Chapter 4

Culver

I catch the sound of Hannah's yawn a few seconds before she appears in the living room.

"Sorry," she apologizes as I drop my feet to the floor and pat the spot next to me on the couch.

"Don't apologize," I say as she trudges over.

I noticed she looked a little rundown the moment I surprised her in the store, and she started yawning more and more frequently as we were working on her hot girl summer list over dinner.

Seeing how exhausted she is only makes me double-down on my commitment to make her life easier.

That won't be difficult.

I'm a freak who finds housework relaxing—especially laundry, for some unknown reason—and I love to cook. Hannah isn't going to have to lift a finger around here for the next three months.

And now I have another duty to add—–make sure she follows through on that list and has the hot girl summer she deserves.

But only if it's what she truly wants.

Based on how she said she came up with the idea, I got the impression that maybe her friends inadvertently strongarmed her into it. Then the kids and I kinda hijacked brainstorming ideas for it over dinner.

So first I'm going to make sure that this is something she actually wants to do, and only if it is, then I'm going to turn into the hot girl summer policeman. Uniform sold separately.

She collapses onto the sofa. Her skin is a little dull, and she's blinking heavily, her exhaustion palpable.

I tap my lap several times.

She notices. "Oh, no, Culver. You don't have to do that."

"But I want to," I say, leaning over to grab her by her calves.

She relents and moves on her own, resting her feet on my thighs. I knead her left foot, running my thumb straight up the center of her sole.

Her eyelids gently close, her head drops back, and a soft moan escapes her lips. "Ohhh, that feels gooood."

"Pressure okay?"

"Amazing," she purrs, and a warm feeling settles in my belly.

"Good." I continue massaging her foot. "What did Katie do with our lists?"

"She compiled them all into one big list," she answers, her eyes still closed, head still resting on the back of the sofa.

I smile. Of course she did. If Hannah is the queen of list-making and organization, Katie is a very worthy heir to the throne.

I want to ask if she's really cool with the hot girl summer thing and not just going along with it to please everyone, but for the first time all day, she actually looks like she's relaxing. I'll save the question for another time and focus on giving her the best foot rub she's ever had.

Well, the best since the foot rub I gave her last Christmas.

I continue massaging for a few more minutes, rubbing and pressing into tight spots, and stroking the inner side of her foot in a way that has her arching her back off the sofa and letting out a series of soft moans.

A flicker of interest registers in my brain at the sexy imagery.

I quickly stamp it out.

Don't even go there for a second, dude.

"Okay. Other foot," I say.

She shuffles around so I can access her right foot, and I begin massaging it. She's just as tight on this side.

"What did Chester want to talk to you about?" she asks.

I slow my strokes, wondering how best to handle it. Chester didn't say I couldn't tell Hannah what we discussed, so I wouldn't be betraying his trust by telling her. But before I can formulate a response, Hannah chips in with, "I have a feeling I know."

"Oh, do you now?"

She nods. "If it's the same thing Katie and I spoke about." She lifts her head off the couch, and our eyes meet. "Three-letter word. Starts with s. Ends with x."

"That's exactly it," I say, gently flexing her toes. "Chester's been wanting to start playing the sax, but he was unsure how to bring it up with you, given how you've made your feelings about woodwind instruments perfectly clear."

"Funny guy," she says, her lips stretching out into a grin. "But what an uncanny coincidence. Katie, too."

"Twins, right?"

I smile, but a pang of longing tugs at my heart.

My twin brother Trevor may have died when we were thirteen, but not a day goes by when I don't think about him. It's like a part of me has been torn away, leaving a deep, unfillable void. No matter what I do or where I go, it's always there.

Chester reminds me so much of Trevor. He's just as fearless. Just as cheeky. And he's got that same infectious energy that makes everyone want to be around him.

Hannah yawns again. I look over to see her rubbing her eyes. She's beat.

"I was going to suggest we start our secret binge-watching marathon tonight, but maybe we should save it for tomorrow?" I say.

"Good idea. It'll be safer, too. They could walk in here any minute, and then we'd be busted."

"And we cannot have that."

We exchange a knowing smile.

This show has been our guilty little pleasure for years. But if the twins found out about it, they'd tease us mercilessly until we're old and gray. Possibly even after our deaths.

And we can't let word of this get out and reach our friends, either.

Especially Fraser.

He hates reality TV with a passion after being forced to take part in a season and a half of a reality TV show when he was younger. Not to mention, given his family's business, all he'd do is point out the factual inaccuracies in the show, which—as everyone who indulges in reality TV knows—we don't watch it for the reality.

