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I chime in, “But he’s hard to deny, I guess.” The crowd dabs at their eyes.

“I bought a ring on impulse. She’s the impulse I never want to end. I walked up to her, she was splattered with spaghetti sauce or something.”

“BBQ.” All of this is so believable.

“I sat down next to her and put the ring between us. I know I don’t know you well or for a long time, but I want to know you forever. Marry me.” That’s really good. So good I have tears popping into my eyes. I look up at him.

“And I said of course.” There are “awws” and tears. His sister stands stone-faced. A series of hugs from my new “family” follow, and Zane and I separate from the crowd.

Our engagement has a life beyond us now. Just like we planned. Strong matriarchs are alive, well, and living in communities like Rhinebeck and Brookline. Plans and plots are evolving around us but don’t involve us. We count on this phenomenon to keep them busy for a year, the year of freedom we’ve just sold our souls for. Even if the price is a little cruel, a little Machiavellian, the ends should justify the means. I hope.

He grins while still holding my hand. His thumb rubbing circles on my palm that are making me think of other things I’d like to circle. I’m buzzed, engaged and he’s about to head out for six months of shooting. I did wear the skimpy bikini and I did watch him watch me. He guides me back to the reception. I join him in the wedding party dance with the wedding couple. It’s another excuse for us to hold each other. He’s a good dancer, but charming men usually are.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?” I ask.

“Holding you, looking at you like this.”

“Do I have something on my face?” I pull back, but he pulls me closer.

“No. The simple act of dancing feels incredibly intimate.” His hand on my back, and my hand clutching his.

I tease him. “My guess is you have sex often.”

“Yes.” He nods proudly.

“Why wouldn’t this be intimate? It’s not like you’ve ever invested in anyone except your ex-wife.”

His eyes widen as I speak the truth.

“Painful, but true.”

“Sex isn’t intimate for you.” Which makes me want to fuck him more. His hand splays out and his pinky sweeps across the top of my ass and I waggle my eyebrows at him.

“But holding you is intimate for some fucked up reason.”

“You’re veering away from our lie. And I probably know more shit about you than any hook up. I mean we weren’t friends so to speak, but we are in the same friend group. But keep up the lie, Asshole, pretend this isn’t intimate.”

“I’m trying.”

I press my cheek to him and whisper, “It feels like that to me too.” My body is buzzing and it gets more intense with each innocent touch or graze of his lips. I’m on fire for him, and I don’t want to be this version of us right now. The version for them.

He’s holding me close and then I feel the stir of something below for him. He doesn’t explain it away or hide it. His lips are at my ear and I want what’s happening below. I’m fucking wound up tight as a coil ready to spring.

“Kat. Katy. Harpy.” His lips brushing over my ear then finding my neck for a small moment.

I gasp. “Yes.”

“Do you feel me?” He pushes his hips further into me, and I push back with my pelvis and swivel my hips.

“Yes, Asshole. I do.” I gasp.

“Are you going to do something about it?”

I speak on the nape of his neck, letting my lips trace my words in the sensitive stubble at his jawline. “Why is it my responsibility to do something about it? It’s your hard dick.” I nibble and my hands roam up and down his back playing with the back of his neck.

He groans low and feral then pulls me tighter against him. He arches my back and presses himself further dipping me for everyone to see. His cock concealed by our dance moves. When he lifts me up we’re face to face. He kisses me gently and I want him.