Chapter 1
THE RING GLITTERS like diamond dust. It’s like the only star in a black sky. It’s cosmic, lush, perfect in every way, and it’s on my finger, out of place on my boring, dull, loveless hand. This is one of those moments when I know I need to lock down this image in my head, because it won’t happen again. The ring is that beautiful. It’s my own divine eureka moment.
But, unfortunately, there is no such thing as a perfect moment. Charlie Beckman, the annoyed salesman, has a little spool of drool hanging from his lips, his eyes glazed over like day-old doughnuts. He’s used to seeing these sparkly gems that easily cost more than my car. He’s used to it, and he’s bored, looking at the ten-thousand-dollar ring on my finger. And he’s been bored since we walked in here, which is a great sales technique.
“Wow,” I whisper, my lungs constricting. When I can finally breathe again, I look up into Charlie’s eyes and, despite his pessimism, I’m in love. A girl who never thought she could fall in love with a piece of jewelry has been converted. “This is gorgeous.”
“Tacori,” says Charlie laconically, and he’s even yawning as he says it, since he’s surrounded by thousands of sparkling dollars in the shape of stones, “with a sculpted crescent band, rose gold. 2.51 carats in the engagement ring, not including the center diamond. We can order an oval, princess, or round diamond cut if you’d prefer. This one is $15,990, plus tax. Platinum band? More expensive.”
And the moment is ruined.
Wade Bradley is coughing up his lungs beside me. He starts laughing so hard that he begins to tear up, and both Charlie and I look at him in foul disgust. Wade finally picks up on the fact that this isn’t a funny dress-up situation or a trip to Walmart; these are real diamond rings, and everybody else in this highly secure jewelry shop is serious. They’ve got Daddy’s credit card and white-collar jobs that afford wine tours to Napa on weekends and summer soirees in Santorini.
“I’m sorry,” Wade says, scratching his forehead, his sea blue eyes jovial as frick, “but can we possibly find something a little cheaper?”
How did I luck out with this charlatan? Out of all the men in the world, this one? He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, looking like a rebellious teenager, an unworthy client in an engagement ring store. But maybe I’m the same way. Probably so.
However, Charlie nods, waiting for me to deposit my dream engagement ring in his clean palm, and then it is whisked away from me, and I’m left only with a trace of memory of it. It was good while it lasted.
“Can you please act normal?” I hiss at Wade as Charlie leaves with the slim Tacori box. Bye bye, ring.
Wade grins at me. Though I met him only thirty minutes ago, I feel like I’ve known—and hated—him for ages. Despite the fact that I’m pretty sure I could kill him right now, I still feel a little jolt of electricity when he drapes his arm around me, acting as if we’re madly, deeply in love, so in love that I’m his picky fiancée who can’t stand the idea that her man won’t buy her a ridiculously priced ring that could feed a whole lot of hungry kids around the world.
Well, almost.
He leans into me, whispering in my ear, “Remember that my brother’s on a budget. I know your friend may be expecting a ring bigger than Texas, but…”
“Excuse me,” I whisper back, elbowing him away from me, “but I know that. If a girl gets a chance to try a Tacori on, she better darn take it.”
Wade can’t tell that I see him rolling his eyes, but he’s distracted by Charlie’s grumpy expression. The man’s shoulders are slumped just like his lips, and he eerily reminds me of Stanley from The Office, and I know Isabel will find this funny later. Whatever.
“What next?” asks Charlie, who can afford to be a jerk with us, because he works at one of the best jewelers in the area. For crying out loud, Wade’s brother, Alfred, made this appointment months ago, back in the Pacific chill of January.
“How about this one?” I ask, pointing to a princess cut stone. At least, I think that’s what it is. I’m not really up-to-date on the terminology.
Charlie goes about jamming his hand into the case for the ring, and I twist around to face my fake fiancé. That alone reminds me of TLC, and I’m even moodier than before.