I finish my impromptu foot rub by squeezing both of Hannah's feet in my hands before gently placing them back on the floor. I stand, then extend my arms to help her up.

I must tug a little too hard because she ends up bumping into my chest. She looks up at me and smiles bashfully.

How is it possible that despite being so tired, she's still so beautiful?

I take half a step back and quickly dispel that unwanted thought, feeling guilty for it even crossing my mind. I shouldn't be noticing how attractive she is because, as we spend a good portion of our lives reminding everyone around us, we're just friends.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" I ask, settling myself back down onto the couch, which is where I'll be sleeping tonight.

"Katie leaves at eight. Chester at twelve."

"Does he need a lift to LA?"

"No. His friend's mom is driving them." Hannah's response gets interrupted by another yawn. "What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"I'll just chill here. Might pop out to get some groceries once Chester leaves, then cook up a storm for our marathon viewing party tomorrow night."

"That sounds great." Her tired eyes sparkle for a moment. "Goodnight, Culver."

"Goodnight, Hannah."

I watch her as she shuffles away. Before she disappears down the hallway, she twirls around. "I'm really glad you're here."

I smile. "I'm really glad I'm here, too."

"Honey, I'm home!"

I finish stirring the sauce then rest the wooden ladle against the side of the pot and make my way into the living room.

"Oh no," I deadpan with a grin. "And I don't have your house slippers and evening drink ready."

Hannah giggles as we embrace.

I close my eyes as her body presses into mine. Even after a day at work, that faint coconut smell clings to her. I hold her for a moment longer, knowing how emotional today has been for her.

The kids got off safely—first Katie, then Chester—and now it's just her and me for the next three months.

"The evening drink I can forgo, but the slippers are a must," she says, taking off her shoes.

"I'll be sure to remember that for tomorrow."

Another giggle. "I'm loving this reverse 1950s role play."

"Well, in that case, you might want to sit down for this. I've done three loads of laundry. Vacuumed. Mopped. And tomorrow I'll take a look at that wonky step on the back porch."

Her jaw drops. "Correction, I'm really loving this reverse 1950s role play." She comes over to me and says more seriously, "But you didn't have to do any of that. You're here to relax, remember?"

"This stuff does relax me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. You're a housework-loving freak. How could I forget that? Just don't overdo it with your hip, okay? Make sure to move slowly and carefully."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Culver, I'm serious."

"I am, too. Don't worry. I took my time and moved slowly, like I was one of those four old women on that TV show."

"You mean Sex and the City?"

"No. They were much older."

She flinches. "The horrendously awful Sex and the City reboot?"

"No." I chuckle at how bad she is at guessing what I mean. It usually doesn't take us this long. "One of them was tiny and had gray hair. Would always say stuff like, 'Picture it, Sicily 1947…'"

"Ohhh…I know the one you mean. Grandma loved that show. What's it called? Oh, I've got it. The Golden Girls."

"Yeah. That's the one."

"You watched that?"

"Of course. With Nonna. Where do you think she got the inspiration for the REDs?"

Hannah thinks about it for a second then starts bobbing her head. "I see it now. Makes total sense." She pauses. "Who do you think is most like Blanche?"

"We are not talking about this."

Hannah smiles. "Well, let me at least thank you for everything you've done today. The place looks great."

I shrug. "It's no big deal."

She brushes my arm as she walks past me. "You're going to make a great house husband someday."

A slight twinge pulls in my chest, but I ignore it.

I'm not sure I want to be a full-on house husband, but I do want to be a husband and a father who's actively involved in the running of the house.

Like Hannah pointed out, I'm a housework-loving freak. Especially when it comes to laundry. I could do laundry all day.

I get it from Pa.

He's the toughest, burliest man I know. A twice-serving veteran and a hard-working firefighter. But if you've got a stubborn stain that won't come out or need help with discolored whites, he's your man.

Ma and Pa are my biggest inspiration in life.

They raised five boys together. A team effort. Pa got in there and did the dirty work. Or tried to, at least. One of my favorite photos is of me and Trevor as toddlers. Pa was looking after us and had changed us. Since he couldn't figure out how to make the diaper stay on—he hadn't discovered the sticky tabs yet—he improvised by fastening bright-green packing tape around our waists. It's a hilarious picture.

I return to the kitchen to check on the sauce. Tonight I'm channeling my Italian heritage and making chicken alfredo with fettuccine. "If there's anything else that needs to be done, just let me know," I say over my shoulder.

