17. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 17

W ith The Wives moving full speed ahead planning my nuptials, I didn’t have much to do except dive back into my usual routine. I knew there were things Tori and Brooklyn would need my feedback on—cake tasting, dresses, approving a caterer—but for the most part, they were thrilled to be handling all the details.

Meanwhile, Ford’s mother’s one stipulation was that the event be held at the Malone estate on Martha’s Vineyard. If agreeing to a destination wedding would keep my future mother-in-law’s nose out of the rest of the planning, I was more than happy to go along with it. The last thing I needed was extra wedding stress. I’d rather bury my head in the sand for the next two and half months and just focus on work.

That, and trying not to think about Ford and what he’d done to me in the back seat of the car.

Easier said than done, obviously.

I hadn’t seen Ford since that night, but we had texted here and there over the last few days. He had a job that took up most of his waking hours, and his family liked to keep him busy as well. I expected we’d talk in more detail soon enough…after all, he couldn’t do this whole fake marriage thing without me.

Even still, I was surprised when I received an email from him one morning. It wasn’t his usual method of communication with me, and on top of that, it wasn’t a regular email—it was unexpectedly formal, more like an invitation of some sort. And I was intrigued by all the specifics he outlined. What to wear (formal dress), where to meet (the Chicago Botanic Garden), when to be there. Yet he didn’t give me a single hint as to what was actually supposed to happen.

So yeah, I was going to bite.

Knowing how much Ford had appreciated the Prada dress I wore to the ball, I had already bought another one in a soft blue shade more appropriate for daytime events (I wasn’t going to be an outfit repeater just yet). So, on it went. It really made my gray eye color pop, and I was pretty sure Ford’s jaw would drop when he saw me in it. Even with a pair of sensible flats and my black leather jacket over it, I looked totally smoking hot.

I left my hair down with just a touch of texturizing cream worked in, because I’d noticed the way he liked to play with it, but I took extra time with my signature winged eyeliner and kept the rest of my makeup simple. I felt good. Like myself. With all the lying and posing and dressing up for other people lately, it was nice to be comfortable in my skin again.

When I stepped out of my building to dial an Uber, I found a car ready and waiting for me at the curb.

That threw me. Ford had never been one for planning ahead, as evidenced by our entire spur-of-the-moment fake relationship, but apparently he was planning ahead tonight. It gave me a little thrill. I tried to give the driver directions, but he said that he knew where he was going. So I just leaned back into the plush leather seat and let myself be taken away.

The Chicago Botanic Garden was one of my favorite places in the city, and yet again, I was surprised that Ford had remembered. I’d definitely mentioned how much I loved shooting photos there, and I’d spent more than a few of my days off wandering around my favorite areas (the Aquatic Garden, the collection of tiny, perfect bonsai trees, the Japanese Garden), but I had never gotten the sense that Ford was paying much attention when I talked about it.

Suddenly, the evening seemed full of excitement and potential. It felt like Ford was making an effort. Like this might be a real date. My stomach immediately started tying itself in anxious little knots.

We hadn’t spoken at all about what he’d done to me in the back seat of the car a few nights ago, but I knew that the dynamic between us had changed. I couldn’t help wondering how—or if—it had affected him. If he had gone back to his apartment all keyed up and aroused afterward. I’d seen the bulge of his erection through his pants while he was fingering me, and it seemed that he hadn’t been lying about how big his dick was.

Did he wear boxers or briefs? Or was he the type to go commando?

I could imagine him going commando. I liked imagining it.

In my fantasy, he had stretched out on his huge bed and pushed his pants down, out of the way, before gripping himself with a firm hand. Then he’d jerked off, hard and fast, thinking of how I’d come on his fingers. How I’d ridden his hand to a breathless orgasm in the back of a car, our driver mere inches away, separated from us by only a thin pane of glass. I imagined him coming with a groan, spurting all over himself, thinking about how wet he’d gotten me.

I fanned myself, suddenly overheating in my jacket, even with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows.

With a jolt, I realized that we had arrived. The driver pulled up to the entrance and then came around to open my door. As I slid out of the car, I thanked him, feeling my heart pound in anticipation. Here goes nothing , I silently told myself.

Walking into the gardens, I realized I was probably a little overdressed, but I was enjoying myself regardless. This place always felt so serene and peaceful, calm and cool, and the guests seemed to be thinning out as I headed deeper into the park. It had to be near closing time, as the park always shut down an hour or so before sunset, but nobody stopped me.

I made my way to the Aquatic Garden, where Ford had instructed me to meet him.

I was right on time.

The waterlilies were in bloom, but my attention was solely focused on Ford, who was standing on the boardwalk, waiting for me.

He looked edible.

Instead of his usual T-shirt and jeans, he had dressed up. A pair of charcoal pants perfectly tailored to fit his muscular thighs, with a matching vest and tie over a crisp blue shirt. Everything fit him like a dream, and his hair looked freshly cut. He’d shaved recently, too.

