Chapter 3
BEN
The spray from the fountain cools the air nearby in the shopping center, creating an oasis in the middle of a hot Chicago spring. Sitting on the edge of it, I pull my phone out, start to check my email, then think better of it and put it away.
Two hours. That’s how much time I’ve set aside to go shopping and have a meal with Freya. Why ruin it?
It’s not often that I take a break, as Freya likes to point out. In the spirit of good-natured ribbing, I don’t mind showing her how wrong she is about me. I know how to take a break.
It’s just that I don’t often choose to.
A young family approaches the fountain, a mother and a father with two kids under five. The children’s eyes go wide at the water, and the older one immediately plunges his fist into its shallow depths.
“Bryson, no!” The mother rushes over, but she’s laughing as she pulls his dripping hand away. “We talked about this.”
The father scoops up the younger child, a little girl with pigtails, and spins her around until she squeals with delight. “Your turn next, sweetheart.”
I watch them with a strange tightness in my chest. They look so... easy together. Natural. Like they fit into each other’s lives without having to think about it. The father doesn’t check his phone once. The mother isn’t calculating the cost-benefit analysis of letting her son get wet.
They’re present, in the moment, enjoying their family.
Must be nice.
I realize I’m staring and force myself to look away, focusing instead on the upscale shopping center around me.
This is neutral territory. Expensive enough that we won’t look out of place buying an engagement ring, but not so exclusive that Freya will feel uncomfortable.
I’ve been coming to this particular area for years when I need to buy gifts for clients or business associates.
I understand exactly which jewelry store has the best selection and the most discreet sales staff.
What I don’t understand is how to navigate buying a fake engagement ring with my best friend without making things weird between us.
My phone buzzes with a text from Freya: “Running 5 minutes late. Don’t leave without me, coward.”
I smile despite my nerves. Nobody else in my life dares to call me a coward.
My employees treat me with careful respect.
My business associates either fear me or want something from me.
My parents… well, my parents are retired in California, living their perfect picture-book life where everything looks successful from the outside.
But Freya? Freya still sees right through all of it.
Another buzz: “Also, I hope you brought your credit card. I have expensive taste.”
This makes me laugh out loud, drawing a curious glance from a woman walking past with designer shopping bags. Of course Freya would joke about this. It’s exactly what I need, someone to remind me that this doesn’t have to be as complicated as I’m making it.
Though in reality, I’d buy her any ring she wanted.
Price has never been an object where she’s concerned.
When she needed a new laptop for her design work two years ago, I had one delivered to her apartment the next day.
When her car broke down last winter, I had my mechanic pick it up and fix it while she was at work.
She always protests, claims she can take care of herself, but the truth is, I like taking care of her.
It’s one of the few purely good things I do that isn’t calculated for business gain.
“Ben!”
I turn toward the sound of her voice and immediately forget how to breathe.
Freya is walking toward me in a flowy green dress that brings out her eyes, her hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She looks… wow, she looks beautiful.
“Sorry I’m late,” she states, slightly out of breath. “I couldn’t decide what to wear to go fake engagement ring shopping. Turns out there’s no etiquette guide for this situation.”
“You look perfect,” I respond, then immediately want to take it back when I see her eyebrows raise.
“Perfect for pretending to be your fiancée, you mean,” she corrects, but there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read.
“Right. Of course.” I stand up, suddenly feeling awkward in my own skin. “Should we… should we head to the jewelry store?”
“Lead the way, fiancé.”
“So,” she continues as we approach the store, “what’s our story? How did you propose? Where? When?”
I stop walking. “Our story?”
“Ben.” She gives me the look, the one that indicates I’m being particularly dense. “We’re about to walk into a jewelry store and ask to see engagement rings. The salesperson is going to ask questions. We need to have answers that match.”
“Right. Of course.” Why didn’t I think of this? I plan everything, except apparently the most important details of my fake engagement. “What do you think we should mention?”
“Well, when did you tell Red we got engaged?”
“A couple months ago.”
“Okay, so March.” She taps her finger against her lip, thinking. “What about… we went away for a long weekend, you proposed somewhere romantic.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Where would you take your girlfriend for a romantic weekend?”
The question stumps me. Where would I take a girlfriend? I’ve never had a relationship that lasted long enough for romantic weekend getaways. The closest I’ve come is taking business associates to my place in the Hamptons, and somehow I don’t think that’s the vibe we’re going for.
“Napa Valley?” I suggest weakly.
“Perfect. You proposed at a winery. Very you—successful, sophisticated, probably cost a fortune.”
“I’m not that predictable.”
“Ben, you once mentioned your favorite restaurant because they have the most efficient service in the city.”
“Efficiency is important.”
“For a business lunch, maybe. Not for romance.” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “Come on. Let’s go pick out a ring before I lose my nerve.”
The jewelry store has soft lighting that makes everything sparkle. A well-dressed sales associate approaches us immediately, his smile professional but warm.
“Good afternoon. How can I help you today?”
“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” I state, and the words feel strange in my mouth.
“Congratulations!” His smile becomes genuine. “How exciting. Is this your first time ring shopping together?”
Freya slides her hand into mine, and I try not to react to the way her touch sends electricity up my arm. “We’ve been talking about it for a while,” she responds smoothly, “but Ben wanted to surprise me with the actual shopping trip.”
“How romantic. And do we have any preferences for style? Traditional, modern, vintage?”
I look at Freya, expecting her to take the lead here.
“I’d love to see some options,” she declares diplomatically.
