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)
“Oh, Bianca,” Blair gushed. “It’s so beautiful with your red hair.”
“What do you think?” I turned around and faced my sister, and to my chagrin, she teared up too.
Then she nodded. “It’s perfect, B.”
I looked at my reflection again and took a deep breath, trying to keep my shit together. But all the tears were making it difficult—even Ellie was crying, and she knew this whole thing was fake.
I knew it too. So why was my throat so tight?
“Anyone up for a glass of wine after this?” I asked. “I have to go over to the pub to finalize the menu.”
“I am,” Blair said enthusiastically. “I want to hear the whole proposal story from start to finish. Griffin was absolutely useless on the details.”
“I wish I could, but I have to get home and feed your father,” my mother said.
Ellie declined too. “Sorry, I have to get home too.”
After I’d changed back into my regular clothes and said goodbye to my mom and sister, I purchased the dress and headpiece with Blair looking on wistfully.
“I wish I could get married all over again,” she said.
“At City Hall? With your reception at the Bulldog?” I teased, trying to keep the mood light.
“Yes! I wouldn’t care. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my wedding at Cloverleigh Farms, but it won’t matter where you are, Bianca.” She linked arms with me as we headed up the street. “The only thing that will matter is hearing Enzo promise to love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of your life. And getting to make the same promise right back.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah.”
When we reached my car, I carefully laid the dress across my backseat and placed the box with the headpiece in it on the passenger seat. After sticking a couple more quarters in the meter, we headed for the pub.
Inside, we sat at the bar and ordered a couple glasses of wine. The manager came over with the chef, and we finalized the menu—Enzo and I had decided we might as well fully embrace our pub-themed wedding, so appetizers included fried pickles and mozzarella sticks, entrees were sliders and fish and chips, and when I begged for a vegetable of some kind, the manager scratched his head, but the chef assured me he could do some delicious crispy Brussels sprouts.
“I’ll take it,” I said. “Done.”
The other details were in place as well. Blair, who owned her own bakery, would bake our wedding cake. We’d use the vintage jukebox for music. Ellie’s girlfriend Sierra was a photographer and had offered to take photos as a wedding gift. And Griffin, who owned a 1955 Chevy pickup truck, would come pick me up and drive me to City Hall in style.
I couldn’t have asked for more from our family and friends—except that all of it was adding to the pit in my stomach.
When all the catering details had been finalized and we were alone again, Blair picked her wine glass up and touched it to mine. “Cheers. I’m so happy for you, honey. I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting to wait to get married. When you know, you know. Now show me that ring.”
I held out my hand, and she gasped at the diamond on my finger. “Oh, Bianca,” she said breathlessly. “It’s beautiful. The stone is big but not ostentatious, it’s a classic setting, and yellow gold is so stylish right now.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“It’s not real,” I blurted.
“What?” Blair blinked at me. “You mean it’s a fake diamond?”
“It’s a fake engagement.”
“I don’t understand. You’re not really getting married?”
“No, we’re getting married. That part is real. And as far as I know, the diamond is real.” I took a breath. “But everything else is fake.”
“But . . . I don’t understand.”
“Drink some wine,” I said, picking up my glass for a sip. “You’re going to need it for this story.”
And she did. While I explained the situation to her, outlining the reasons we were getting married and what each of us would gain from it, Blair not only finished her first glass of wine but got halfway through a second. She nearly fell off her barstool when I showed her the engraving on the ring.
“So you’re not in love?” She looked so heartbroken I had to laugh.
“No, we’re not.” I slipped the ring back on my finger. “I think we might like each other a little better at this point, but we are definitely not in love.”
She sighed dejectedly. “This is so depressing.”
“Not really,” I said, trying to perk her up while also keeping my emotions in line. “We’re doing this for one another. We’re going to get exactly what we want in the end. No one is going to get hurt.”
“But I’m hurt.” She looked miserable for a moment, then she perked up. “Maybe you’ll fall in love for real once you’re married!”