Page 19 of Put a Rink on It

“I’ll have a maple latte and the banana peanut butter pancakes. Wife?”

No he did not.

He didn’t order almost exactly what I was thinking, nor did he reference me as his wife.

Hearing the word come out of his mouth, him addressing me with the moniker, is surreal. I nearly shred the menu gripped in my fingers to pieces. It makes me realize we’ve got so much to discuss. Ground rules to lay out. Roles to define.

“Me. Right. Your wife.” I stumble over my words, my gaze volleying between Nero and the waitress. “Salted caramel latte for me and the California omelet. Side of bacon, home fries, and wheat toast.”

“Oh, and a piece of the coffee cake,” Nero adds to the order.

“Do you want it all at the same time?”

“That’s fine.”

She smiles at him. Even if she doesn’t know who he is, the man is charming and handsome, though he happens to be mine. Well, sort of. Nero hardly gives her the time of day, pivoting back to me.

“We need a plan,” I blurt, conscious of what we’re doing. What we’re really getting into.

“I kinda figured you’d come up with the how and when of it all.”

Is he serious? He gets us into this position, and it’s my job to get us out? We’re starting this “marriage” out so great.

“Me? Why? You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

He grabs my hand in his, rubbing his finger along the inside of my wrist. I immediately soften because despite every protest and red flag being thrown at me against us pretending to be married, Nero is my safe place. He knows me. He gets me. All without a lot of explanation needed. There were plenty of days I’d be in a pissy mood when I called him, and his voice took me off the ledge. It didn’t matter what he said. The comfort was in his tone.

“I want you to come up with it to have a say in how this goes, to write the narrative of our love story. However you want this to have played out, you write it, and I’ll go along with it. Maybe prove it’s not a mess.” With his free hand, he produces a small notebook and pen from his hoodie pocket and pushes them toward me, the other finger still rubbing my wrist. “How did I propose?”

It takes only a minute for the answer to be in front of me.

“At your house in Minnesota. Sunset, in the offseason. You lit a path to the lake with tea lights. Real ones, not the fake, battery-operated kind.” He chuckles. “I wondered how long it took you to get them all lit.” My eyes close, setting the stage, seeing it so clearly, even though I’ve never imagined what a proposal from Nero—hell, anyone—could look like. But once I start speaking, the details pour out of me.

“You went all out. Dozens of my favorite flowers along the shoreline. The moon glinted off the water, a slight breeze drifted by. Music played just loud enough for us to hear it. Our favorite songs on a curated playlist. You dropped to one knee, holding my hand, your finger rubbing my wrist like now. You promised to love and cherish me, to let me know every day how special I was to you, how much you loved me, a little more with each passing day. I cried when you pulled out the ring, the moonlight catching the huge diamond. Cushion cut, at least two carats, sparkling even in the dark.

“When you slipped it on my finger, you told me you loved me, that I’d never be alone anymore, that we were doing life together. You stood up, lifting me into your arms, spinning me, my squeals echoing on the water. And we kissed. A kiss like we never shared. It was a new beginning, a start to our life together, a vow of what was to come. It was beautiful and magical and everything I didn’t know to ask for.”

When I finish, a tear slips down my cheek, wiped by Nero’s thumb. How can something not real make me sad? Before this morning, the thought of being Nero’s wife, of having him down on one knee proposing, wasn’t a blip on my radar. But voicing the words aloud, it sucks it’s pretend. That it’s all fake. That it will never happen.

“I’m sorry, Ships. I’m so sorry.”

My eyes fly open, and he sits across the table from me, a mask of regret on his face. “For what?”

“For cheating you out of all of that.”

CHAPTER 7

nero

Her words unleash something inside me, a feeling so strong for her, it’s all-consuming.

I can’t let her do this.

I can’t let her pretend to be my wife and rob her of everything she’s just said.

It’s not about the insignificant details. It’s knowing she’ll get none of that from the person she’s meant to spend forever with.

Someone who isn’t me.