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“Wow, look at these, Raphy!” she exclaims.
I delight in her happiness, thoughts of the suited man already gone. “Choose whatever you want, birthday girl,” I say. “My treat.” Well, technically it’s Dante’s treat but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I want to talk to you about something important,” I say, scooting my chair even closer to hers. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it affectionately. We’ve been in the bar for a couple of hours now and we’re both on our third cocktail. The time has flown, and conversation has flowed, moving fluidly from our joint, funny childhood memories, to Micah and his endlessly cute actions and sayings and mannerisms, to our individual future hopes and plans, with Cece revealing that she would love to get married one day, perhaps have more children.
Now seems the perfect time to discuss what I brought her here to discuss.
She drains her drink, her long neck flexing, and looks at me mischievously. “Why so serious, Raphy? Less talking, more drinking,” she replies, laughing, sliding my own glass nearer to me, encouraging me to catch up with her.
“Cece, listen to me, please,” I say, an impatient edge to my voice as my anxiety rises. If I don’t say what I want to say, I might not get another chance. It has to be tonight; here, now.
Detecting my tone, she sits up a bit straighter and looks at me quizzically, a line appearing between her almond shaped eyes. I take a breath and launch into my carefully prepared speech.
“Cecelia DeMarco, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I think tonight is the right time to talk about us, about our future, together. We’ve known each other practically our whole lives and I know, I just know, that you are the woman for me. You always have been. Even before our teenage kiss that you found hilarious—”
Her eyes and mouth both widen before she breaks into a wide smile. “Oh my God, I had completely forgotten about that!” She covers her face with her free hand, embarrassed. “How bossy was I! And only thirteen, I think!” She chuckles and shakes her head at me wearing a bemused expression.
I gape at her—she forgot about our one and only kiss? I feel like she’s slapped me across the face so instant is the burning sensation in my cheeks. I look away and try to reset myself, remember why we’re here and what I’m doing. She may have forgotten about our first kiss, but she won’t forget our next. I turn back to her and smile placidly before resuming my proposal.
“Yes, you’ve always been a force to be reckoned with, Cece,” I say. “Nobody compares to you. I love you with all my heart and I want you to be my wife.”
She stares back at me, but this time I can’t read her expression. It’s one I’ve never seen before. For the first time tonight, I wish we were somewhere well lit so I could interpret what she was thinking better. Cecelia never usually hides her true feelings well.
Seconds pass, then a minute, and then, to my dismay she starts giggling, taking back her hand to cover her mouth, to disguise the obvious amusement she feels following the proposal I’ve agonized over for months, years. It stings badly —the woman I love laughing at me rather than with me—and I struggle to maintain my composure.
“I’m sorry,” she says, hiccupping through her laughter. She places a palm on her chest and breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, clearly trying to calm herself down. I frown at her, confused, vulnerable, angry.
“Dear Raphy,” she says eventually, moving her hand to my cheek and gazing tipsily into my eyes. Her breath smells like cherries and she’s so close that if I moved my finger just a centimeter it would graze her nipple. It takes all my willpower not to.
“I love you too. You’re my best friend. You’re the brother I never had. But this is a joke, right? Surely you realize we don’t have a romantic connection!” She splutters another laugh; the mere idea of it obviously an absurdity.
Brother? My stomach sinks and all the alcohol in my body swirls and gurgles, all the hope I’ve ever held about us becoming man and wife draining out of me like water through a plughole. Gone.
I force a laugh too, masking my devastation. “I think I’ve had too much to drink,” I say, deliberately slurring my words slightly.
“Oh, Raphy, you are funny,” she says. “What did I say earlier…you always know how to make me smile. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the little girl’s room.”
“Okay,” I say, with forced cheeriness. “But hurry back because it’s almost midnight which means it’s almost officially your birthday.”
She totters off on her red heels, making her way to the bathroom on the other side of the restaurant as I sit and seethe. What a fucking fool I’ve been treating her with the utmost respect, kindness, and consideration all these years! I should have been crueler, shiftier, more distant, and maybe then she wouldn’t regard me as just a friend, a brother. Maybe I should have kidnapped her and held her captive like Michael fucking Luciano!
I signal to the waitress and ask her to bring the champagne I ordered earlier and as soon as it arrives, I pop the cork and quickly fill both our glasses, keeping an eye out for Cece coming back to the table. I reach into my jacket pocket, not for the velvet cube containing the replica vintage engagement ring I planned to present her with—a temporary ring until I could afford a diamond—but for something else. Something I hoped I wouldn’t need.
My fingers close around the parcel of folded paper and I lift it out, keeping it pressed to my palm. Making sure I’m not being watched by anyone, I turn towards the wall and rip off the corner of the paper, then I pick up Cecelia’s glass and tap the blue powder into her champagne, swirling it around until it disintegrates. I replace her glass and take a slug of my own drink, my heart hammering with excitement and anticipation. She may have rejected my proposal but tonight I’m finally going to do things to her that friends and brothers don’t do to a woman, and thanks to the aphrodisiac I’ve just spiked her drink with, she’s going to want me to.
“Did you book the limousine to take us home too?” Cece asks as she returns and plonks herself down next to me. She looks drowsy and I suspect she’s reached her limit for the night. All the more reason for the drug.
“No, I booked a hotel nearby as another surprise. I thought we could have a midnight toast here to mark your official birthday then collapse into bed there. I’ve booked us a twin room,” I lie as she looks at me through half closed eyes.
“But I want to see Micah before I go to sleep. Can’t you just take me home?” She pouts adorably at me, but after her actions a few moments ago it doesn’t hold the same power it once did.
I force my lips into a smile. “I’ll make you a deal,” I say. “One more drink and then we’ll go. Come on, I ordered champagne!”
She eyes the cold liquid fizzing temptingly, her mouth twisted with indecision.
“One final drink,” I say, picking my own glass up and winking at her.
She breaks into a smile. “Okay,” she says. “One final drink.”
