12. Felicity

felicity

. . .

If the private jet we flew in to get to Manhattan made me feel like a rock star, our suite at The Pierre made me feel like royalty.

“Hutton! Look at this view!” I stood in front of the windows overlooking Central Park from twenty-eight stories up.

“I’ve seen it.” He came over and stood next to me, chuckling at my excitement. “But it is impressive.”

“It’s more than impressive—it’s unreal! This whole day is unreal!” I spun around and took in the surroundings. Our suite had a living room with a fireplace, a master bedroom with a sumptuous king-sized bed and views of the Manhattan skyline, and a dining table with six chairs that looked like they belonged at Versailles. I took out my phone and started snapping photos of everything for my sisters. I’d already sent them selfies of me sipping a glass of champagne in the luxurious cabin of the jet and riding in the back of the shiny black SUV with tinted windows on the way to the hotel.

“We should get going,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me where?”

“No. That’s the whole point of a surprise.”

“You hate surprises.”

“I hate being surprised,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Let me just get a few pics of the bathroom.”

He laughed as I darted through the bedroom to the master bath, where I captured the long marble vanity, soaking tub with city views, and plush white robes. Will try to pilfer one for you, Win, I texted.

“It will still be here when we get back,” Hutton said from the doorway. Leaning against the frame, he stuck his hands in his pockets and met my eyes in the mirror.

“I know. Sorry, you’re probably used to all this luxury,” I said sheepishly. “But I’m more of a budget traveler, so this is pretty cool to me. And chances are I’m only going to be the fake fiancée of a billionaire once in my life, so I want to make the most of it.”

He laughed. “Go ahead. We can leave when you’re ready.”

My stomach muscles tightened—he was so handsome in his blue dress pants and white button-down. He was pretty casual every day, but I loved that he’d dressed up a little to travel. “Am I dressed okay? You look so nice, and I’m in jeans.”

“You can wear anything you want.”

“And I’ll have time to come home and change before dinner, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I just need a minute.”

“No problem. I’m going to check in with my assistant on our tickets for tonight.”

He left me alone in the bedroom, where I traded my sneakers for flat sandals and my cotton blouse for a nicer top. In the bathroom, I tightened my ponytail, cleaned my glasses, and refreshed my lipstick. I had no idea where he was taking me, but honestly, I didn’t even care. Peanuts and beer at a ball game? Great. Views from the top of the Empire State Building? Fantastic. Cruise by the Statue of Liberty? Rice noodles in Chinatown? Cannolis on Mulberry Street? If it was the two of us, I was in.

In fact, as we rode the elevator down to the lobby, slipped out a side door into the leather back seat of the chauffeured SUV, and traveled along 5th Avenue, I tried to think of another time in my life when I’d been so carefree and happy and alive.

“Hey.” I looked over at him. “Thanks for all this. It wasn’t necessary, but it’s the best vacation I’ve ever been on.”

He smiled. “We just got here. We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Doesn’t matter what we do, and maybe it wouldn’t even matter where we are. I just love being with you.”

“Okay, I need you to remember that nice feeling in about three minutes.”

“What? Why?”

He looked over my shoulder. “Or one minute.”

I whipped around and peered out the window—the SUV was pulling up to the Tiffany & Co flagship store. “Hutton! What’s going on?”

“Just relax and have fun.”

I faced him again, giving him my meanest stare. “You said no Tiffany. We agreed on a replica ring.”

“But we need to know what we’re replicating, right? This is just a little exercise in reconnaissance.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Trust me.”

The driver opened the door on Hutton’s side. He got out and reached for me, but I hesitated, peeking at the building behind him with its massive windows and iconic gold lettering.

He smiled at me. “Felicity, come on. It’s just for fun.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I thought you’d enjoy it, but if you want, we don’t even have to go in. I’ll cancel the appointment.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” I took his hand and let him help me down from the car. “I trust you.”

And I did trust Hutton, but as we entered the store and a security guard escorted us to a VIP room on a private floor, my legs felt wobbly and my stomach was tying itself into knots. I remained on edge as we were introduced to James, our diamond expert, and tried on rings with price tags I could not even imagine and didn’t ask to see. The secret smile on Hutton’s face did nothing to ease my mind.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly when James left us alone for a moment. “You seem nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous!” I whispered frantically. “These rings probably cost more than my college education.”

“Stop worrying about that. This is supposed to be fun.”

“It is, but I?—”

James was back with another ring. “Here we go. Try this one.”

I’d already made up my mind that the next ring was going to be the last so I could get out of here and breathe again, but when I slipped the classic solitaire on my finger, I involuntarily sucked in my breath. It was exactly the one I’d described—a round brilliant diamond on a simple platinum band. Elegant. Modern. Stunning.

