Michael jumped in and performed introductions, successfully deflecting the “thrilled” comment. Chloe let the “nice to meet yous” buzz around her while she tried not to pass out. Suddenly, Loretta grabbed her left hand.
“Oh, no. Where’s that beautiful engagement ring?”
And, just like that, all the oxygen left the room. She gasped like a hooked carp and glanced helplessly at Michael.
“We’re…uh…getting it sized. It was too big.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d never looked this pained during the worst of his back spasms.
“Engagement ring?” Michael’s mother said softly.
Chloe stared down at her lap and prayed a freak bolt of lightning would strike her and put her out of her misery.
“Yeah. Mom. Dad. I was working on a time to announce this properly…um”—his hand opened and closed as he grasped for the right word—“formally, but…I asked Chloe to marry me recently and she said yes. We’re engaged.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Even the conversation at the nearby tables ceased. Then Anita got up, stone-faced, and walked over to her son. When they stood toe-to-toe, she smacked his chest. “The proper time to announce your engagement would have been as soon as she said yes. I’m furious, and, well…hurt…that you didn’t tell us immediately, but,” she went on when Mic
hael opened his mouth to speak, “more importantly, I’m incredibly happy you’ve found the woman you want to spend your life with.” So saying, she took him by the shoulders and hugged him harder than a woman her size seemed capable. “Oh, honey. I’m so happy for you.” She drew back, kissed his cheek, and stepped away to let his father have a crack at him.
His dad beamed, clasped his son around the shoulders, and offered quiet congratulations.
The other diners on the patio broke out in applause. And then, like a terrible nightmare, all the attention rolled her way. She found herself in Anita’s tearful embrace. “I knew it the second I spoke to you on the phone,” she whispered. “Mothers know these things.”
Additional chairs appeared. Champagne arrived. Chloe sat in a daze between Loretta and Anita while the colonel made a toast. Glasses clinked. Everyone drank. The colonel asked if they’d set a date. Michael fielded the question, and Chloe tried hard to focus on the conversation ping-ponging over her as Anita and Loretta discussed venues, and flowers and registries. At some point she tuned in enough to recognize they were planning a trip to some Bridal Expo at the Anaheim Convention Center the following month and realized her presence was expected—no, scratch that—required. She nodded with what she hoped was the appropriate excited, bride-to-be enthusiasm.
Just when it seemed like breakfast was never going to end, Michael said something about Chloe having to work that afternoon—which, for a nice change of pace just happened to be true—and kicked off another round of hugs, kisses, and congratulations. Minutes later she climbed in the passenger seat of his Jeep, and dropped her pounding head back against the headrest. “Thanks to me, we’re now lying to your boss and your parents. I sat there like some kind of emotional con woman, accepting all their congratulations and good wishes under false pretenses. I’m going to burn in hell.”
He squeezed her knee. “I’ll admit, that was…horrifying. I flew missions over sniper-infested Taliban territory less stressful than what we just experienced. But we got through it, and look on the bright side.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “There’s a bright side? You honestly see a bright side?”
“Absolutely. My parents loved you.”
“You’re not funny. At least your mother didn’t stay angry.”
“Oh no, don’t let the smile and emotional maturity fool you. She’s pissed. I’m in the doghouse big time.”
“I feel awful.”
“I know,” he said quietly and squeezed her knee again. “I wish I could hit rewind on the whole morning. But there really is a bright side. Today was what you call a worst-case scenario. Nothing that happens from here on out can possibly be as bad.”
Maybe he had a point, or maybe not. Because as horrifying as the morning had been, there was an even more horrifying realization circling like a shark at the back of her conscience. A big part of her wished the whole thing had been real.
…
Michael reluctantly obeyed the Monday afternoon summons to the colonel’s office. After the pressure Harding had asserted Saturday at breakfast about setting a wedding date, he’d been hoping to fly under the man’s radar for a few days. But fate or luck or whatever had taken a giant crap on him this weekend obviously had other ideas.
An admin waved him back. Harding’s office door hung open, so he knocked on the doorframe and cleared his throat.
The older man looked up and gestured to one of the two uncomfortable wooden guest chairs in front of the continent-sized oak desk that fairly shouted AUTHORITY. “Have a seat, Major. I trust the rest of your weekend went well?”
“Very nice, sir.”
Harding nodded and pinned him with a laser-sharp gaze. “Give any more thought to a wedding date?”
He felt weaselly. Probably looked weaselly too, but he stared at his boots and answered, “We’re discussing our options.”
“Good. Good.” Harding nodded briskly.
Fuck it. He couldn’t lie anymore. What had seemed like a harmless fib to make it feasible to help Chloe without shooting his military career in the foot had devolved into a soap-opera-worthy web of deception, all the more sticky because, although the engagement was fake, his feelings for her were one hundred percent real.