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From outside, a trumpet blares.
“What the hell?” I go to the window, pull back the curtain, and am almost blinded by the glare. “Oh, crap.”
“What is it?” Nia says.
Outside, just beyond the fence that contains my English-cottage garden, a small band has assembled, illuminated by spotlights.
They’re playing “All You Need Is Love.”
My neighbors are streaming out of their houses.
I step out onto the front stoop. Anthony Fessa is clutching a microphone and wearing a tux. Off to the side, cameras capture his every move.
The band fades away.
“Eva!” Anthony cries into the mic.
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I say.
Nia and Akemi are right behind me.
“Make him stop.”
“I don’t think that’s in my power,” my sister says, gazing out over Anthony’s grand gesture with a look of awe.
“Eva, I never stopped caring about you,” he tells me, eyes right on mine.
“Anthony, don’t do this,” I say. “Just pack up, turn around, and head home.”
“I didn’t offer you what I know you want most in the universe?—”
“I’m not Oriana!” I call.
But my words are drowned out in the next bit of Anthony’s speech. “Please, Eva. I know you’re lonely here in this little corner of the universe. Let me marry you, carry you off, and fill you up with babies.”
“He didn’t,” Nia says.
“He did,” Akemi tells her. “He most definitely did.”
It’s gotten very quiet. The band members sit with their instruments on their knees, watching me attentively. It’s so quiet I can hear the sound of spring frogs, the music coming from an open window up the street, Nia’s snicker behind me.
“I’m disowning you,” I hiss to her.
The neighbors are waiting, mouths open, breath baited. Or at least I assume they’re all holding their breath. My next-door neighbor has her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
I walk down the steps toward Anthony. He walks toward me. I can see the gleam of victory in his eyes. He caught this all on video, and a thousand bucks says his next move is to upload it to TikTok and Instagram and get every last one of our fans all-in on this ship.
If I reject him, he’ll turn it into a social media event of its own and recruit every fan in our fandom to try to change my mind.
And obviously—obviously—I can’t accept him.
My mind flails wildly, looking for an out.
And then out of the corner of my eye, I see Nia, waving her hands. Trying to get my attention.
“Tell him, Eva!” she calls. “Tell him you’re…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, just raises her eyebrows so high I hope it doesn’t give her a migraine. I think she’s trying to leave me an out.
