Forty Day Fiancé (Sassy in the City 3)

“What? Well, congratulations, darling! How exciting. When did this happen? How did Michael pop the question?”

I bent over to trim a stray thread off the hem. “He took me to our favorite Italian restaurant and asked me first where I would like to live, if money were no object. I said the Upper West Side in a brownstone and he said then we’ll start shopping.”

My mother made a sound of approval. I knew she’d like that angle of the story.

“Then he pulled out a cushion cut Tiffany diamond and asked me to marry him.”

“Well done, Michael.”

That made me grin. “I thought so. I know it’s a bit of a rush but I just have my heart set on a holiday engagement party.” That had never once been something I’d craved, but we needed some explanation for the rush job that didn’t cause people to conclude pregnancy or deportation.

“Will Michael’s…”

I heard the pause while she fished for the right word that wouldn’t reveal she had no idea who Michael was. I almost felt rotten for doing that to her, but my mother was notorious for humiliating me under the guise of concern on a fairly regular basis. We absolutely loved each other but that didn’t mean we didn’t have a touch of dysfunction. Or as she liked to call it, “fun with each other.”

“Will Michael’s parents be there?” I filled in, to help her out. I’m not totally heartless. “Yes, and his brother. I’m not sure if his sister can make it from California. But I need you here. Please.” I did need her. I wanted to be able to hug my mother and have her somehow through the force of her cold British stare give me the strength to not fall in love with Michael.

Because so far, I was failing miserably. He was very easy to fall for. He was stubborn, confident, and used to getting his own way. But he was also generous, kind, and relatively easygoing. Not much seemed to irk him or put him in a bad mood and he laughed easily and frequently. None of my quirks even seemed to bother him.

It could be he was just on his best behavior, but I didn’t think so. It all seemed very effortless, very true to who he really was as a man.

“I can’t let you pay for my ticket. I’ll sort it out, darling. Shoot me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Mummy. You’re the best.” I made kissing noises, which I knew she would hate.

“Gotta run, darling. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I tapped my screen to end the call after I said goodbye and eyed Becca’s Chanel. I’d sold six pieces already but I would be happy when I’d seen the last of this lot.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Michael with a link.

Something like this?

It was a real estate listing. The townhouse was beautiful. The perfect blend of original features with modern finishes. The first floor was an office and a family space that opened to the garden. I envisioned working there every day and felt warm.

“Ow, shit!” I realized I was actually burning myself with the steamer. My finger was red and angry.

Hopefully that wasn’t a sign.

Somewhere Becca was laughing her cheating ass off.

* * *

“I can’t believe how much has changed in the last few months!” Savannah said, fully loaded after one martini.

We were out in Brooklyn again, and Savannah had just finished weaning baby Sully off nursing. Her first sip of alcohol in something like fifteen months had gone straight to her head. She was gushing, leaning all over everyone, and saying repeatedly how much she loved her son, her boyfriend, Maddox, and us.

It was amusing, but I was already anticipati

ng walking her home. I didn’t trust her to get home safely on her own. I wasn’t drinking because I had my engagement photo shoot the next night and I wasn’t going to risk under-eye circles.

“I can’t argue with that,” Leah said. “I just had an engagement party a few weeks ago and I’m living with Grant, the man at the diner who hated on pancakes for six months. Who would have ever thought that would happen?”

“Not me,” Dakota said, even though it was a rhetorical question. Dakota was wearing yet another outfit that fully demonstrated she embraced her height.

We’d had a break in the bad weather and so she was wearing heels that had to land her at six foot three. I had always admired her confidence.

“And of course, me,” Savannah said. “Living with Mad, raising my son together.” She gave a happy sigh. Then suddenly, like she’d just remembered, she pointed her finger at me, causing her drink to slosh over the rim. “And you! What the heck, Felicia? You were all, ‘I don’t date. And now you’re engaged. You’re fucking engaged. It’s crazy.”