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“Where did you propose?”
“You proposed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Ten baths. Two half, eight full. And I bet they had a theater, a wine cellar, a library, and more than one pool.
Were ballrooms still a thing? If they were, this house would have at least one. And maybe a secret dungeon or two as well.
Adrien let out a quiet laugh. “My buddy Ethan opened an Italian restaurant a few months back. It’s got a great rooftop patio. Let’s say I reserved the whole place, and we had a romantic dinner, then I popped the question. You cried. A lot. The violinist shed a few tears too. Because I did such a great job.”
“Isn’t the whole point of this to try and make it believable?”
“I can be very romantic, Sanchez. That’s a widely known fact.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Anything else I should know?”
Adrien clamped his lips, thinking. “My birthday’s January 9th, my favorite color is red, I hate seafood, and I’m allergic to cats.”
My brows leaped at the last one. “Are you really?”
“Yeah. My throat, eyes, and nose all start to itch. It’s kind of a nightmare.”
That didn’t make any sense. “You were nuzzling the hell out of Toebeans when you met him.”
Adrien smiled again, dimples and all. “I paid the price for it, believe me. It was worth it, though. He’s pretty cute.”
I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, looking away. My insides were doing a skipping routine. Because of the nerves and absolutely nothing else.
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Nope.”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me if there’s anythingyoushould know about me?”
“Nah.” He picked up his duffle bag. “I ran a background check on you after Halloween. I know everything I need to know.”
My eyes rolled. This was going to be the slowest week of my entire fucking life.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
I suppressed a groan, dragging my feet to the doorstep with my heartbeat heavy.
Adrien shot me one last look before ringing the doorbell. I held my breath.
It’s going to be okay. You can do this. For Alba and Olive.
Steps echoed behind the door.
You can do anything for ten days.
The door ripped open, someone squealed, and Adrien was pulled into an embrace. “Addy! My sweet little darling!Hellllooooo.”
This must have been his mother. I didn’t believe for one second that anyone else would call Adrien Cloutier “sweet” or “darling” and mean it.
