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“Well,” he said, standing from his chair. “It was nice seeing you again, Matthew. I’m happy things are working out for you. Congratulations, Reagan.”
“Thank you.”
We watched Vincent leave and go to the bar, defying Matthew’s word about them drinking. The former turned to look at us, a wide smirk on his face as he gave our table a subtle salute before the bartender slid a bottle of premium beer his way.
“He looks fun,” I observed, eating the last of my lamb and I watched Matthew refill our drinks.
“Wait till you see him drunk,” he said.
For the rest of the night, Matthew told me about his friends, about the incident where Montgomery and Clair got so drunk at a party they were kicked out.
He told me about his friend’s security business and how Matthew was surprised that his friend had broken up with his childhood sweetheart when they were dating since they were high school freshmen.
And for a little while, I felt so blissfully normal listening to Matthew’s stories about his life like we were a new couple getting to know each other at dinner.
I didn’t want to leave this bubble, the one where we didn’t have to worry about my brother or what the staff would say about our relationship.
After twenty minutes of talking about our past lives and childhood friends, I told Matthew I wanted to have a martini, and we went to the bar, where Montgomery had just left his post earlier, whistling at Matthew to bid farewell as he and Clair left the building.
I noticed that only a few people remained, but only the ones at the bar and the ones attempting to leave but who were caught up in a chat with an acquaintance. Even all the press were gone.
I was leaning my back against the counter when I felt Matthew’s eyes on me. I was gracefully sipping my drink, and he was leaning his forearms on the marble surface beside me as he swirled his bourbon around his glass. He smirked at me, the intimacy of his wordless stare made my cheeks blush.
“Oh darling!” yelled a woman from across the room. My heart pounded in my ears as Lucille, in a black dress, came into view, her arms outstretched and her husband trailing behind her. “Look at you! You look beautiful.”
“I have to say, Reagan,” Tofer hollered before he could step up beside his wife. The color of his necktie matched the earrings in his wife’s ears—ruby red. “I’ve been to Vienna and listened to the Philharmonic Orchestra, and let me say that you play just as well as any professional. Even better if I do say so myself.”
“Thank you, Tofer. I appreciate it.”
“We’d love to have you in one of our hotels in Boston to play sometime this year. How does that sound?” My heart sang in joy at the offer.
“I’d love to. Just say the word and I’m there.”
“Great! I believe the holidays would be the perfect time to visit. It’s the busiest time for our hotel, and Boston is beautiful during Christ—”
“Oh!” I jumped at Lucille’s exclamation but Matthew touched my back to balance me. Even Tofer was surprised by his wife’s interruption.
“What is it, dear?”
“Matthew—is that… your grandmother’s ring?” Her eyes watered as she pointed at the ring on my finger. She grasped her necklace as joy filled her eyes, staring at me and Matthew.
“It is,” Matthew smiled sheepishly as he pulled me closer to him by the waist. “Mother, father. You’ve just met Reagan. My fiancée.”
“Oh! Come here, dear! Congratulations!” Lucille was crying now as she grabbed my shoulder to gather me into a hug.
I hugged her back, and I felt even guiltier that this was all a lie. Because Matthew’s parents were genuinely happy about this. How would Matthew explain to them that this was fake?
“I didn’t think you had it in you, son. I honestly thought this was all a ruse to get your part of the business.” Tofer patted his son’s shoulder, giving him a one-sided hug.
“Well, this is as real as it gets, old man,” Matthew jested, his face painted with pride as if this was true. And I played the doting fiancée as Lucille yapped about the ring, and how she was excited about planning the wedding and getting to know her future daughter-in-law.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Lucille laughed, holding my hands and hugging me like a mother. And I didn’t want her to stop because her touch made me miss my mother. Right now, I was happy, but I wondered what it would be like if Mommy was here to witness this—fake or otherwise.
“Me too.” The crass voice that came from beside us made the hairs on my arm rise. And my head snapped in the direction of the man.
He looked the same. His blonde hair was almost white, his mustache well-trimmed. Wrinkles showed his forehead, an indication that he had suffered.
His eyes, whose hue was the same as mine lingered on me. And a smirk slowly grew on his lips.
