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My mom’s frozen smiling face appears on my phone.
“Hey.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t text me, at least. How did it go?”
“How did what go?” I peek back into the living room. Lizzy twists her hands together. I wish I could offer her more reassurance, but fuck. Fuck. If she’s pregnant, this is going to be a shitshow. My parents will lose their Catholic minds. My brothers will probably start a war with whoever the father is. This is about to be a circus.
“Your plans,” my mother says, impatient. “Your plans with Finn Hughes. I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell me about them. And why you made him search the mansion for you.”
He wasn’t really searching for me.
The words are on the tip of my tongue.
He only took pity on me because you wanted me to marry Alex Langley.
I could explain to Finn that our little game of pretend was a bad idea, after all.
And then I’d have no excuse to see him again.
No excuse to kiss him again.
“It was a fun date,” I say, my heart pounding.
“A date?” My mother sounds like she’s about to blast into orbit. “I wasn’t sure. The way he looked at you… but of course he did. You’re beautiful. Accomplished. And way too good for Alex Langley. A Hughes, Eva. That’s wonderful.”
“We’re just seeing each other,” I add hastily. “It probably won’t turn into anything.”
“If you play your cards right, it can turn into everything.”
I glance down at the quarter in my hand. “I’m serious. We’re together, but in a very shallow, non-commitment, Tinder-hookup kind of way.”
She ignores this, of course. “You only have to keep him enthralled through the courtship. Compliment him. Please him. Make him feel like a big, strong man.”
“Gross, Mom.”
“At least until you get a ring on your finger.”
“I can’t imagine why I’ve resisted marriage so far.”
“You have to bring him to dinner.”
“Maybe. Mom, I have to go. There’s a… thing I have to do.” Starting with finding a pregnancy test for my baby sister. And ending with making sure Finn is still in agreement about the fake dating. Last night still seems like a faraway fever dream.
I force my way off the phone and call down to concierge.
A few tense minutes later there’s a knock at the door. Goddard is the oldest concierge. He gives me a kind look and an unmarked paper bag. “Thank you,” I say, handing over a tip.
“Any time, Ms. Morelli.”
As soon as the door is closed, Lizzy traps herself inside the bathroom with the box.
Five minutes pass. “Liz?”
Her shout comes through the door. “It says I have to wait!”
Another ten minutes pass. “Lizzy?”
“Not yet!”
