15. Clarence
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Clarence
The ring has been in my jacket pocket for three days.
We picked it out together at a place downtown, Charly pointing at the case going “that one, the small one, stop overthinking it” while the jeweler looked between us with the face of a man who’s seen a thousand couples and knows exactly what kind we are.
She paid for half. I let her because fighting Charly about money is a war I’ve already lost.
Princess cut. Tiny. Barely there on a thin gold band. She picked the quietest ring in the whole case because that’s just who she is, and I’ve been carrying it around for three days because I can’t figure out how to give it to her without my hands ratting me out.
Tonight’s the donor reception. The debut. She can’t walk in without it.
The back door opens and she comes through in a black dress I’ve never seen, hair pinned up, heels that put her closer to my chin than usual, and my brain just shuts off.
“Stop staring and tell me if this works.” She tugs at the hem. “I bought it on my lunch break and the tags are still on because I’m returning it tomorrow if it’s wrong.”
“It works. It’s perfect.”
“You barely looked.” She spins once, fast. “I could have toilet paper stuck to the back for all you know.”
“You don’t have toilet paper stuck to the back.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I already looked, I told you it’s perfect.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms.
She narrows her eyes. I almost smile. The ring is burning through my jacket and I need to do this before I chicken out.
“Come here for a second.”
“Why? We need to leave in ten minutes.” She’s grabbing her clutch off the chair, not looking at me.
“Just come here, Charly.”
She walks over, suspicious, stops in front of me. Close. Looking up.
I take the box out of my jacket and set it on the counter between us. Her eyes drop to it and her whole face shifts, this unguarded flash before she catches it and puts the planning face back on.
“We already bought it together. I know what’s in the box. You don’t need to do a whole thing.”
“I’m not doing a whole thing.” I open it. The ring catches the kitchen light. “But I’m not gonna shove this at you in a parking lot before we go in and have that be how it happens. Fake or not, you deserve better than a parking lot.”
“Clarence, we really don’t have to turn this into a moment.” Her voice wobbles on the last word. Just barely.
“I’m not making it a thing. I just don’t want to hand it to you in a parking lot and call that good enough.” I pick it up and hold it between us. “You get to put it on here, where it’s just us, no audience. That’s it.”
“You’re doing that thing again.” She swallows hard and her eyes stay on the ring. “Where you say all the right words and I can’t tell if you’re being sweet or completely wrecking me.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Absolutely not.” But her hand comes out. Palm up, fingers open. “Just put it on before I spiral and we’re late.”
My hand is steady. I’m proud of that. The ring slides onto her finger and it fits perfectly because the jeweler sized it while she was looking at her phone and I memorized the number without telling her.
Her hand sits in mine. Neither of us lets go.
“It’s really pretty,” she says, quietly. The real one that only comes out when something catches her off guard.
“Yeah.” I’m not looking at the ring. “It is.”
She catches that. Her ears go red and she pulls her hand back and grabs the clutch off the counter.
“Okay we’re going. Right now. Before you say one more thing that makes this harder than it already is.”
“I literally said two words.”
“Your face said the rest. Let’s go.”
***
The reception is at the same venue as the gala. Same ballroom, same chandeliers, same crowd. Different story.
I put my hand on her back when we walk in, right where we practiced. Fabric this time, not skin, and honestly thank God because the last time my thumb found bare skin during a rehearsal I forgot how to talk for forty-five seconds.
“Ready?” I ask at the door.
“Born ready. Let’s go make some rich people love us.” She hooks her arm through mine and we walk in together.
Gerald’s the first person we see, which is the whole point because Charly planned our arrival time around his. She’s terrifying when she’s strategic.
“Gerald, hey.” I shake his hand and pull Charly in closer. “I don’t think you’ve properly met my fiancée.”
The word drops into the conversation and Gerald’s eyebrows go up and his wife Margaret, who’s been half-listening with a champagne flute, whips around so fast she almost spills on the woman next to her.
“I’m sorry, your what?” Margaret grabs Charly’s hand before anyone can stop her and tilts the ring toward the light. “Oh my God. Oh my GOD. When did this happen?”
“Recently.” Charly smiles, easy, not overselling it. Her thumb traces the band once, this tiny self-conscious fidget. “We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Not a big deal? Gerald, are you hearing this? They’re engaged and they weren’t going to make a big deal out of it!” Margaret pulls Charly into a hug she didn’t ask for and mouths congratulations at me over Charly’s shoulder.
