Page 71 of The Fake Out

“What’s going on?” I asked again. “D-did you do all this?”

“Mostly.”

Somewhere around the gazebo, someone snorted and that’s when I saw Piper. “Are you kidding? You know damn well I did all this.”

“Well, I paid for it all,” Chris grumbled.

“But why?” I asked in confusion.

Piper made her way toward us. “We can’t let you get engaged without a photo of it, can we?”

“Oh, right.” That absolutely made sense. Except why did I feel strangely disappointed?

“For you.” Piper held out a jewelry box to Chris. “You owe me big time after what I had to do to track this down.”

Chris popped the box open. I gasped and gazed down at the most beautiful engagement ring I’d ever seen. For a moment, I almost forgot to breathe, staring down at the large opal stone, a rainbow of colors under the sunshine, surrounded by tiny diamonds in a white-gold setting.

“Piper, you did good.” With one of his giant football hands, Chris picked it up and gently slid it on my left ring finger. “Fits perfectly, too.”

My chest tightened as I looked at the ring on my finger. I’d never been one to dream about weddings and flowers, but I’d also never seen a ring like this before. A sudden punch of longing hit me hard. “I— Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Piper turned to me, hiding a smile. “We’ll take a couple of photos. I’m taking them with my phone. We’ll be quick and dirty and then you can go on about your evening. Pop that ring back off and put it in the box.”

I should have expected this. It made perfect sense, and yet that flutter I’d had died a slow and painful death.

Pushing the feeling aside, I tugged the ring off and handed it back to Chris. “Let’s get fake-engaged.”

“You’re getting married,” Mama said, her eyes shining.

“Y’all are gonna have some mighty fine children,” Sue said, making large, unidentifiable shapes with her arms. “Big, strapping children.”

“Thanks?” I said.

“I’m not wearing a gross bridesmaid’s dress,” Iris said. “Unless it’s black.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “Who said you were a bridesmaid?”

“Um, duh.” She leaned forward suddenly, a dangerous sparkle in her eye. “Could we get tattoos for your bridal shower?”

“You are not getting a tattoo while you live in this house, Iris Marie Sampson, even if it’s for your sister’s wedding,” my mother said.

“Mom.”

“No.”

Iris crossed her arms, her expression mutinous. “So stupid.”

Ignoring them, I plowed ahead. “This weekend we’re going to his parents’ house.”

Mama bit her lip and, for the first time, concern began to shine in her eyes. “This all seems so fast. I want to make sure you don’t feel rushed.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “He’s, like, a bazillionaire football player. If it doesn’t work out, she can divorce him and get a ton in alimony.”

“Wow. Thanks for the support,” I said.

She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

I took a deep breath, pushing down the desire to spill all my secrets right there on the living room floor. “I l-love Chris, and I’m excited to marry him.”