Page 54 of The Fake Date Deal

I’m sorry, I texted, but I was still blocked. As well I should be, with what I’d said.

Danny was knocking. “Hey. You all right?”

I gulped air, wiped my face. Raked my hands through my hair. I was dizzy, head spinning, knocked off my center.

“I’m good,” I croaked. “Just getting showered.”

“Well, we’re going out after. I’m guessing you’re free?”

I tried to swallow and choked. My screen had gone blurry.

“Marco? You coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come.” I dropped my phone face-down in my gym bag. She’d blocked me. She’d gone. I knew — I could feel it. I could speed back to catch her at our hotel, but I’d be too late. Her stuff would be gone. She’d be at the airport or on a plane, halfway to New Zealand or back to her family. Wherever I wasn’t, that’s where she’d be.

“That was always the plan,” I told the bare walls. “She’d always have left me. At least this way?—”

But I couldn’t think of a single at least. Maybe our story was bound to end up this way, her going her way, me going mine. Maybe she’d known it right from the start: I didn’t deserve her. I’d let her down. But did I have to come right out and prove it?

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “You’re better off without me.”

CHAPTER 21

EVE

Iwas arranging roses. Well, not just roses. White roses, sweet peas, sprigs of baby’s breath. Pretty, pale posies, one for each table.

If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself. That was the point of this, not distraction. I wouldn’t shiver to pieces if I stopped moving. I wouldn’t scream, cry, or lose my mind. This wasn’t like Rafael, a public disaster. It was a sweet nothing that had run its course, and now I was here in New York with my parents, helping them set up the children’s aid gala. As I did every year. Nothing strange there.

I jammed a white rose into the floral foam. Its slender stem snapped and I cursed through my teeth. The florist had gone too hard shaving the thorns. Left the stems wobbly and ready to break.

One of the event planners, Donna, glided up to me. “Can I help with the flowers?”

“No, no, I’ve got them.” I tossed the rose in the trash and picked out a fresh one, then narrowed my eyes to survey the hall. The tables fanned out in artful flotillas, paths carved between them to allow for mingling. I frowned at them, then at Donna, and shook my head. “Those tables back there are too close to the fire door. And they’re too close together. I want them spaced out.”

“But you have two hundred guests, and you wanted six to a table. You’d need eight to a table if you want?—”

“I want six to a table, and the tables spaced out. And the ivory tablecloths, not that stark white. And could we fold the napkins, not those big clunky rings? I don’t want napkin rings all over the tables. There’s nothing to do with those once you unroll your napkin.”

“Of course,” said Donna. “But there’s a problem with space. You can’t fit all those tables without?—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll arrange it myself. Open the terrace and put up some awnings. We can set a few heaters out in case it gets chilly. You know, those hot rock ones, not the fan kind.”

Gabriella came up to us. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Could you get me the seating chart?”

“It’s right behind you.” She pulled up a chair.

“Well, take some gloves, then. Help with the posies.”

“We have florists for that.” She stretched out her legs. “Seriously, they’re sitting there, out in the kitchen. Eating those pizza rolls we got for the sound guys.”

“Well, we’ll get more, then. Write it down. Pizza rolls.”

Donna tapped at her phone, but Gabriella waved her back. “We don’t need more pizza rolls. That’s not what I’m saying.” She picked up a daisy and started stripping its petals, one after another. I snorted meanly.

“You don’t need a daisy.”

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