A Very Exclusive Engagement

They finally came to a compromise when she got tired of arguing and just let herself choose the ring she’d want if this were a real relationship and she had to wear the ring every day for the rest of her life. By the time they left, she was certain there was no doubt in the jeweler’s mind that they were a real couple getting a head start on a lifetime of fussing at one another.

When it was all over, Francesca was the proud owner of a two-carat emerald-cut diamond solitaire framed with micro-pavé set diamonds in a platinum split band with diamond scrollwork. It was a stunning ring, and as they walked to the restaurant where they had lunch reservations, she almost couldn’t believe it was on her hand. The weight of it pulling on her finger kept prompting her to lift her hand to look at it.

Francesca had dreamed her whole life of the day a man would give her a ring like this. The ring was right. But everything else was so wrong. Her life had taken a truly surreal turn since she had woken up this morning.

“Are you hungry now?” he asked as they approached the bistro with outdoor seating. It was perfect for an early May lunch; luckily, the Manhattan heat wave had not affected the D.C. area. It was pleasant and sunny in the high seventies with a breeze.

She still wasn’t really hungry. Her stomach hadn’t come to terms with the day’s events. But she needed to eat or her blood sugar would get low and she’d spend the afternoon eating cookies out of the network vending machines. “I could eat. I think.”

They followed the hostess, who took them to a shaded table for two on the patio. As nice as it was outside, she’d secretly hoped to get a table indoors. The street was so busy with foot traffic that she was certain to see someone she knew. Of course, she could just as easily run into someone inside. Between her and Liam, they knew a lot of people in this town. Francesca wasn’t sure she was ready to play the gushing new fiancée for them yet.

Liam pulled her chair out for her and saw that she was comfortably seated before taking his own seat.

“I’m starving,” he said, picking up the menu.

Francesca had to admit she wasn’t surprised. Liam seemed to be constantly hungry when she was around him. “No breakfast?”

He shook his head. “I really haven’t eaten much since I had dinner at my aunt’s house. Killed my appetite, you know?”

“I do,” she agreed. Nothing on the menu looked appealing, so she settled on a spinach salad with chicken. At the very least she was eating something figure-friendly.

She had a wedding dress to fit into, after all.

The thought crept into her brain, startling her upright in her seat. Where had that come from?

“Are you okay?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” she said dismissively. “I just remembered something I need to do when we get back to the office.”

Liam nodded and looked back at the menu. Francesca shook her head and closed her eyes. There would be no wedding and no wedding dress. It didn’t matter how real their kisses seemed or how quickly her whole body responded to Liam’s touch. It didn’t matter that she had a luxury condo’s worth of diamonds on her hand. Because she wasn’t really engaged. She was Liam’s fake fiancée. It was a business arrangement, nothing more, despite what she had to tell her friends and family.

The waiter took their orders and left with their menus. Feeling awkward, Francesca sipped her water and eyeballed her ring. She didn’t know what to say to her new fiancé.

“Now that all the engagement stuff is arranged, I wanted to talk to you about something else, too.”

She looked up at him with a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She couldn’t take any more surprises today. “No, Liam, I will not have your baby to make your aunt happy.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No babies, I promise. This is strictly work-related. I’ve been kicking around this idea for a few days, but the nonsense with my aunt sidetracked me. I wanted to ask…you’re friends with Ariella Winthrop, aren’t you?”

Francesca sighed. Her friend Ariella had been the media equivalent of the Holy Grail since the inaugural ball in January where it was revealed that the successful events planner was the newly elected president’s long-lost daughter. How many journalists and garden-variety busybodies had asked Francesca about her friend since the scandal hit? More than she could count. Yes, they were friends. They had been for several years. That didn’t mean she had anything useful to share with the press, even if she would tell—and she wouldn’t. Ariella was adopted. She hadn’t even known who her birth father was for sure until the DNA test results came back a little more than a month ago.