“Well.” Gerald shakes my hand again, harder this time, both hands. “This is wonderful news. Really wonderful. You two look great together.”
“She’s the brains, I just show up.” I put my arm around Charly’s waist and she leans into it without missing a beat.
“He’s being modest,” Charly says, bumping her hip against mine. “He also carries things and reaches high shelves. Very useful.”
Margaret laughs. Gerald laughs. People nearby are turning, catching the word engaged, and I can see it start to move through the room.
One table, then another, then a cluster by the bar.
Heads lean in. Whispers pick up. But the tone is different this time.
Not scandal. Not gossip. This is the good kind of whisper, the kind that sounds like did you hear and they look so happy and good for her.
Charly catches it too. Squeezes my arm once without looking at me.
We work the room together after that, and here’s the thing about pretending with her: there’s nothing to pretend.
She laughs at a donor’s bad joke and my hand goes to her waist and I don’t decide to do it, it just happens.
She introduces me to a woman from the museum board and says “my fiancé Clarence” with her hand on my arm, casual, natural, and the word just falls out of her mouth and sits there.
Then her thumb traces a circle on my sleeve. This tiny nervous fidget right after she says it. Nobody else would catch it. I catch everything about her and it’s becoming a real problem.
“You’re too good at this,” she whispers between conversations, leaning close enough that her lips brush my ear. “I told you not to make it convincing.”
“I’m literally just standing here holding a glass.”
“You’re doing that thing with your eyes again.”
“What thing with my eyes?”
“The thing where you look at me and I forget what I was about to say.” She pokes my chest with one finger. “Cut it out. I just called Margaret by the wrong name twice because you looked at me mid-sentence and my whole brain malfunctioned.”
“I can’t cut out my own eyes, Charly.”
“Then look at the floor or the ceiling or anywhere else because I’m trying to work this room and you’re making it very difficult.”
I shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.
Then Adam walks in and the fun’s over.
He’s alone. No Rebecca. He spots us from the door and the ring registers first because his eyes drop to her hand and stick. His whole face goes tight and he’s crossing the room before anyone can cut him off.
“Clarence. A word.” He stops right in front of us, too close, and a few heads nearby turn.
“I’m in the middle of a conversation, Adam.”
“I don’t care about your conversation.” His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping. “Outside. Now.”
Charly’s fingers tighten on my arm. I put my hand over hers.
“Whatever you want to say, you can say it right here.”
“You’re engaged to her.” He says it flat, his eyes cutting between us. “My ex-fiancée. My own brother, putting a ring on my ex-fiancée’s finger.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re a goddamn traitor.” His voice goes up and people are definitely watching now.
“Our whole lives I’ve watched you circle everything I have, and now you’re not even hiding it anymore.
” He takes a step closer and his hands are shaking.
“You waited until I was down and you swooped in and you put that ring on her hand just to prove you could.”
“Adam. Lower your voice or leave.” I keep mine flat. Steady. “Those are your two options.”
“Or what? She’ll call the cops again?” He turns to Charly. “And you. You went from my bed to his guest house to his ring in, what, a few months? That’s fast even for a woman trying to make a point.”
“Don’t talk to her.” My voice drops to the place where I stop being polite. “You can say whatever you want about me. You don’t get to talk to her.”
“I’ll talk to whoever I want. She was mine.”
“She was never yours. That’s why you’re standing here alone right now.”
Gerald steps in, puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to call it a night, son.”
Adam shrugs him off. Looks around the room, at all the donors he’s been calling for weeks, at every face watching him come apart at his brother’s event, next to his brother’s fiancée, proving every word of the story we’re selling. The math lands. I can see it hit.
He turns and walks out. Doesn’t say a word. Just leaves.
The room lets out a breath.
“You okay?” Charly’s hand goes to my chest, right over my heart, and I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.
“I’m good. Are you?”
“That was exactly what I wanted to happen.” She fixes my collar, gentle, smoothing the fabric down. “You were perfect, by the way.”
“I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I was trying not to punch my brother at a charity event.”
“Same thing.” She pats my chest twice and drops her hand. “Come on, we’ve got more donors to charm.”
We don’t get far.