“Oh,” I breathed. “It’s so beautiful.”

“I think that’s the one,” said James confidently.

“Is it?” Hutton asked me.

I bit my lip and nodded, admiring it on my hand. “Yes. This is it.”

James sized my finger, and then asked if I might like to enjoy a glass of champagne or sparkling water while he and Hutton finished up. “Champagne sounds great, thank you.”

While James’s back was turned, I tugged Hutton over to the side. “You’re not going to buy it, right? That isn’t the plan.”

“I know the plan,” he said easily.

“Then why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t know.”

He laughed. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Felicity.” He took my hand. “You can relax. We’ll leave here without a ring.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” He met my eyes, and my knees went weak again. “I promise.”

“Ms. MacAllister?” James was at my elbow, offering me a slender flute of pale champagne, bubbles rising like the butterflies in my stomach.

Out on the 5th Avenue sidewalk, I inhaled the downtown Manhattan air—bus fumes, car exhaust, a hot pretzel stand on the corner—thankful to be brought down to earth. The smell was real. The traffic was real. The car horns and conversations in different languages and Latin music coming from a passing cab were real.

Hutton and I were just friends.

“What do you think?” I asked him. “Should we look around for a replica ring?”

“Not in this neighborhood. I thought maybe tomorrow we could go down to Chinatown. There are lots of jewelry stores there.”

I smiled. We were still on the same page. “That sounds like fun.”

“The car should be here any minute. While we were inside, my assistant texted that we have a dinner reservation at 5:30, and our tickets will be waiting for us at the Met box office for a 7:30 ballet.”

“Ooooh! What are we seeing?”

“ Romeo and Juliet performed by the American Ballet Theater.”

“Really? That’s perfect!” I checked my phone. “But that doesn’t leave much time for us to get ready.”

“We’re having dinner downstairs at The Pierre, so we’ll be fine. And if you need more time, I’ll have dinner sent up.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Here’s the car.”

The sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, and Hutton opened the door for me. I slid across the back seat and he joined me, instructing the driver to take us back to the hotel. “Of course, Mr. French,” replied the driver.

“Is that the same guy?” I whispered as we pulled into traffic.

“Yes. I hired him for three days.”

“So he just waits around for us?”

Hutton shrugged. “That’s his job. I pay for his time.”

“Sheesh.” I laughed a little, rubbing my hand along the leather seat. “How do you get used to this? To being able to afford luxuries like not ever having to hail a cab, and fireplaces in your hotel rooms, and—oh yeah—chartering private jets to take you where you want to go?”

“At first, it was really strange,” he admitted. “For a long time, I was still riding my bike everywhere, staying at inexpensive places, flying coach. Wade always thought I was crazy. But he’d grown up with a ton of money, so he was used to luxury. My mother doesn’t even throw away those plastic containers cream cheese comes in.”

I laughed. “How’d you finally get more comfortable with being rich?”

“Little by little, I guess. I’m still not completely used to it, and I do feel guilty about it sometimes.”

“But you give a lot of money to charity, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, and that helps. I also paid off all my sister’s college loans and her grad school tuition. I offered to buy both her and Neil and my parents new houses, but they all told me to fuck off—not in those words, of course.” He cocked his head. “Actually, I think my sister did use those words.”

“I believe it,” I said. “She seems very independent and proud.”

“She is all that and more.”

Laughing, I rubbed his leg. “I have an older sister too. I know how they can be. It’s funny, I haven’t been to a ballet in forever, but Millie used to perform in them—not professionally, but she was a pretty serious dance student back in the day.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded. “She danced until she was maybe fifteen or so and then quit. She even went to a performing arts school for a year.”

“Why did she quit?”

“She said she just outgrew her passion for it, but I think a lot of it was related to pressure to look a certain way. Ballet dancers are traditionally very thin and small-boned, and Millie is built differently—it was a constant struggle for her to maintain a certain size and she was just tired of fighting it.”

“Was it hard for her to quit?”

“Oh yeah. There were a lot of tears and serious talks behind closed doors. But I think my dad and Frannie were really glad she decided to quit because she was so unhappy. I was only like eleven or twelve, but I remember the tension in the house.” I thought back to that time, how Millie had struggled—I’d hear her crying in her room and felt helpless to cheer her up. “But she seemed relieved once the decision was made. Plus, the twins had just been born, so there was a lot of chaos in the house. Frannie was glad to have Millie around more often to help. She was so good with them.”

“You weren’t?”

I laughed. “Not like Millie was. I thought they were noisy and boring. I liked them better when they got bigger and I could read stories to them—they liked the silly voices I’d do. But anyway, I’m really excited about tonight.” Tipping my head onto his shoulder, I took his hand, lacing my fingers through his as New York sped by outside the window. “Thanks again for everything. Sorry I got a little weird back there. I do trust you.”