Hannah zooms up next to me. "Anything?"

"Uh, yeah."

She taps her chin a couple of times. "In that case, you should be wearing an apron."

I frown. "Why?"

"Because guys look hot in aprons," she says with a shrug. "It's a thing. Plus, it ties in nicely with the whole gender-swapped-retro vibe we've got going, don't you think?"

"How about this?" I turn to face her and wave the wooden spoon in the air between us. "I'll put an apron on when you give me the hot girl summer master list Katie made last night."

Hannah winces the same way she did over breakfast this morning when I brought it up. Hmm. Maybe she actually isn't on board with the whole thing?

It's time I made sure.

"Hey. Listen, if you don't want to do the hot girl summer thing, it's fine. You're under no pressure. I won't tell anyone if you change your mind."

"Hey. I said I'll do it, so I will."

"Hey. But do you actually want to, or are you just doing this to fulfill an obligation to your friends? Or the kids? Or me?"

She rests her hip against the counter. "Look, I'll admit that at first, I wasn't sold on the idea. But it's grown on me. I want to do it. In fact, I've come up with a motto for the summer."

"Which is?"

"If it feels good, do it," she says, smiling proudly.

"Now that's something I can get behind." I extend my hands, fingers curling and uncurling. "So hand over the list."

"Why?"

"Now that I know you're totally cool with it, I will remind you that I was assigned to be the man of the house which, if we overlook the slightly problematic undertone of that, means I need to make sure you follow through with your commitment. Consider me your accountability partner. Oh, and I also just had an idea about something else I can add to the list."

"What's that?"

"Nightly foot rubs. Assuming that's all right, of course?"

She clears her throat. "Of course it's all right. It's just, um, I left the list in my room. I'll add foot rubs to it later myself."

"Nightly foot rubs," I clarify. "And then you'll hand it over?"

She hesitates for a moment, then eventually says. "Tell you what. Why don't I take a photo of the list and send it to you? That way you don't have to carry a piece of paper around."

Why is she acting so strange about handing over the list? If I were a paranoid person, I'd be starting to think she doesn't want me to have it.

I ignore her weirdness and reply with a cheeky grin, "Yeah. Because that single sheet of paper would have weighed me down like you wouldn't believe. I can hear Coach's sigh of relief from here."

She smacks me lightly across the chest. "Stop it. But you've got yourself a deal," she says, straightening. "I'll get changed, and while I'm in my room, I'll send you a photo of the list." She smirks and lifts on her toes. "Oh, and the apron is in the third drawer to the left of the oven."

My eyes widen.

She actually owns an apron? I never expected that, but I'm not about to renege on what I said. So I pull out my phone from my back pocket and wave it in front of her. "I'm waiting."

She giggles and bounces out of the kitchen.

I like seeing her like this.

She's had a good night's sleep and is well-rested. I made sure everyone had a hearty breakfast to start the day. And even though Chester and Katie leaving is hard on her, at least she's not going to be alone, apart from me having to leave every few weeks for three-day training sessions in LA.

My phone buzzes.

I open the message and see the photo of the hot girl summer list in Katie's neat handwriting.

My eyes scan down the image.

Hmm, that's weird.

I pinch the image to enlarge it.

It looks like when Hannah took the photo, she accidentally cut the list off. I can just make out the tops of a word or two scrawled underneath the last item. I'll have to ask her about it.

My phone buzzes again.

I'm expecting to see another message from Hannah, most likely a GIF with some dorky cartoon guy dancing terribly in an apron, but it's not from her.

My heart surges into my throat when I see it's a text from Ma.

Ma: Can you call me?

I smash the green call button immediately.

"I'm sorry I ruined our night of carbs and reality TV," I say as I speed down the highway driving Hannah's Jeep.

"Don't be silly. All that can wait. Nothing is more important than family."

I glance over at her and smile. "Thank you."

It's about a twenty-minute drive from Comfort Bay to Starlight Cove where my parents live.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine. Really. It's Ma I'm worried about."

It's been three months since her dad—my grandfather, a man I've never even laid eyes on—died, so I'm glad the probate lawyer finally called. The sooner the will is read, the sooner our family can move on.

Especially Ma.

Her father wasn't a good person. He gave her an ultimatum when she met Pa, that if she married him, he'd cut her out of his life for good.

Ma was young and in love and had a fiery streak of independence, so she followed her heart.

