly too loud, too crowded.
Elena’s head whipped toward me. “This is the guy, right?”
I nodded, mortified. “Yes.”
Her grin was instantaneous and feral.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, already standing. Before I could react, she grabbed his arm and physically shoved him into the chair she’d just vacated.
“Elena!” I hissed.
She ignored me completely, beaming at him. “I’m Elena. Her sister.”
He blinked once, clearly startled, then chuckled under his breath as he sat. “Callahan Sterling. Nice to meet you.”
“She’s hopeless,” Elena continued cheerfully. “But I’m not. You two should exchange numbers.”
My face felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to—”
“I insist,” he said smoothly, eyes flicking back to me. “That's partly why I'm here.”
Elena clapped her hands together. “Perfect. My work here is done.”
“What—wait—” I started, but it was already too late. She grabbed her bag, leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Do not mess this up,” then shot him a thumbs-up and practically jogged away.
I watched her disappear into the crowd, equal parts horrified and amused.
I exhaled a shaky laugh and turned back to him. “I’m so sorry about her.”
He smiled, slow and genuine. “Don’t be. I like her already.”
“That makes one of us,” I said, though I couldn’t stop smiling. "I'm happy to see you," I admitted, my smile widening.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me as if that statement had caught him off guard. “You are?”
“Of course,” I said easily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Something flickered across his expression, surprise, maybe. Or uncertainty. Whatever it was, it was gone before I could decipher what it was.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitated, fingers tapping once against the table before he spoke. “Let's get married.”
My stomach fluttered. “What?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Let's get married, right now.”
I laughed nervously. “Are you serious?”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “I am. Marry me."