"Did you get my text?" Eliza whispered, grabbing Jeremy's hand and giving it an apologetic squeeze as they tried to keep up with the fast-walking server. She'd let him know she'd be five
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minutes late, but in reality it'd been more like a half hour, once again counting on "Hamptons" time.
The server stopped so quickly that Eliza almost plowed into him. They had been led to a private table with a view of the ocean. Eliza paused for a moment, waiting for Jeremy to pull out her chair for her the way he usually did, and then seated herself.
"Yeah, I got it," Jeremy said tersely as he plopped down into his chair.
"I'm so sorry," Eliza repeated, knowing that Jeremy had all the reason in the world to be upset, since this wasn't an unusual occurrence--her lateness had become a bad, and predictable, habit of late. She couldn't help it; the store and the various shoots took up so much of her time. The other night she'd almost stood him up at the movies, arriving just in time before the previews ended, and last week she had completely forgotten they had made plans for brunch and had left him stranded at Babette's alone.
"Don't worry about it," Jeremy said softly, finally relenting and giving her a small smile. He reached for her hand across the table and stroked it, then stopped. "Hey, where's your ring?"
Eliza looked at her ringless finger and panicked for a second, then remembered she'd taken it off herself. "I took it off because I didn't want it to fall off while we did that shoot on the boat," she explained. Jacqui had taken the kids water-skiing while she and the Easton brothers had rented a boat and followed her out on the water.
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"Oh, right." Jeremy nodded, but it was obvious its absence bothered him. Neither of them wanted to say what they were thinking--that the shoot had been three days ago.
The server returned and took their orders. Eliza was momentarily relieved by the interruption, but as soon as they were alone again, she knew it was her turn to speak.
"Jer . . . about the ring," she began. She had been meaning to have this conversation since he'd given it to her, but it never seemed to be the right time. They'd hardly seen each other in the past month, what with her busy schedule and his workaholic tendencies. Eliza slept over at his apartment a few nights a week, but he was busy renovating the Greyson house and often worked well into the evening, and she was out the door early to open the store while he was still sleeping. When they did see each other, it was in bed, and they were both too tired to do anything but cuddle.
"Is it too big? Is that why you were worried it might fall off? Because we can get it fitted," he said helpfully, reaching for a roll from the bread basket and slathering it with butter.
"No ... it's .. ." She looked out over the ocean, where the sun was setting. The colors bled orange, red, and crimson all over the dark water. She would never get tired of looking at the sunset. It was postcard-ready romance, but Eliza had never been one for cheesy Hallmark moments. She just loved anything that was beautiful.
"Then what is it? Did I get something wrong? I thought it was what you wanted. Princess cut. Neil Lane. Colorless." He looked up from his roll, his face awash with concern.
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Eliza's heart melted. God, he really was such a sweetheart. "No, it's perfect." She sighed. Maybe she could just postpone the conversation for another time. Besides, she still didn't know exactly what she wanted to say. What was the difference between a promise and an engagement ring, anyway? He was perfect, they were perfect together, and the ring was ... well, it was the ring she'd always wanted. She took a sip of her wine and relaxed into her chair.
Jeremy grinned and gave the saltshaker a little push across the table. Whenever they were at a restaurant, they liked to play air hockey with the salt- and pepper shakers, pushing them across the table and seeing who could get theirs to slide closest to the edge. It was a silly gesture, but it meant Jeremy was in a better mood.
She smiled back at him and playfully pushed the salt back in his direction. She opened her mouth to speak, but they were momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera. She blinked to find a young reporter with a tape recorder standing in front of them.
"Hi, I'm from the Hampton Daily; sorry to interrupt. Can we get one with the two of you leaning closer together?"
Eliza looked apologetically at Jeremy, who nodded, clearing his throat to hide his annoyance with the interruption. "Sure," she told the reporter, and arranged her face into a serene smile. She was glad she'd had her hair blown out that day so it hung perfectly straight down her back, setting off her new black silk ruffled Phillip Lim shirt and Prada cigarette pants (she couldn't
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wear her brand all the time) and that Jeremy looked handsome in the pale blue Thomas Pink oxford she'd bought him.
Jeremy excused himself to the restroom, though Eliza was sure he just wanted to avoid having his picture taken anymore. She knew Jeremy didn't like how the press was so obsessed with their engagement--mashing their names together to create some kind of Frankenstein romance monster, with numerous breathless articles about the upcoming nuptials--which they had yet to really talk about.
But it was a slow news summer in the Hamptons. Chauncey Raven had finally put on underwear and had settled down to raise her two children rather than raise hell at a nightclub. Everyone was already used to the gaudy monstrosity of the Reynolds Castle, and Garrett Reynolds himself had been keeping something of a low profile while his new house was being built. There was no one to write about except for the Greyson heir and his pretty designer fiancee, whose clothes had become the de facto Hamptons uniform.
&nbs
p; "So, can you tell us about the proposal?" the reporter asked Eliza once they were alone, his thumb resting gamely on the red record button as if it were a trigger.
The proposal? Was there even one? Too deep into her little charade with the press to go back, Eliza thought quickly. "It was magical," she said breathlessly. "We were standing in a gazebo at sunset, with a view of the ocean, when Jeremy went down on his
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knees and read a poem he'd written for me." Okay, so neither detail was technically true, but the reporters demanded a story and Eliza knew the more Harlequin it sounded, the better it was for publicity. "I was wearing my spaghetti-strap column dress, which you can find at the boutique!" she added. Why not milk it? In Eliza's mind, she was wearing a Holly-rock--a Hollywood-style ring whose only purpose was to show the world one was loved enough to be gifted with major bling.