10. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 10

F ord pulled me in close, his arm wrapped tight around me while he just kept on running that liar mouth of his.

“We wanted to wait for a more intimate setting to share the news, but we’re just too excited. Aren’t we, Em?”

I didn’t know what to do. This was not the plan we’d gone over—not even close.

Somehow, I managed a nod.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

I watched as the news sank in. Mr. Malone looked mildly surprised, but he certainly wasn’t scowling. Ford’s mother and Claudia, on the other hand…

“ What? ” Claudia said.

The smile had slid right off her face and she was staring at us, her jaw slack.

I couldn’t really blame her. I was just as shocked as she was.

“You can’t be serious, Ford darling,” his mother was saying, literally clutching her pearls and forcing me to hold back a snicker.

“I know, it seems sudden,” Ford said, dropping a quick kiss on the top of my head. “But then again, we’ve been friends for so long, I guess it just clicked for us all at once. How happy we are together.”

“Well congratulations,” Mr. Malone said, giving Ford a firm handshake.

“But Ford,” Mrs. Malone started, but he didn’t let her get another word in.

“No, Mother, we haven’t set a date yet—I know that’s what you were about to ask.”

Ford had the biggest smile on his face, so I tried to focus on that as my thoughts spun out of control. How in the hell did we go from deciding to tell his parents that we weren’t together to claiming that we were newly engaged? Just how far was Ford going to take this whole thing? Was he really that obsessed with proving to his mother that his relationship with Claudia was over, or was it Claudia’s presence itself that was the catalyst for this new twist?

Every sentence he spoke just dug us deeper into the hole he had created, and all I could do was grin through my clenched jaw and nod along.

“We don’t have a ring yet,” Ford went on. “I was hoping to get Grandma’s. It’s not just the sentimental value; Emzee’s really into vintage. It’s perfect for her.”

Well. That was the cherry on top of this whole ridiculous cake. Yes, I liked vintage, but his great-grandmother’s fabled heirloom diamond ring ? Ford’s mother had never worn it herself, instead keeping it tucked away in a jewelry box for her only son to propose with—she’d been talking it up to him ever since he was a kid. I’d heard about it from Ford, had even seen the ring myself once, though lately the talk had been about Claudia’s plans to take out the diamonds and use them as a halo for her dream engagement ring. Ford had been horrified at the suggestion.

In my opinion, the ring was perfect just the way it was. It was a Victorian piece in warm yellow gold, and had been custom designed with a double row of antique diamonds that had been passed down by prior Malone generations. Dainty, yes, but enduringly classic.

And yeah, it was perfect for me.

I’d always thought it was far too subtle an engagement ring for someone like Claudia—she wasn’t into simplicity. She was the type of girl who’d only be happy with a huge, flawless, brilliant cut solitaire in a Tiffany setting, probably in platinum.

His mother’s face was deceptively stoic now. I knew part of it was the Botox, but beyond that, she was probably in complete shock. And although I’d never interacted much with Mr. Malone, he was a very successful businessman, which meant he had long ago perfected his poker face. He was using it to great effect now. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

I tried to find some inspiration for how to hide my horror by studying how well his parents presented their inscrutable expressions.

Later, though? I was going to kill Ford. I was going to truly, actually murder him.

“We’ll have to talk about the ring later,” Mrs. Malone said. “When it’s…quieter.”

“But we will talk about it,” Ford pushed.

Even knowing full well this was all bullshit, I was also really enjoying making Ford’s mother sweat the way she was. And the look on Claudia’s face was priceless. She was visibly seething with jealousy, doing this little twitch thing she probably wasn’t even aware of. After all those years of making me feel like I didn’t matter, like I wasn’t worthy of Ford’s precious time and attention, the tables had turned.

No wonder Ford was so into this scheme. It was super fun.

I relaxed into Ford’s embrace and let a real smile play across my lips. Yes, I was still pissed at him. But I could at least bask in the moment, couldn’t I?

Already, I could hear people whispering around us. It was a little crazy how fast the news seemed to be spreading around the event already. There was no stopping it now. By the end of the evening, everyone here would know that Ford and I were engaged.

God only knew how long it would take to spread across the rest of Chicago…

The mess we had created had just gotten a whole lot bigger. There would be a lot of cleanup to do after tonight. But for now, I was just going to enjoy the sour look on Claudia’s face and accept the well wishes of the people who had gathered, hoping to get in good with us.

“You have the makings of a real power couple,” someone said.

“So good to see young people coming together when they’re both so committed to making a difference,” another chimed in.

Every time we turned, there was a new person waiting to congratulate us.

Everything was happening so fast, I could barely process any of it. My romantic, final night as Ford’s fake girlfriend had turned into a makeshift celebration of our fake engagement. We were really in it now.

It was at least another hour before there was a chance for Ford and me to talk privately. The well-wishers had dwindled down, his parents were long gone, and poor Claudia had suddenly gotten a “migraine” and had to leave soon after. Somehow, we were able to slip away from the ballroom and maneuver ourselves into a quiet corner.

