Page 65 of If the Ring Fits

Shaking my head at my foolishness, I call Sam to come pick me up instead, determined to go home and pack and forget all about handsome men who only want to be respectful to me.

The next day, I’m floating lazily on my back in the cool blue water of Nina’s parents’ pool, my oversized sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright July sun. It’s only been a few weeks since Adrian suddenly catapulted into my life, but already his absence leaves a hollow ache in my chest. Ridiculous, considering he’s made it clear he wants nothing more than a strictly platonic friendship.

Still, I miss our playful banter on the rare occasions we bumped into each other at the house before I made it awkward or just existing in the same space as him. Somehow, he makes everything feel lighter, better.

“Hey party pooper, what’s with the long face?”

I startle at the sound of Nina’s voice. Lost in thought, I didn’t notice her slipping into the pool with me. She splashesme playfully before swimming over, her blonde hair darkened by the water and slicked back from her face.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just nervous about telling my parents about the baby, I guess.”

Nina raises a skeptical eyebrow. But if she has doubts, she doesn’t voice them. “You’re calling them today?”

I avoid her probing green eyes. “Yep, I should go call them now and get it over with.”

“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled about the baby.” Nina gives me a tentative smile that tells me she’s reading straight through the things I’ve left unsaid.

I give her a nod—a silent thanks for not forcing me to face my bullshit—and splash her back before hauling myself out of the pool and wrapping up in a soft towel. Water pools at my feet as I pad across the patio and into the house, phone in hand.

The call with my parents goes surprisingly well. Of course, me telling them I’m taking time off work to have a baby while in a stable relationship with a man who loves me and whom I’m marrying is easier to accept than if I’d told them I got fired, knocked up and left to fend for myself by my dickhead ex. After the initial shock wears off, Mom squeals about finally getting a grandchild while Dad is engrossed about meeting “this Adrian fellow.” By the time we say goodbye, they’re on board, eager to help in any way they can and booking their plane tickets for the wedding in September.

Wedding. The word sends a pang through my heart.

I end the call and reflexively check my messages, hoping against hope to see Adrian’s name pop up. Even just a simple “Happy 4th” would lift my spirits at this point. But there’s nothing, of course. I toss my phone on the couch and drag myhands through my wet hair, suppressing a frustrated scream. He doesn’t owe me anything.

The rest of the long weekend drags by in a haze of forced smiles and half-hearted celebrations. Nina shoots me concerned glances when she thinks I’m not looking. I pretend everything is fine.

But nothing is fine, as evidenced by my plummeting mood when I return to New York and Adrian remains as scarce as ever over the next couple of nights. The penthouse echoes with emptiness. I’ve given up waiting up for him. If it weren’t for his dirty cereal bowl in the sink each morning and the lingering scent of his cologne, I’d wonder if he still lived here at all.

At this rate, it seems the stupid engagement party next weekend will be the first time I’ll lay eyes on my fake fiancé again. The irony is not lost on me as I curl up alone in my cold bed at night, the shadows on the ceiling my only company.

I’ve also stopped trying to get up before him. So, on Tuesday morning I’m still in bed half asleep at nine thirty, wallowing in apathy as I fidget with the engagement ring that I’ve put on because I’mthatpathetic. An impulsive urge to yank it off and flush it down the toilet seizes me. But I don’t, of course.

As if on cue, my phone pings with a reminder, jolting me out of my sulking.

Dress shopping with Sophie for the engagement party.

Great. Because that’s what I need—to play pretend princess bride when my pride feels like it’s been stomped on by a herd of elephants.

I drag myself out of bed with a groan, cursing my lifechoices as I get ready and bemoaning some more for the entire car ride downtown.

The upscale boutique is a dizzying whirlwind of sparkles and silk, a stark contrast to the storm clouds brewing in my head.

“Rowena, darling!” Sophie air kisses my cheeks, her megawatt smile blinding. “You look… tired. Late night?” She winks suggestively.

I force a weak smile. If only she knew the half of it. “Something like that.”

“Well, nothing a virgin mimosa and the perfect dress can’t fix!” She claps her hands, nodding at a waiting attendant who promptly appears with a tray of shimmering flutes.

I accept one gratefully, the cool citrusy liquid a small comfort as Sophie whisks me further inside, prattling on about designers and silhouettes. She holds up dress after dress for my inspection, but I can barely muster more than a half-hearted shrug at any of them. Each gown is gorgeous, but the churning mix of emotions raging inside me mutes any enthusiasm I might have had.

Longing. Rejection. Anger. Frustration. Want. They’re all balled up in a tangled knot in my chest that makes me strangely vengeful toward a man who has done nothing to earn such a sentiment.

Sophie pauses, lowering the beaded monstrosity in her hands to eye me quizzically. “What’s with the doom and gloom? This is your engagement party, not a funeral. What kind of dress are you looking for?”

I meet her gaze, lips pressed in a grim line as the swelling resentment boils over. “You know what, Sophie? I want a dress that would feel like a giant raised middle finger to an ex. Onethat would show him what he’s missing out on and make him regret ever letting me go.”

“So sexy as hell, if I’m reading the mood correctly?”

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