“Good. And you’re welcome.”

We pulled up at The Pierre, and Hutton told the driver when to come back for us and where we’d be going. Then he got out, offered his hand, and helped me down. I held onto it as we entered the hotel, took the elevator up to our floor, and walked down the hall toward our suite.

He opened the door and let me in first, and as I crossed the threshold, I remembered what I said to Millie about wanting to enjoy this make-believe love affair with Hutton in case I never had the real thing. At that point, my biggest worry was being caught in the lie. Now I realized I was starting to worry about something else.

This love affair might not be make-believe at all.

But that was ridiculous, right?

Of course it was. I was just having a good time living like a Kardashian, and I was confusing that feeling with something else. It was totally understandable. All I had to do was keep reminding myself what this was, and what this wasn’t.

Millie called while I was drying my hair.

“Hello?”

“Are you dripping in diamonds?”

I laughed. “No. I tried on a few today at Tiffany though.”

She gasped. “Stop it! You really went to Tiffany?”

“Yes, but only to look. We’re going to Chinatown tomorrow to buy a fake.”

“The best cubic zirconia money can buy?”

“Exactly. Believe me, he’s spending enough on this trip.”

“How’s everything going with you two?”

“Great.”

“Are the rumors true? Did he tie you up?”

“Maybe, and not yet.”

“Wait, what?”

I glanced at the door and lowered my voice, barely speaking above a whisper. “I think there is some truth to those rumors, but he hasn’t really shown me that side of himself yet.”

She gasped. “So would you let him?”

I paused, then deflected. “I have to go because we’re leaving in like twenty minutes and I still don’t know what I’m going to wear.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Millie!”

“I suggest something else.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

“Oklahoma. Bumblebee. Roy Kent.”

“ Goodbye , Millie.” I could still hear her laughing as I ended the call.

Wrapped in one of those fancy robes, I went into the bedroom and opened my bag to sort through the clothing I’d brought—much of it Winnie’s. This morning, after an emergency call from me, she had swung by on her way to work with an armful of dresses and a bag of shoes. I spread three dresses out on the bed and considered them, finally deciding on the little black dress with cap sleeves.

Hutton entered the room as I was hanging up the other two. “Hey, I have to run down to the business center for a fax from Wade. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Okay.”

I ditched the robe and wriggled into the dress, which zipped up the side. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I smiled. It wasn’t too short or cut too low, but fit very snug from shoulder to knee and gave the impression of more curves. Winnie had said to wear it with the strappy red satin heels for a sexy pop of color.

In the bathroom I quickly gathered my hair into a low bun and stuck a few pins in it. Thanks to my self-inflicted haircut, shorter pieces still hung haphazardly around my face, and for a moment I thought about digging out my nail scissors and evening them out a little more, but then I remembered how Hutton had said asymmetry was beautiful too. So I let them be.

I traded my glasses for contact lenses for the night, even though they drove me nuts, and tried to remember how Winnie had done my makeup on Saturday. After about ten minutes, I thought I had a reasonable imitation. I gave myself a quick spritz of perfume and strapped myself into the heels—thanks to a little platform, they weren’t too treacherous to walk in, but the dress was so fitted, I did have to take small steps.

I walked out of the bedroom into the living room, where Hutton was standing at the windows overlooking Central Park. “Hi,” I said.

He turned around, and his jaw dropped. “Jesus.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“You took my breath away. I’d say that’s good.”

I smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome.” He wore a suit in a shade of blue slightly lighter than navy. His shirt was white, and his tie was a soft amber color.

He ran a hand over his hair, which was neatly combed and sort of slicked back like an old Hollywood movie star’s, and then rubbed his jaw. “I feel like I should have shaved.”

“Nah, I like the scruff. Gives you some edge.”

Smiling, he came toward me, hands in his pockets. “Thanks.”

“Should we go?” I glanced at the door. “Our reservation is?—”

“Just a minute.” He removed his hands from his pockets along with a small blue box.

A Tiffany blue box.

“Hutton.”

He opened it, and there was the ring.

Now I was the one who couldn’t breathe. I splayed a hand over my chest. “ Hutton .”

“Yes.”

“Tell me that is not the ring I tried on today.”

“That is not the ring you tried on today.”

I met his eyes, catching a twinkle in their midnight blue. “Liar! You said we were leaving without the ring!”

“We did. This one came from another store. It has a stone with better clarity. That one had a blemish.”

“A blemish?” I squeaked.

“Yes.”

“Hutton.” I took a breath. “Tell me this is only on loan, like the necklace was in the movie. Remember? Richard Gere does not actually purchase the necklace for her. He only borrows it for the night.”

“Richard Gere’s not a real billionaire. I am.” He took the ring from its cushion and set the box on the dining table. “Will you wear it?”

