15. Lily
Lily
The Harvest Gala should have been my moment of triumph.
For weeks, I’d poured myself into every detail—from the burgundy and gold mums cascading down each table centerpiece to the pumpkin archway that had finally stopped threatening structural collapse.
The community center glowed with warm string lights, and the air was thick with the scent of apple cider and cinnamon from the dessert table.
I’d even splurged on a new dress—deep burgundy velvet that Sarah swore made me look “like autumn herself.” When Mario had picked me up, the way his eyes lingered on me made my cheeks warm.
“You look incredible,” he’d said, and for a moment, I’d felt like the heroine of my own romance novel.
Olivia was safely tucked away at my parents’ house, having given me strict instructions. “Dance at least three times. And if Mario tries to be grumpy, remind him it’s mandatory fun night.”
For the first hour, everything was perfect.
Mario had actually asked me to dance—a slow song where he held me close and whispered bad jokes in my ear to make me laugh.
We’d sampled Mrs. Miller’s famous pumpkin bread and made the rounds, accepting compliments on the decorations with the comfortable ease of a real couple.
Then Patricia Downs appeared.
“Lily, darling!” My rival florist materialized beside the punch bowl while Mario was fetching our coats.
Patricia ran the only other flower shop in town—a sterile, expensive place that catered to people who thought flowers should look like they’d been manufactured rather than grown.
“Your arrangements are... quaint this year.”
I bit back my first three responses. “Thank you, Patricia. How thoughtful.”
She smiled with the warmth of a piranha. “I do admire your commitment to the rustic aesthetic. So... cottage-core.” The way she said it made it sound like a disease.
“Well, not everyone can pull off your minimalist approach,” I replied sweetly.
“True. Speaking of pulling off...” She leaned closer, her perfume sharp enough to cut glass. “I heard some interesting news today. My cousin’s sister’s boyfriend works for that Italian racing team—Ferrari’s technical division? She mentioned they’ve offered your Mario quite the position.”
My stomach dropped like a stone into cold water. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Her eyes glittered with false concern. “Technical director position. Very prestigious. Finn says they’ve been courting him for weeks.” She paused, letting that sink in. “I assumed he’d mentioned it, given how... serious everyone thinks you two are.”
The punch in my hand suddenly felt heavy as lead. “I—we don’t discuss every aspect of his career?—”
“Of course not!” Patricia’s laugh tinkled like breaking glass. “Men can be so secretive about these things. Though Finn did say the offer came with quite the deadline. Something about needing an answer by the end of the week?” She glanced around the room. “That’s... when is that? Friday?”
Three days. Three days from now.
“Well,” she continued, checking her manicured nails, “I’m sure whatever he decides will be what’s best for everyone involved.
After all, opportunities like that don’t come around twice.
” Her smile turned razor sharp. “Give my best to little Olivia. I do hope all this... uncertainty... Won’t be too hard on her. ”
She glided away, leaving me standing by the punch bowl feeling like I’d been hit by a freight train disguised as small talk.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and did what I’d sworn I wouldn’t do—I googled Mario’s name. The third result made my blood turn to ice water.
“Former F1 Star Marrone in Talks for Technical Director Position - Sources suggest a strong interest in return to European racing scene.”
The article was dated four days ago.
Four days. He’d known for four days and hadn’t said a word.
I scrolled further, finding more articles speculating about his “inevitable return to Italy” and his “impressive recovery from last year’s career-ending crash.
” One even had a quote from someone claiming to be close to the negotiations.
“Mario’s always been destined for bigger things than small-town life.
This position would put him back where he belongs. ”
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.
“Lily?” Mario appeared at my elbow, holding our coats. “Ready to—” He stopped, seeing my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The lie scraped my throat raw. “Just checking on Olivia.”
But Mario had always been observant—it was probably what made him good at racing, reading the smallest changes in conditions. His dark eyes cataloged everything, from the way I clutched my phone to the rigid set of my shoulders, and how I couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Before I could answer, the microphone at the front of the room squealed with feedback. Mayor Gable stood on the small stage, beaming with the particular joy of someone about to make a crowd very happy.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced, his voice booming through the speakers. “Before we get to our pumpkin judging contest, I think we all know what we’re really here to see tonight!”
