Chapter 10 Drew
DREW
Settling in for a meal at Dieci was always a good idea.
I’d tipped the ma?tre d’ to seat us at a table that was impossible to ignore given the location and strategic lighting, but was far enough away from the other diners that we could map out our battle strategy together without worrying about being overheard.
It was the perfect spot to check off two items on our list: being seen in public together and figuring out the parameters of our fake engagement.
But figuring things out had to wait, because Emilia’s phone started beeping pretty much as soon as we sat down—another Bridezilla having a meltdown, apparently. She grimaced. “Sorry, do you mind if I…?” She held up the phone. I gestured for her to go ahead.
The next ten minutes were a display of the most coordination I’ve ever seen in my life, including performances of Cirque de Soleil.
Sticking in an earpiece and keeping her voice at a low hush, she managed to calm down a bride who, it seemed, had just had a disastrous haircut, send a dozen text messages to coordinate an emergency appointment with a new stylist, complete with reference photos for the new style.
At the same time, she managed to squeeze in her meal order while giving the waiter a smile that had the boy blush fire-engine red.
Everything was handled so smoothly that it was like watching a dance, right up until she put her phone away with a flourish and met my eyes for pretty much the first time since we’d sat down.
At that moment, I realized something startling.
That show she’d just put on… wasn’t for me.
She hadn’t been playing up a single thing because I was present as her audience.
She’d mostly seemed to forget I was even there.
It was an odd scenario for me, because it was rare that a date wasn’t doing backflips and other contortions to try to impress me.
She clearly couldn’t care less whether she impressed me or not. But she did impress me, all the same. Emilia being Emilia was impressive on its own, with no need to put on a show.
I leaned closer. “We should take this time to map out our backstory, because you know Dorian is going to push on this plot point.”
“You’re right. Let’s figure it out. I’d say we’ve been dating … um …”
She looked me up and down like she was seeing me for the first time.
“Six months,” Emilia said with conviction.
I frowned at her. “And we’re already engaged? That feels awfully fast for such a big decision.”
“Yeah but look at our models for this relationship. Kristen and Carter have been together for like, milliseconds! It’s taking longer to plan their wedding than their actual courtship,” she pointed out, which I had to admit was a fair point.
“Plus, I like the idea of us getting swept off our feet by the passion. All we want is for the rest of our lives to begin right now.”
Her eyes went shiny as she said it, like a true romantic. Usually, I had little patience for romantics… but I could admit, just to myself, that it was a good look for her.
“Well, okay then. You’ve convinced me, six months it is. And as for how we met, how about a meet-cute at the resort?”
We paused when the waiter came back with the bottle of wine I’d ordered. He poured, we kept quiet until he left us alone again.
“It makes sense since I’ve done quite a few weddings there. But where’s the cute in our meet? We can’t just say we thought the other person was totally bangable so here we are, boom, engaged.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m totally bangable?”
She huffed at me. “Did I say that?”
Oh, she was adorable when she was fired up.
“You implied it, but whatever.” I winked at her and she rolled her eyes. “Moving on. So how did it happen?”
She stared into space with her eyes squinted for a few seconds. “The way we actually met sort of works. Tripping over dogs, switched phones … if we can pretend that it was actually silly and fun and not you freaking the fuck out about adorable puppies, then it works.”
“Hold up. That was a longstanding grudge that had next to nothing to do with the dogs themselves—”
She put her hand up. “We’ve been through this already. Just keep it high level and we’ll be fine. Meet cute established, what’s next?”
What was next? I’d never been engaged, never even come close.
I had no clue what it was supposed to look like.
The only model I had was my brother, and that was no help.
He had a one-in-a-million love with Gwen.
I couldn’t imitate that since I had no expectation of ever finding something like that for myself.
Grasping for an answer, I threw out, “I think we should get to know our likes and dislikes better. Basic stuff.”
“Perfect,” she nodded. “Speed round, me first. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” I answered. “You?”
“So milky and sugary it shouldn’t count as coffee.”
I grimaced. “Gross. But okay, guess that means there’s no risk of either one of us accidentally picking up the wrong cup. Night owl or early bird?”