True to his word, the old man cut Ma out of his life.

But really, he cut himself off from all the good stuff—getting to know his grandkids, spending holidays together, being a family.

Luckily Dad's side of the family more than made up for it. Nonna has eleven kids, my Dad being the youngest, so we have cousins, aunts, and uncles galore. About half are scattered throughout Monterey County and the rest are back in Italy.

"Do you have any idea of what to expect from the will?" Hannah asks.

"I don't. The optimist in me hopes he leaves his substantial fortune to Ma. Not that it makes up for what he did, but the money could really help them out. They could both retire, and…I don't know. Do whatever they want to."

"And what does the pessimist in you think?"

My jaw bunches up. "That my grandfather will find some way to twist the knife from beyond the grave."

"Whatever happens…" Hannah places her hand on my leg. "Your mother will be surrounded by family who love her."

I smile, and our eyes meet briefly. "That's what's getting me through this."

"Will Nonna and your brothers be there?"

"Yeah. Nonna was already at their place when they got the call from the lawyer, and Malik and Farrow are on their way."

"What about Brock?"

I shake my head. My oldest brother is in his reclusive-mountain-man era and doesn't even own a cell phone. "Ma and Pa will most likely go visit him in Cedar Crest Hollow and tell him in person."

"Right. Okay. What about Bianca and Sandy?"

Bianca is Malik's wife, Sandy is Farrow's.

Everyone in the family loves Sandy, and not just because they're newlyweds. She's genuinely a great person. Sunshiney and friendly, she works with animals, and you can tell just by looking at them that she and Farrow are head-over-heels in love with each other.

While Bianca…yeah. She's a tough one. I only want my brother to be happy. The problem is, I'm not sure Bianca does make him happy. They've been married for two years and have had problems the whole time. Malik knows he can come to me anytime, and I'll be there for him. Otherwise, I mind my own business and try to stay out of it.

"Not sure. Mom sounded stressed on the phone, so I didn't want to bombard her with questions."

"Fair enough."

"Oh, listen. If Bianca starts hounding me again…"

"I'll get you out of there. Don't worry." She hesitates. "She wouldn't bring up trying to poach you as a client at a time like this, would she?"

I flash Hannah a look that says yes, my sister-in-law would very much bring up trying to get me to leave my current PR firm to join hers at this completely inappropriate time.

She brings it up every time we see each other, not to mention all the emails I get from her. I've told her, politely and multiple times, that I'm happy with my current representation and I have no intention of switching. I don't know why she keeps pushing.

Hannah smiles at me, and it makes my heart flutter. Which…which must be due to the stress of the situation. Yeah, that's probably it.

Her gaze drifts to my hands which are gripping the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles are ghost-white.

"How about I put on some music?" she suggests. "Get your mind off things. Relax you a bit."

"Sounds great."

Hannah fiddles with her phone, and a few seconds later, the atmospheric synths of "Lavender Haze" fill the air.

Midnights is her favorite Taylor album.

I let her think it's my favorite, too, but really, I'm a sucker for Taylor's first album because despite being an Italian-American who grew up on the west coast, country music flows in my veins.

Plus, she was only sixteen when she recorded it, which blows my mind. When I was sixteen, I was sprinting from one end of the rink to the other, practicing crossovers, and working on my stickhandling drills, not creating incredible music.

"This okay?" she checks.

"It's great." I flick my gaze toward her. "Hey. I'll make this up to you tomorrow. Your hot girl summer will not be derailed."

"Hey. It hasn't derailed anything, and you have nothing to make up to me."

I disagree, but I go with it.

Because as soon as the will reading is done, my sole focus will be on making sure Hannah has the hot girl summer of her life.

"Mio tesoro," Nonna greets me with her trademark affection as Hannah and I step into my parents' crowded living room.

"I hope it's okay I tagged along," Hannah says after hugging Nonna.

"Of course it is. You're part of the family." Her eyes shift between us. "But not in any way that would prohibit anything romantic?—"

"There he is. The big goof." My oldest brother Malik's deep voice cuts off Nonna's words.

I've never been happier to see him. "Hey, man."

We embrace warmly.

It's been a few months since we've seen each other, and I've missed him. He's a carpenter by trade and runs his own company, but he's confided in me it's a source of tension with his wife, who I see trotting over to us.

I plaster a wide smile on my face. "Bianca! Great to see you!"

Whoa. That came out way too over the top.

We hug briefly.