My heart dropped into my shoes.
“Our very own Romeo and Juliet—if Romeo was Italian and drove very fast cars, and Juliet owned the prettiest flower shop in three counties!” The crowd chuckled appreciatively. “Mario and Lily, why don’t you come on up here!”
I could feel two hundred pairs of eyes swiveling toward us like searchlights. The collective intake of breath was audible—the entire room leaning forward in anticipation.
“We should leave,” I whispered urgently. “Right now.”
“If we bolt now, it’ll be worse,” Mario said through gritted teeth. “They’ll think we’re hiding something.”
We are hiding something, I wanted to scream. We’re hiding that you’re leaving, and I’m an idiot who forgot this was all pretend.
But he was right. In a town this size, disappearing during the mayor’s speech would only fuel more gossip. We made our way through the crowd, their faces bright with anticipation, phone cameras already emerging like flowers turning toward the sun.
Mayor Gable’s grin widened as we approached the stage. “There they are! Our favorite love story in the making!”
I felt Mario tense beside me as we climbed the two small steps onto the platform. Under the bright lights, I could see everything—my mother’s hopeful face in the crowd, Ben trying to look supportive while clearly panicking, June with her phone held high and her Facebook Live already rolling.
“Now, Mario,” the Mayor said, his voice carrying that special tone adults use when they think they’re helping, “I believe you have something you’d like to say to this lovely lady?”
The silence that followed felt like it lasted seventeen years. I could hear my own heartbeat, the hum of the heating system, and someone in the back clearing their throat.
“Actually—” Mario started.
“He’s shy!” June called out from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. “Come on, Mario! We’ve all been waiting!”
A ripple of encouraging laughter spread through the room. Someone else shouted, “Ask her!” Another voice added, “We’re all rooting for you!”
The mayor leaned into the microphone with the enthusiasm of a game show host. “The Facebook group has been very invested in your romance, haven’t they? Two hundred and thirty-seven members all holding their breath tonight!”
Mario’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. I could see him calculating, strategizing, looking for an exit that didn’t exist.
“So?” the Mayor prompted. “Any special announcements? The whole town’s been buzzing with excitement!”
This was it. The moment where Mario would have to choose between maintaining our lie and being honest about his plans. Where he’d either commit to this charade or reveal that it had always had an expiration date.
I looked at him, waiting. Hoping, despite everything, that he’d find a way to navigate this without destroying us both.
“We’re not ready to make any announcements,” he said carefully, his voice steady despite the circumstances.
The crowd’s energy shifted, confused murmurs replacing eager anticipation.
“Not ready?” Patricia Downs’ voice cut through the uncertainty like a blade. She’d positioned herself near the front, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. “Or not staying long enough for announcements to matter?”
My chest tightened. Here it came.
“I’m sorry?” Mayor Gable looked confused.
Patricia stepped closer to the stage, her voice carrying easily through the now-silent room. “I heard some exciting news about a certain job offer in Italy. Congratulations, Mario. Technical director is quite prestigious.”
The words hit the crowd like a shock wave. Heads turned, whispers started, and suddenly everyone was looking between Patricia, Mario, and me like we were actors in a play they couldn’t follow.
“Is it true?” I heard myself ask, my voice barely above a whisper. But the microphone caught it anyway, amplifying my question through the entire room. “The job offer in Italy?”
Mario’s face went completely blank—that neutral expression he wore when journalists asked questions he didn’t want to answer. “Lily, we should talk about this privately?—”
“The whole town’s been talking about it publicly,” I said, my voice getting stronger and shakier at the same time. “Patricia says the offer came with a deadline. This Friday.”
His silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap.
“You got an offer,” I continued, the pieces falling into place with horrible clarity. “To go back to racing. In Italy. And you’ve been considering it.”
“It’s complicated?—”
“When were you going to tell me?” The question burst out of me before I could stop it.
“After you let Olivia get even more attached? After you helped her plan that heritage project around your family’s traditions? After you let my entire family plan Christmas dinner around you being here?”