“Like I have a choice? My profession forces me to be both. Early morning meetings with vendors through to the last dance at a reception. I don’t sleep.”
“Yeah, I hear that,” I agreed. It was pretty similar for me. “Ocean or mountains?”
“Ocean, forever and always,” she said with conviction.
“Good. Same. See? We’re a perfect match.”
She rolled her eyes at me again.
“Family ties?” Emilia asked as she drained her wine glass. “Positive or dicey?”
“Uh,” I began then broke off, because for the first time in a while I wasn’t exactly sure. “It was touch and go for a while after my mom passed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emilia said. She reached out to place her hand on top of mind and the simple gesture was surprisingly comforting.
“Yeah, thanks. She was the glue. Not that everything was perfect before. With three boys and a family business, rivalries are to be expected. But we all adored her, and she had a knack for calming the waters before things got out of hand. Losing her made us all fracture apart. Now, we’re working on rebuilding.
My father has made it a major goal for all of us to be closer. ”
It was the most honest I’d been about my family with anyone, and it came as a shock that this woman I barely knew was getting me to open up this way.
“Well, that’s a huge positive to come out of a terrible situation. I’m happy for you guys.”
I fought off the conflicting feelings welling up inside of me when she squeezed my hand. Talking with her felt surprisingly cathartic. I’d only given her a high level overview of the challenges in my life and I sort of wanted to keep going.
But this dinner meeting wasn’t about me and my challenges. We needed to keep mapping out our plan.
She pulled her hand from mine and it refocused me on the task at hand.
“Your turn. What’s your family situation?” I asked.
Her shoulders slumped. “Oof.”
I winced. “That bad? Sorry to hear it.”
She gave me a weary half smile, like this was a hurt so old that she’d built callouses around it.
“Yeah, I don’t have a great relationship with my parents.
We have very different points of view. My dad is super traditional.
Meat and potatoes guy, king of the castle, his way or the highway, and he picked a wife who was on board with all of that.
My mom fell in line and did whatever he said. Then I was born.”
“And came out of the womb with a mind of your own?”
She laughed. “Oh, I absolutely did. Which he did not like. His worldview made it impossible for us to see eye-to-eye, so I sort of distanced myself. My grandfather turned into my primary caregiver growing up. I didn’t officially live with him, but his house was my safe space when I needed to get away from the drama at home.
It’s where I live now, ever since he moved into an assisted living facility.
He gave me the house—and my hard-shelled roommate.
Now it feels like Winston is this symbol of our relationship.
” She blushed and shook her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid. ”
“No, please explain what you mean,” I pushed. “I have a literal investment in that guy so I want to know more.”
“Winston is like …” she shrugged. “He’s like my grandfather in animal form.
This wizened old survivor in my yard. When Win is doing good, I feel like my grandfather is as well.
When he’s not I worry about him and my grandfather.
Even though I see my grandfather all the time and know that he’s doing fine. See? Ridiculous.”
“Not at all,” I insisted. “It shows your heart.”
We both fiddled with the stems of our wine glasses. We’d somehow just breezed past ‘getting to know you 101’ questions to deep territory. But it felt so natural, so easy. Too easy.
“So how did you propose?” Emilia asked me.
“Propose what?”
She held her hand up and wiggled her ring finger. “To me, your one true love.”
I chuckled. “Right. That.”
“We need to come up with something big and flashy. Stereotypical. A string quartet beneath a full moon, piles of roses, you in a tux. Cue the touching declaration of eternal love, then tears, and scene.”
It sounded exactly like how they’d stage something for reality TV. “Is that what you want when your dream man proposes?”
She grimaced, looking almost insulted. “No way, but it’s what Dorian and the audience expect, so we’ll deliver. Weddings are theater.”
The waiter stopped back to refill our glasses and I wondered how many bottles we were going to drain as we worked through the planning.
“That’s a pretty cynical view for a wedding planner.”
“I’m a realist,” she answered quickly. “I give my clients what they want.”
“But I heard you go on and on during your one-on-one interview with Dorian about the beauty of true love, and how magical weddings are. So those were lies?”