Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
How hard could it be?
Turns out, a little harder than I thought.
To celebrate Reina’s birthday, I’d taken her to dinner at DiFiore’s, which was the nicest Italian restaurant in town and owned by my mom’s cousin Big Tony. We were seated in the best booth in the place. Candles on the table. Soft music playing. As for me, I was wearing a new suit and tie. I’d gotten a haircut and trimmed my scruff. I smelled fucking fantastic, my wavy hair was doing that thing in the front, and I was wearing my lucky underwear.
It was on.
I waited for the server, my cousin Lara, to take away our dessert plates, and then I sat up taller and cleared my throat. My gut was clenching up a little, but I ignored it. “So how’s your birthday so far?”
Reina smiled at me and tossed her long, straight dark hair. “It’s great. Thanks for dinner. The ravioli was yummy.”
“You’re welcome.” I glanced at her wine glass and noticed it was still pretty full. I’d splurged on a pricey bottle of Barolo, which I’d thought was worth every penny. “Didn’t you like the wine?”
“Truth?” She shrugged. “I’m not a huge red wine person. But I didn’t want to be rude.”
“It’s not rude to ask for what you want,” I said. “Let’s get you what you want.”
“Can I just have a Diet Coke?”
“Of course.” After signaling to Lara, I ordered Reina a Diet Coke, and once it arrived, I watched her take a sip from the straw and started over. “So. It’s your birthday.”
“Yes.” She glanced at her phone, which was out on the table.
“Do you want your present?”
She beamed like a kid who’d just been offered a piece of candy. “You got me a present?”
“I might have.” I tilted my head, giving her my best smolder.
“Enzo, you didn’t have to get me anything. You took me out to dinner tonight.”
“Listen, you only turn twenty-one once. I wanted to make it memorable.”
“Awww. That’s so sweet.”
I reached inside my jacket pocket and took out the box. Opening it up, I flashed the ring toward her and cocked one eyebrow. “Well? What do you say?”
Her mouth fell open. She stared at the diamond like it was a giant spider she was afraid might attack. “What is that?”
“It’s an engagement ring.” I glanced inside the box, just to make sure it was actually in there.
“I—I can see that. But why are you showing me an engagement ring right now?”
“Well . . . because.” Hot and sweaty all of a sudden, I loosened the knot in my tie. “I want to be engaged.”
“To me?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “To you.”
“But . . . you didn’t even propose.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You just showed me the ring.”
“Oh. I guess I should propose, then.” But first, I stuck two fingers in the collar of my white dress shirt and tugged. “So will you marry me?”
She stared at me for a moment and pressed her lips together. “Um, this is awkward. But no.”
“What?” I blinked at her. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, no, I won’t marry you. We’ve only been dating for three months, Enzo.”
“I know, but time flies, and—and—soon it will be four months.”
She looked confused. “Huh?”
“Look, I know this might seem a little . . . sudden,” I said, tugging at my collar again. “But I really like you.”
“You do?”
“Sure.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Reina eyeballed me suspiciously. “Then how come you haven’t tried anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve kissed me, but that’s about it. And the few times I tried to initiate something more, you backed off.”
“I was trying to respect you.” I grabbed my ice water and chugged it. “I wanted you to know I was willing to wait.”
She shook her head, like she didn’t get it. “I know, but . . . it’s weird to me. I actually thought maybe you were gay.”
“Just because someone doesn’t want to have sex with you doesn’t mean he’s gay,” I said, annoyed. “And what’s so weird about wanting to respect the girl you’re going to marry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Enzo, for God’s sake. We’re not getting married.”
“Why not?”
“To start, I’m only twenty-one. I’ve got things I want to do with my life. And when I get married—if I get married—I want my husband to be someone who respects me but also can’t keep his hands off me. Someone in love with me.”
“Love,” I scoffed, frowning. “What is that, anyway?”
“It’s a thing you should feel for the person you’re proposing to. And . . . and what is that engraved on the band?” She plucked the ring from the velvet cushion before I could stop her. “It says ‘Love Always, Ricky.’”
“Um . . .”
“Are you . . .” She glanced down at the ring and then up at me incredulously. “Are you proposing to me with someone else’s ring?”