Page 51 of If the Ring Fits

“Please, you two are engaged,” Nina cuts me off with a dismissive wave. “If he’s willing to put a rock that big on your finger, he can handle meeting your best friends.”

“The ring is just for show,” I tell them.

Nina low-whistles. “Regardless. Hunter is right. If you have to fake being in a serious relationship, he has to meet us at some point.”

I chew my lip, considering the idea. It would be nice to have Adrian meet Nina and Hunter in a more casual setting before the craziness of the engagement party. But will he be up for it? I know how consumed he gets with work…

“Earth to Rowena!” Hunter snaps her fingers in my face. “When can we meet him?”

I fiddle with my straw, feeling so nervous about the prospect of the two worlds colliding. “I have to check with Adrian, but maybe over the weekend? I’ll text you guys once we figure out a date.”

“You better.” Nina points an accusatory finger at me. “I need to see this ‘thoughtful’ side of Adrian for myself.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I promise you will. Just… go easy on him, okay? He’s not used to being interrogated by overprotective best friends.”

Hunter grins. “No promises, babe. We’ve got to make sure he’s good enough to fake-marry you.”

As we stand to leave, excitement and apprehension about the upcoming dinner bubble in my chest. Will they see what I see in Adrian, or will they think he’s just an overworked hotshot with no scruples?

I push the thought aside, reminding myself it doesn’t really matter what my friends think of Adrian. He’s not my real fiancé.

21

ADRIAN

On Monday night, I arrive home late on purpose, pushing beyond my already crazy schedule. I unlock the door as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake Rowena. After spending the weekend together at my boss’s house, I’ve been intentionally avoiding her today, getting up at the crack of dawn and sneaking in past midnight like a thief. It’s not that Rowena did anything wrong—quite the opposite, actually. She’s been perfect. Too perfect.

I feel the pull, the temptation to let myself get close to her. But I don’t do relationships, not anymore. They never end well, always crumbling apart no matter how good things seem at first. So I have to maintain a safe distance.

Easing the door closed with a faint click, I slip off my shoes and loosen my tie. But when I step into the living room, I freeze. Rowena is curled up on the couch, fast asleep, with the flickering light of the TV playing across her serene face.

Damn, she’s beautiful. The way her long chestnut hair spills over the cushion, her dark lashes fanned out against hercheeks. That familiar tug pulls at my heart, a string drawing me to her.

I debate carrying her to bed, but I don’t want to risk waking her. Instead, I grab the soft throw blanket that has half slipped off and drape it over her, tucking it around her shoulders. Her glasses have fallen to the floor, so I pick them up and settle them on the end table.

As I straighten up, Rowena stirs. Her hazel eyes flick open and meet mine, still hazy with sleep. My breath hitches.

“Hey,” Rowena says, her voice adorably husky. “I was waiting for you.”

There’s no accusation or annoyance in her tone, just a simple statement of fact. She rubs at her eyes and tucks her long legs underneath her as she sits up. The urge to gather her in my arms, to bury my nose in her hair and never let go, is nearly overwhelming.

Rowena glances around, seeming to get her bearings. She spots the glasses and puts them on. “What time is it?”

“Midnight.” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her.

A tiny smile curves her lips. “You really do work late, huh?” Then her expression turns more serious, almost hesitant. “Are you too tired? Or can we talk for a bit?”

I scream at myself to make an excuse, to tell her we can chat another time and then go back to keeping my distance. But whatever she wants to discuss has to be important for her to wait up this late.

She shouldn’t be relying on me like this. We need to maintain separate lives, I firmly remind myself. No getting too tangled up.

But instead of heeding my own advice, I sit on the couchright next to her, close enough that our thighs almost brush. Too damn close.

I angle myself to face her, giving Rowena my full attention even as I silently curse my lack of willpower. “What is it?”

In the shadowy light, Rowena stands straighter. “Well, there are two things,” she begins, nervously twisting her fingers together in her lap.

I nod encouragingly, determined to at least not screw this up since apparently I’ve made myself available to her tonight. “I’m listening.”

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