I was so torn. I wanted to, but I could not accept this ring from him. “Oh, God,” I said, feeling like my heart was going to explode. “I want to, I really do—but it’s too much.”

“It’s just a gift, Felicity.” He took my left hand and slipped the ring on my finger. “Let me give you a gift.”

“For what?” My voice cracked, and tears threatened to ruin my carefully applied makeup. “I don’t need a gift for being your friend.”

“It’s not really for anything. It’s a symbol of our friendship. It’s a gesture of appreciation.”

“Huttonnnnn,” I whined softly, adoring the way the ring sparkled. “A gesture of appreciation is a latte or a sandwich. This is a diamond ring. It’s too much .”

He didn’t say anything right away, and his eyes stayed focused on my hand, which he still held. “I understand,” he said quietly, “that this is unusual. I know most people don’t gift diamond rings to their friends—it’s traditionally something reserved for the one person you’re going to spend your life with. Your soul mate. But you know what?”

“What?”

He offered a hint of a smile. “At the risk of sounding a little crazy, my mom taught me that there are all kinds of soul mates—past-life soul mates, kindred spirits, soul ties...She thinks there are certain people you just feel a deep, extraordinary connection with, and it transcends time and place as we know it.”

“I believe that,” I whispered, remembering how it had felt like I’d known him from the first time I saw him.

“So think of this as a symbol of that connection. Because even though we aren’t getting married, you are the person I cherish most, someone I will always want in my life. In fact, I feel one hundred percent certain our friendship will outlast all of Wade’s marriages.”

My throat had closed up, making it impossible to speak, but I managed a smile and a nod.

“This isn’t a real proposal, because this isn’t a real engagement. But I thought maybe we could have one real thing to celebrate our friendship and the way we show up for each other. Something that will outlast this fake engagement.” His smile turned a little cocky as he shrugged. “And honestly, I can afford it.”

A laugh escaped me, but so did a tear.

Hutton brushed it from my cheekbone with his thumb. “If you never want to wear the ring, you don’t have to. But will you accept it?”

I nodded, desperately trying not to cry. “Okay.”

“Good.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Let’s go.”

At dinner, I kept reaching for my wine glass with my left hand so I could admire the ring. I loved the way it glittered in the candlelight. “You know, I’ve never been the girl who craves fancy, shiny things, but I am head over heels in love with this ring.”

“Good.”

“But Hutton.” I sat up straight in my seat and gave him a death stare. “No more expensive surprises, okay? Promise me.”

He reached for his whiskey. “That’s no fun. I like treating you.”

“But this is all one-sided! How am I going to treat you?”

He took a drink, swirled the liquid in his glass, and sipped again. “We’ll talk.”

My core muscles clenched.

All I could think was, Oklahoma. Bumblebee. Roy Kent.

After dinner, I was dying to try the warm chocolate cake with raspberry creamsicle ice cream, but we were running a little late and still had to pick up our tickets. “Another time,” Hutton promised. “I’ll make sure you get to taste it before we go home.”

Our driver took us over to the Metropolitan Opera House, and we made our way to the box office, where Hutton gave his name. “Do you know where the seats are?” I asked, glancing around the lobby with its massive cascading staircases, deep red carpet, and soaring windows.

“Not exactly.” Hutton loosened his tie, and I realized he was probably uncomfortable in such a crowded public place.

“Here. Let me see.” I glanced at the tickets and saw that we were in a section called Parterre Box 24. It was easy enough to find someone to ask, and a few minutes later we were shown our very own private box, which had three seats in a front row, and five more in a second and third.

“Wait a minute.” I looked around. “Are all these seats ours?”

“Yes. I bought the whole box,” Hutton said. “I like privacy.”

I laughed. “One of those billionaire perks?”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

Needless to say, the view of the stage was incredible. And I had zero chill as I looked around at the sea of red velvet, the sparkling chandeliers, the gold leaf, the marble, the towering ceiling. I don’t think I closed my mouth for five full minutes. “This is amazing! It’s so beautiful!”

“It is.” Hutton sat down beside me.

“Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really. I brought my parents here once—my dad likes opera—and I attended the fundraising gala once.”

“Oooh, I bet that was fancy. Ball gowns and tuxes? Cocktails and small talk?”

He nodded. “I lasted about twenty minutes.”

I laughed and took his hand. “Well, don’t worry. I won’t make you talk to me.”

“I like talking to you. Among other things.”

My heart skipped a beat as the lights dimmed. I could get used to this , I thought. But then I corrected myself.

I could not get used to this—not this box at the Met, this man beside me, or this feeling inside my chest. In fact, getting used to this would be the worst possible thing that could happen.

I glanced down at our hands.

My ring shone brilliantly, even in the dark.