“How much is Alfred willing to pay?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, crossing my arms.
Wade shrugs. He pushes a little crop of messy blond hair from his eyes and looks off into space. “Five thousand, maybe?”
“Did he not give you any instructions before you got here?”
“Honey,” Wade says, placing his firm hands on my shoulders, and anybody should be able to tell we are complete strangers, since we are so awkward with each other. We’re standing miles apart, it feels like, and it almost feels like junior high prom. Wade’s fraternity ring cuts into my flesh, and I can hardly stop myself from laughing. “Honey,” he repeats, which almost bursts him into another round of giggles, “you are going to pick out what you want. Money doesn’t buy happiness, does it, sweetie?”
“But you just said…”
“I’m willing to fight tooth and nail for you, my dear,” he says, and I can tell he is enjoying this. Now he wants to be as ridiculous as he can be. That, coupled with the fraternity ring, makes me wonder if he’s still in college.
I twist around and try to forget him again, which is impossible. Charlie sticks this new ring on my finger, and it pulls against my flesh. It doesn’t help that I’m self-conscious about my fingernails, since I didn’t realize I was going to pretend to be my best friend today and pick out an engagement ring, but this one is something she’d like. Emma has been pretty clear about what she wants.
“When he asks you,” she says, every time, which is quite often, “tell him that the only thing that matters is that it’s a gold band. Did you hear me? Gold.”
“Like goldfish,” I’d say in response, because I was no doubt thinking about the snack.
“Exactly.”
But suddenly I’m back in reality, selecting her engagement ring for her, the fiancé nowhere in sight. The trust is pretty heavy, but I’m really wondering how in the world she’ll take it when she finds out that Wade and I will choose her ring. Somehow I don’t think she’ll mind that much, even though, if I were her, it would be quite the opposite.
“What?” asks Charlie, whose tongue is lolling out of his head. He lays an arm on his bulging belly. If he weren’t so displeased with us, I’d think he looks like an adult-sized teddy bear. “What did you say?”
“This is beautiful,” I say, “but I want something in gold. Nothing but gold.”
“Follow me.”
“Are you good for anything today?” I hiss back at Wade, who’s following me across the clean stone floor, when I’m certain Charlie won’t hear our bickering. We pass a lovesick couple, and they’re both in tears (agh) as they choose the right ring.
“Ouch. What was that for?”
“I don’t even need you here.”
“You need me to pretend to be my brother. Basically that makes me the life of the party.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever back!”
A few seconds later, he says, “Hey, at least we aren’t those people,” pointing to the crying couple.
For a second there, we stand, staring at each other with angry eyes, taut lips like arrows, and neither of us is willing to loosen them to allow the force of our words to hit the other, because we’re both thinking that this is so stupid, that we’re covering for the people we love, and we’re good people for it, but we shouldn’t be here in the slightest. Everybody else here is professional, so happy, eyes glittering, salesmen and women who’re smiling because they’re about to get lofty commissions, and instead we’re… Well, fakers. Wedding crashers. Engagement ring crashers?
What happened is simple, and it starts with two people falling in love, and those people aren’t Wade and me. Those people should be here, picking out the ring themselves, but things happen, I understand that. Everything happens for a reason. All that mumbo jumbo. But I don’t want to be here, not unless I’m with the person I love, and instead, I’m doing this as a favor. I’m pretending, once more. Do I want to be the crying fiancée? Absolutely not, but at least she gets a fine piece of jewelry on her finger.
And just for a second, I think that Wade’s thinking the same thing, in that thick skull of his, protected by that forest of blond hair, and I’m momentarily glad that he doesn’t look like Alfred.
Maybe I should backtrack, explain a love story that isn’t my own, in order to give some clarity as to why the heck Wade and I are here, the best man and maid of honor, two people who don’t know each other from Adam, but two people standing among the lovesick and the salesmen, and I roll my eyes as a smile tugs at my lips.