"Good to see you." She spots Hannah next to Nonna. "Both of you. Hey, listen, Culver." She lowers her voice. "This isn't the right time, natch, but I need to speak to you at some stage about?—"

True to her word, Hannah swoops in to save me. "We should say hello to your parents. Hi, Bianca."

Bianca pouts.

"Sorry. Gotta go," I say, trying to sound believably apologetic as Hannah clutches onto my arm and pulls me away. Once we're out of earshot, I mutter out of the corner of my mouth, "Smooth move, Cooper."

She giggles. "Am I the best in-law wingwoman, or what?"

Before we reach my folks, we run into Farrow. We hug, he kisses Hannah, and I ask, "Where's Sandy?"

"Emergency at work."

"Ah. I see."

"Bet you guys say that a lot," Hannah says with a warm smile.

Sandy's a vet, and Farrow followed in Pa's footsteps and became a firefighter.

"More than we'd like to," he answers.

His gaze flits between me and Hannah, so before he can start on us, I lower my voice and ask, "How's Ma?"

"Holdin' up. I think she just wants to get this reading over with."

"We all do." I look over and see she's with Pa, and yeah, she looks on edge. "Will you excuse us?"

"Of course." He claps me on the back. "Good to see you…both."

I ignore his lack of subtlety and focus on the woman I'm most worried about. "Hey, Ma," I say, leaning down for a kiss and hug. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm ready for all this to be done," she says, pulling Hannah in for a warm squeeze.

Pa puts down his drink and gives me a bear hug. "Good to see you, son. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I answer a little too quickly because today is about Ma, and not my crumbling excuse for a body.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask Pa.

He lifts his drink—whiskey, I'm guessing by the color and smell—and tips his head toward two men I hadn't noticed dressed in identical dark-gray suits. "Now that we're all here, except for Brock and Sandy, we can have the will read."

We gather around the two lawyers sitting side by side on the tiny sofa. Ma and Nonna take the other one. Everyone else stands. Pa gives them the go-ahead to begin.

The slightly older man nods, clears his throat, and opens the large, leather-bound document in front of him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins in a calm, steady voice. "Thank you for gathering here today on such short notice. As the legal representatives of the late Mr. Rockcliff, it is our duty and responsibility to ensure that his final wishes, as articulated in his will, are communicated clearly and accurately to all concerned parties in accordance with the laws of the state of California."

The younger lawyer, adjusting his glasses, addresses the family. "We ask for your full attention as we go through the specifics of the distribution of Mr. Rockcliff's estate."

"I thought stuff like this only happens in the movies," I quietly confide in Hannah.

She suppresses a grin and leans in closer to me. "Know what would make it even better?"

"What?"

"If your family was somehow involved with the mafia."

I lower my head and put on my best James Bond villain face. "And who says we're not?"

A tiny giggle escapes from her lips, drawing everyone's attention.

The lawyers frown in displeasure.

I turn to Ma to mouth, "Sorry" across the room, but Nonna's whispering something in her ear. Ma gives a nod, glances over at me and Hannah, and then nods again.

The younger lawyer continues. "To his only child, Stephanie Marie Rockcliff Palladino, Mr. Rockcliff bequeaths this letter." He holds up an envelope.

A stunned silence falls over the room.

That's it?

That's all Mom gets?

Some lousy letter.

She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and nods for the men to keep going.

The older lawyer takes over. "All of Mr. Rockcliff's assets comprising his real estate holdings, financial investments, and personal valuables are to be divided equally among his four surviving grandchildren—Brock, Malik, Farrow, and Culver Palladino."

I stare at my brothers in shock.

Whoa.

Did my grandfather seriously bypass his own daughter to give his entire inheritance to four grandkids he's never even met?

"However, this division of assets is subject to one condition."

My brothers and I snap our heads back to the talking suit. "Each grandchild must be legally married at the time of the distribution of assets, which is to begin no later than thirty days after the reading of this will, except in the case of Brock Palladino, for whom a timeframe of eighteen months for marriage is granted."

"What does this mean?" Malik asks as Bianca clutches his arm, bouncing in her stilettos. She knows what it means. I can see the dollar signs in her eyes from this side of the room.

The older lawyer answers. "The legal implications of this condition require that each grandchild must have entered into a lawful marriage as recognized by the state. This is not a condition meant to impose undue pressure but to encourage a life Mr. Rockcliff found to be profoundly rewarding."

I scoff.

Yeah, right.

The man tore our family apart because he didn't agree with who Ma wanted to marry, and now he's giving us all one last middle finger from beyond the grave.

