Page 2 of Fake It 'til You Make It

Andrew hates public displays of affection. Me too. But we usually know how to greet each other romantically. Something is most definitely going on.

OMG. This is really going to happen.

I sit and take a large drink of the margarita that has been served to the table, then place my hands together in my lap, as if I’m in a job interview. It all feels very… strange.

The waiter returns and I order a second margarita. Andrew shakes his head at the waiter but does take a sip of water from my glass on the table.

He exhales. Slowly, heavily, whilst his eyes pierce mine across the table and cause me to hold my breath. Waiting.

Is he going to ask now? Will he do it after dinner? How long are we going to be held in this awkward suspense? Should I say something?

Andrew clears his throat. Oh crap, here goes. ‘I’ve thoughtabout how to say this for so long, Abbey, and I have concluded that there isn’t one way better than another. So, I’ll just get on with it.’ He’s so tense, I actually feel sorry for him. The poor guy must have been chewing himself up over this.

I want to tell him it’s okay, it’s just us, he can ask however he wants and I’ll say yes. I don’t need verse and chapter about our relationship as a precursor to the big question.Will you marry me?is all he has to ask.

‘Andrew—’

He holds up a hand, silencing me, which is really quite offensive but I’ll put it down to stress. He reaches for my margarita and drains the glass.

He’s a mess.

Planting the glass back down on the table, he draws in a breath. This is it; this is the moment.

‘Abbey, I’ve met someone else.’

Huh?

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen and I don’t want to hurt you, but this is over.’ He motions between us, pointing a finger. ‘You and me, I mean. We’re over.’

Come again?

The waiter returns to our table and I reach for my drink from his tray. It’s the first time I have ever downed a drink in one. The waiter is still standing at the side of our table, now gawping at me. I raise the empty glass and he takes the signal, returning to the bar to get me another.

‘Wh— when? Wh— what? Why? When? How? What exactly do you mean by “I’ve met someone else”?’

He shrugs. Hefeckingshrugs. Four and a half years and heshrugs?

‘Her name is?—’

It’s my turn to hold up a hand. ‘I don’t need to know hername, Andrew. Have you slept with her?’

He doesn’t need to answer because the way he looks at me is answer enough.

‘How long?’ I ask.

‘We met a few months ago. She’s in broadcasting. She was interviewing my boss forGood Morning America.’

‘Months?’

‘Yes, but we only exchanged numbers then. We didn’t sleep together until you went to Texas, I assure you.’

‘How gentlemanly of you.’ I grind the words out quietly, hoping we aren’t drawing the attention of other diners.

‘Don’t be like this, Abbey. It’s not you. Brittany is just… She’s not like you. She’s different. New. Exciting.’

My eyes start to burn.No, not here, not in public, not in front of Andrew.‘Do you mean to say she’s everything I’m not?’ I ask as calmly as I can, but I hear a tremor in my words.

‘Yes. No. Yes, but not that you aren’t great, just that she’s really something, you know?’

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