Page 18 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

She laughs, the tension easing from her.

She opens the little blue box and shows me the sparkling ring inside. It’s exactly as she described two days ago at the tidal pools.

“All lab-grown,” she says proudly.

“Some people will ask us why I wouldn’t shell out for the real thing,” I say, plucking the delicate band from its velvet nest.

“Just tell them that I insisted on it. Call me a hippie if that’s the only way people will understand,” she offers.

It’s a beautiful ring. Catherine holds out her hand and I slide the ring onto her finger. It nestles perfectly in place.

“Is this the sort of ring you’ve always dreamed of?” I ask absently, still holding her hand.

I like the way it looks there. It’s simple and elegant, just like Catherine.

The sparkles are so clear it casts rainbows on the ceiling.

“This is exactly the sort of ring I want,” Catherine says.

“Aren’t you afraid of ruining it, using it up on a fake engagement?”

Catherine pulls her hand away from me. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Right. Want a coffee while we go over the engagement story?”

Catherine nods. “That’d be great. I made a list of all the questions I could think of that people will ask us. I’ve watched enough fake engagement rom coms to know that people will ask lots of crazy things, and we need to be able to have a believable story to tell them. We need to be on the same page with everything!”

“In rom coms, the fake couple end up getting together in the end,” I point out.

“Yes. But that’s fiction. It’s not our story,” Catherine says flatly. She points an accusing finger at me. “So if you think you can charm me with that crooked grin and constellation of freckles, think again.”

I blink in surprise.

I’m aware that I’m a good-looking guy, but my freckles have always been something I’m insecure about.

But the way she says it, it sounds as though they’re a temptation.

It throws me for a loop. As I’m scrambling to come up with some witty reply—or any reply at all, really—her cell phone dings.

Catherine lets out an annoyed grunt as she fishes it from her pocket.

“I thought I—” She looks at the screen and cuts off, her eyes widening.

“Catherine?”

I come forward.

She skips back a step. Her eyes well with tears as she finally looks up.

“What’s wrong?” My heart starts to slam. “Is it Lynn?”

“Mmm? No. No. She’s fine.” Catherine takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, as though willing her tears to slide back into her skull. “It’s just that… well… I suppose the only thing to say is that if you want to call off this charade, I understand.”

I stride forward. But when Catherine winces I stop.

“Cat,” I say, my voice low. “Come on. Look at me.”

Almost unwillingly, she does.

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