And in his hand was a single orchid, Masdevallia rolfeana —a Costa Rican flower known for its deep, dark coloring. Not a true black, but a garnet color so deep that it was considered to be the only black orchid, it was my absolute favorite flower. Ford Malone had brought me one.

I had to admit, I was feeling a bit swoony.

Not only had he set up a real-ass date for us, but between the gussying up and the orchid, he’d clearly gone all out on his end as well. It was already the best date I’d ever been on.

My heart was literally throbbing in my chest as I approached him. Maybe he was giving this a real shot. Maybe after what happened the last time we were together, he’d been stirred enough to realize that—best friend or not—I was a woman, not just his longtime best friend, and that I deserved a little fake romance in our fake relationship. At least, a girl could hope.

The whole thing felt magical and surreal as I all but floated toward him.

“Wow, Em,” he said. “You look…absolutely gorgeous.”

He took my hand when I stopped in front of him and slid the orchid over my wrist—it was a corsage, I realized—then kissed the top of my knuckles gently. My knees went weak.

“Thank you,” I murmured, smiling as I gazed up at him.

The sun was just beginning to set, spreading a warm glow over the gardens. Everyone had already left the area, so Ford and I were alone. Just as I was about to ask him what exactly he had planned for us, he dropped to one knee.

My heart flew up into my throat and my hands came up to my lips.

Was this…?

“Mara Rose Zoric,” Ford said, on his knee in front of me. “Em. We’ve been friends for seven years, and we’re soon to be a whole lot more. I simply cannot wait.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small square box. An unmistakably sized box.

“Ford…” I murmured, my voice catching in my throat.

He opened the box and there it was: his grandmother’s antique ring. Two rows of the most perfect, beautiful little diamonds I’d ever seen, set in yellow gold, nestled against deep blue velvet. The ring sparkled in the fading sunlight, and for a moment I was speechless.

My eyes began to well up, the diamonds blurring.

“I know I should have done this before,” Ford said. “I should have done something more official, but there’s no reason I can’t start now. Emzee, my nearest and dearest friend, will you marry me?”

It was the proposal of my dreams.

“I will,” I said softly.

Ford slipped the ring onto my finger and stood. I thought, for a moment, that he’d take me into his arms and kiss me. Instead, he leaned back, and called out:

“She said yes!”

Immediately, Ford’s friends began appearing from behind various trees and bushes, all cheering and applauding. It took me a moment to realize what was happening, but it all sunk in when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Malone, my brothers, and The Wives step out from behind a building.

“Congratulations!” everyone was saying.

They were all coming up to us, shaking Ford’s hand, slapping him on the back, and pulling us into group hugs. I was so stunned that I didn’t know what to say.

Ford had planned a whole goddamn surprise engagement party.

Yet again, everything was for show.

Like a fool, I had thought that this night was going to be about the two of us. But just like he’d done when we went out to dinner for that first time as a couple, only to end up meeting with his entire family, he’d put this whole romantic gesture together just for the optics. I felt sick.

Once again, my years of practice maintaining a poker face came in handy. It felt like I’d been using those skills a lot more recently. It was exhausting.

Tori and Brooklyn found me almost immediately, both wanting to see the ring.

“Oh, it’s exquisite,” Tori said, holding my hand up. “You love vintage. And it won’t get in the way when you’re working with your hands, either.”

“It’s absolutely perfect for you,” Brooklyn agreed with a sigh.

My brothers came over to hug me as well, but being men, they didn’t really have any comments about the ring.

“You look so beautiful,” Tori said.

“Ford can’t stop staring at you,” Brooklyn noted. “I took tons of pictures already.”

I turned to find that she was right—Ford was standing at the other end of the garden, talking to his friends, but his eyes were fixated on me. On the dress. When I caught his eye, he gave me a wicked smile and a wink.

Even though I was annoyed that he had once again played me, I couldn’t help the thrill that ran through my body at his obvious attention. And I had to admit that he’d done everything right, at least as far as the whole “keeping up appearances” thing was concerned. Time to suck it up, make the small talk, and show off the ring like a good little fiancée would.

Even if I was seething all the while.

“Crab cake?” Tori asked.

A plate of canapés had been brought over to us, the waiters all dressed in suits and bow ties. I grabbed a crab cake and stuffed it in my mouth, though I barely tasted anything. The rest of the event seemed to pass in a blur.

None of it had gone how I had expected, and I was upset not just at Ford, but at myself. I couldn’t believe I’d actually thought that he had changed. That our relationship had changed. When of course it hadn’t. It was exactly the same as it had always been, where he made the decisions and expected me to go along with them, and I…well, I did.

Once again, Ford had successfully manipulated me.

And I just kept letting him.

Not anymore, I told myself, standing in the garden in my corsage and my dress, watching Ford make small talk in between bites of cocktail shrimp.

Soon enough, he was going to get an earful from me. Because I was going to make it perfectly clear to him that when it came to our fake engagement, he wouldn’t be the only one calling the shots.