I turned to Ford, fully intending to unleash my wrath on him. As he deserved.

But before I could, he had his hands up, almost as if he was waving a white flag.

“I know, I know,” he said before I was even able to open my mouth. “Just hear me out.”

I glared at him, crossing my arms. “You have exactly thirty seconds.”

“I didn’t plan this,” Ford said.

“Really.” I raised an eyebrow.

“I swear I didn’t,” he insisted. “It just happened. But honestly, the whole thing could really be a win/win.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. “What could I possibly get out of this?”

Ford took my hand, his mischievous grin shifting to a more serious look. “Your family is still dealing with the fallout from what happened with your dad, right?” he asked.

“You want that kind of scandal rubbing off on you?” I asked. It didn’t make any sense. “Trust me, you don’t. If you’re trying to piss off your mom, you’re going about it all wrong.”

“That’s not what this is about,” he said. “Imagine it: A blissful wedding between the youngest Zoric and the successful son of one of the most respected families in Chicago. The last hint of any possible scandal will be gone from your family for good.”

As much as I hated to admit it, “You have a point.”

“Your family will be thrilled, mine will be happy,” Ford added.

“Not according to your mother’s face they won’t be,” I said.

He took my other hand and pulled me closer, so we were standing face-to-face. I looked up at him, still skeptical.

“She just needs time to adjust,” he said. “Trust me, she’s been dreaming about me getting married since I was in diapers. This will be the crowning social event of her life. She’ll love it.”

“Ford, stop. You can’t be suggesting we actually go through with this!”

“Why not? We can even make it official. Like with a contract.”

“A contract?” I echoed. Pretending to be Ford’s girlfriend was bad enough. Pretending to be his fiancée was even worse. A pretend marriage? That was a whole new world of bad ideas.

He was nodding, eyes lighting up as he got more and more excited by the idea. “We’ll just fake it for a year, maybe. It has its benefits, Em. Focus on the benefits!”

I couldn’t focus on anything while I was having such a hard time breathing.

Finally picking up on the fact that I wasn’t saying very much, he let go of my hands and brought his up to cradle my face gently.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft. “We both know what will happen if we don’t do this. I’ll bow to my mom’s iron will and get back together with Claudia. We’ll get married, because that’s what everyone will expect us to do, and then spend the rest of my life miserable with her and our two point five clone children. And probably some purebred designer poodle named Winston.”

“Claudia’s allergic to dogs,” I reminded him. “Maybe you could get a goldfish.”

“Even worse,” he said, cracking a smile. “Don’t leave me getting drunk every night with Winston the goldfish. Please.”

I stared back at him and returned his smile, even though the thought of sitting back and watching him marry Claudia made my stomach churn.

“This ends in marriage, either way,” Ford said. “But wouldn’t it be better with you? It’s not real -real either way. Be my wife, and at least I can promise we’ll have fun.”

I had to look away. I was speechless. What could I possibly say to his proposal? And could I really live with myself if I spent the rest of my days—the rest of our friendship—sitting across the table from him and Claudia, knowing that I could have stopped it all? No way.

But the thing was…the real thing making me hesitate…

Was my brothers.

Both of their marriages had started out as fake. Both of them had entered into a union with formal contracts and the express intention of divorcing after a year, only to discover that they were legitimately in love with their wives and wanted to make their marriage the real thing.

If I agreed to do this with Ford, could I ever truly convince myself that I wasn’t secretly hoping it would end up as happily ever after for me as it had for Stefan and Luka? What if I never recovered from the divorce? What if this faux marriage doomed our friendship even more?

I looked back up at him. He was still holding my face, his own expression a mix of hope and good humor. It would be so easy to kiss him if I just lifted onto my toes. I knew he’d kiss me back, too, despite a lack of audience. He’d do it because he’d take it as me agreeing to his plan.

But if I’d learned anything in the past week, it was that fake kisses from Ford felt as good as real ones. If we were married—even if there was a contract, even if we had an understanding—just think how many kisses I could give him over the course of a year.

Maybe enough to make the inevitable heartbreak worth it.

The clock struck two a.m. It was long past midnight. The party was over. I let Ford put me in a private car back to my apartment, dropping my purse, heels, and dress on the hardwood floor as I walked through my living room, the lights of Chicago glowing softly out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I crawled into bed, pulling a comfortably worn-in old band T-shirt over my head. Then I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, processing what I had done.

Munchkin click-clacked into the room and then leaped up onto the covers next to me, his face tilted curiously as he tried to gauge my mood. He couldn’t speak, of course, but he always seemed to know when I was upset or sad. Or confused. He seemed to understand me, sometimes better than the human beings in my life.

“Ford proposed,” I told my dog. “In a most unorthodox fashion.”

Dropping his chin onto my knee, Munchkin looked up at me, brows knitting together, his big brown eyes full of concern. It was almost like he was asking, “And then what?”

I sat up, pulled him close, and gave him a kiss on the top of his head, right between his pointy little ears.

“Obviously, Munchkin,” I whispered into his fur, “I told him yes.”