"You two will be fine," Nonna explains to Malik and Farrow. "You're both married." Her brown eyes swing to me. "But you, mister. We're going to have to find you a wife."

"What? No. Absolutely not." I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't want that man's money, and I especially don't want it if it comes with a condition like that. Not after what he?—"

I have the good sense to stop myself from finishing that sentence, but everyone in the room—save for the lawyers—knows what I mean.

"Son." Pa walks over to me. "I appreciate your loyalty, but now is not the time to be pig-headed about this. We're talking about a lot of money here."

"How much?" Bianca muffles a squeal, barely containing her excitement.

Everyone turns back to the lawyers. The younger one flicks through a few pages. "The current valuation of Mr. Rockcliff's assets as of two days ago is believed to be in the vicinity of two hundred and fifty million dollars."

There's a collective gasp, and a string of expletives flies out of Bianca's mouth. "Sorry, sorry," she says to Nonna who is aiming an unimpressed glare her way. She's not a Bianca fan, either.

Hannah nudges me. "Did you know he was that rich?"

"I knew he made some good investments in the early 2000s, but I had no idea he was that loaded."

"You have to get married, Culver," Pa says.

"Yeah, well, I kinda need a girlfriend first."

"Mention you're in line to score an inheritance of fifty mil, and I don't think you'll struggle," Farrow says.

"I have, like, a ton of friends I can set you up with," Bianca offers. When Malik pulls a face, she smacks his arm. "What's wrong with my friends?"

"Nothing, honey…"

As Malik deals with that situation, Ma and Nonna come over to us.

"I agree with your father," Ma says. "This is a life-changing amount of money. Keep whatever feelings you have about the man out of this. Play this to your advantage."

"But I?—"

Nonna interrupts. "But nothing, mio tesoro. Be smart and do what needs to be done."

I blow out a long breath through my nose and glance over at the lawyers. "Does it say for how long I need to be married?"

They scan the will. "It only states that you must be married within thirty days of this reading and still be married at the time of the disbursement of funds," the older lawyer says.

"And when will that be?"

"That can vary significantly depending on several factors, including the complexity of the estate, legal challenges, tax issues…"

I zone out until he's done. "Give me a ballpark estimate. Are we talking a week? A month? A year?"

"You're most likely looking at somewhere between six to twelve months. But that's a very rough guess and in no way a legal opinion."

I smile tightly. "Noted. I won't sue you if you're wrong."

I blow out another heavy breath and rake my fingers through my hair. "I can't do this," I tell everyone. "This isn't me. I don't want to be the guy who marries someone I don't love just to inherit some money." I point at my parents. "I want what you guys have. Real, long-lasting love."

I expect my words to be met with a modicum of support, a few nods of understanding, but no.

"Bro, this isn't some money. It's fifty million dollars."

"My friend Simone would be perf for you. She's vegan, has just hit one hundred k followers on Insta, and is about to launch her own line of ethically sourced pom-poms."

"Think about it, son. You don't want to make the biggest mistake of your life."

"You guys!" I cry out, trying to control my family before this gets even more out of hand. "This is all purely hypothetical. I don't have a girlfriend. I don't even have anyone I could ask."

"Wrong."

A voice that's been quiet this whole time finally speaks.

Every head in the room turns to look at Hannah.

She raised her hand to cut above the noise, and now she lowers it back down, a little self-consciously. "You have me," she says, peering up at me.

I blink. "What are you saying?"

I hear Nonna groan and mutter something that sounds like silly man in Italian.

"I'm saying I'll do it."

"I…I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

I think about it for half a second, but then… "No, no, no. This is a terrible idea."

"Why?"

"What about your list? This is your hot girl summer, remember?"

"I know that. And I'm free to add things to the list."

"You want to add getting fake married to me to your list?"

"Sure." She bites her lip, then adds, "Just don't tell my friends, otherwise they will have a field day with this."

"That's actually a very good point, Hannah," Pa says, glancing around the room. "We can't have word of this getting out. This stays here. Okay, everyone?"

Everyone nods, like it's a done deal.

It is not a done deal.

I swivel around to face Hannah, grab her by both shoulders, and look deep into her beautiful light-blue eyes. I can see the sincerity in them, but I'm still not happy that her summer, her time to finally do things for herself, is going to begin with her doing me a huge favor.

But before I can voice any more of my concerns, she drops to one knee. Her grin blooms into a wide smile as she says, "Culver Palladino, will you marry me?"