The next hour passes in a blur of diamonds and settings and terminology I’ve never heard before. The sales associate, David, is patient and knowledgeable, explaining the differences between cut and clarity while Freya tries on ring after ring.
And I watch her face for every reaction.
She’s polite about the larger, more traditional rings, but I can see they don’t speak to her. Her eyes light up when David shows her a more unique piece. An oval diamond with a delicate twisted band that catches the light beautifully.
“This one is from our artisan collection,” David explains. “Each ring is individually crafted, so no two are exactly alike.”
Freya turns her hand, watching the diamond sparkle. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Try it on,” I encourage.
She slips it onto her finger, and something in my chest clenches. It fits perfectly, like it was made for her. The diamond catches the light in a way that makes her eyes seem to glow.
“What do you think?” David asks.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Freya murmurs softly, and for a moment she stares at it, completely transfixed.
“We’ll take it,” I declare without hesitation.
Both Freya and David look at me in surprise, but then Freya quickly shakes her head and starts pulling the ring off.
“Actually, no,” she responds, handing it back to David. “Could we see some others? Maybe something more… classic?”
I frown. “But you loved that one.”
“It’s fine,” she states, not meeting my eyes. “Let’s look at some other options.”
David, ever the professional, shows us several more rings. Freya eventually settles on a classic round solitaire. Beautiful, but completely generic. Nothing like the unique piece that made her face light up.
“This one,” she declares with forced enthusiasm. “It’s perfect.”
But I can tell she doesn’t mean it. There’s no spark in her voice, no wonder in her expression. She’s going through the motions.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “We can keep looking—”
“I’m sure. This is exactly what we need.”
David processes the transaction for the ring that Freya clearly doesn’t love, and I sign the paperwork, feeling like I’ve made some terrible mistake. But I can’t figure out what went wrong.
As we leave the store, the ring box safely tucked into my jacket pocket, Freya bumps my shoulder with hers.
“So, future husband,” she mentions with forced lightness, “what’s our next stop in this fake engagement tour?”
“Lunch,” I respond. “Somewhere ridiculously expensive, as requested.”
“Oh good. I’m starving.”
At the restaurant, a place with white tablecloths and a wine list that reads like a novel, I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the jewelry store.
“Okay,” I declare after the waiter leaves with our order. “What happened back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the jewelry store. You loved that ring I mentioned we should get, and then you suddenly… didn’t.”
Freya fidgets with her napkin, not meeting my eyes. “The ring we bought is fine. It’s perfect for what we need.”
“But it’s not the one you wanted.”
“Ben…”
“Come on. I can tell when you’re settling for something.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and when she finally looks up, there’s something sad in her expression.
“I loved that ring too much,” she admits quietly.
“Too much?”
“A ring like that… it should be for a real engagement. With someone who actually wants to marry me.” She attempts a smile that ends up looking sad.
“I mean, hopefully someday I’ll have that.
A real proposal, a real ring, a real wedding.
And when that happens, I want it to be special. Not tainted by this whole charade.”
I stare at her, feeling like the ground has shifted beneath me. “You want to get married?”
“Eventually, yes. Don’t look so shocked.”
But I am shocked. In all our years of friendship, I’ve never heard her talk about marriage or settling down.
I understand she dates. We don’t usually discuss our romantic lives in detail, but I recognize there have been guys.
I never thought about what her dating would lead to if she found “the one.”
“I didn’t realize,” I respond lamely.
“That I’m a normal woman who might want normal things?” There’s an edge to her voice now. “Just because I’m not desperate to get married doesn’t mean I never think about it.”
“No, of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all.” I’m quiet for a second, trying to process this. “You’ve never mentioned wanting that before.”
“Ben, the longest relationship you’ve ever had lasted three months. I didn’t think you’d be particularly interested in hearing about my hypothetical wedding plans.”
The waiter arrives with our wine, providing a mercifully timed interruption. But as he pours, I can’t stop thinking about what Freya declared. She wants marriage. She wants someone who will propose to her with a ring she loves, someone who will commit to her the way I’ve never committed to anyone.
Someone who isn’t me.
“I’m sorry,” I state after the waiter leaves. “You’re right. I don’t exactly have a great track record with relationships.”
“I wasn’t trying to criticize you. That ring was beautiful, and for a second, it felt real. And I realized I want the real thing someday. With someone who loves me enough to pick out a ring like that because he understands it’s perfect for me, not because he needs a prop for a business dinner.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I did pick out that ring. Or rather, I recognized it was perfect for her the moment I saw her face when she tried it on. But she’ll never understand that, because this whole thing is fake.
“When you do find that person,” I mention carefully, “he’ll be lucky to have you.”
She raises her wine glass with a wry smile. “Here’s hoping he exists.”
“To finding what you’re looking for,” I respond, clinking my glass against hers.
But as I drink, all I can think about is how wrong this feels. The idea of some other man proposing to Freya, some other man seeing her face light up the way it did in the jewelry store, some other man getting to call her his wife…
It makes me want to punch something.
Which is ridiculous, because I don’t do relationships. I don’t do commitment. I’ve spent my entire adult life making sure I stay unattached and focused on my career. I made a vow to myself never to end up in a relationship like my parents have.
So why does the thought of Freya marrying someone else make me feel like I’m losing something I never realized I wanted?
Freya raises her glass to a toast, stealing my attention once more. “To fake engagements and real friendship,” she declares.
“To taking chances,” I counter, clinking my glass against hers.