“It should be important to us both, as it’s our day.”
He brings his lips to mine and presses a few short kisses before pulling away and saying, “We have the rest of our lives to do things the way we want. This is one day, Lia. And it’s going to be beautiful, you know my mother wouldn’t have it any other way. Trust her, okay? You might feel that what she thinks is perfect.”
I sigh just as I hear the elevator ding. I glance over Brian’s shoulder just in time to see the elevator doors part and Breaker’s face come into view.
Panic rises up, and I quickly pull Brian’s attention as I whisper, “Breaker just got here. I’m telling him tonight about the engagement. Please don’t say anything.” The words fly out of my mouth so fast that I almost don’t understand them myself.
“Tonight?” he asks. “But I thought we could go into your place, and you know . . . celebrate.”
Yeah, that won’t be happening. The only time I “celebrate” with Brian in my apartment is when Breaker is out of town. The last thing I need is for my best friend to hear that through the wall we share. Also, weirdly, the only time Brian isn’t too tired to “celebrate” is when he’s at my place.
“I’m sorry, but I promised we could hang out tonight. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring an overnight bag Friday and spend the whole weekend with you. Okay?”
He grows stiff with irritation and releases me.
“Brian, please, don’t be mad.”
“No, I get it.” He straightens his jacket. “But you’re mine this weekend.”
“Promise,” I say as I loop my hand around the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Of course I intend a peck, but Brian goes in for the kill, adding tongue, making a show of it. When he pulls away, Breaker is standing a few feet away, patiently waiting with our take-out food.
Brian turns and smiles at Breaker. “Good to see you, man. How was New York?”
“Good,” Breaker says, looking like the good guy he is, not showing an ounce of how much he dislikes Brian. He’s never said it to my face, but I can tell when Breaker enjoys being around someone and when he doesn’t. He creates this fake smile, where only the right side of his mouth tilts up. That’s the smile Brian gets all the time. “Glad to be back. I prefer the West Coast.”
“I don’t know. There’s something the city has to offer that you just don’t get here. Who knows, maybe we’ll make our way over to the Big Apple one day, right, Lia?”
Uh, what now?
Breaker’s eyes fall to mine, questions in them as to what he means by that, and frankly, I have no clue. Instead of trying to play middleman, I say, “Well, I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”
Brian nods and kisses me one more time. “Call me tonight. I want to talk about this weekend and our plans.”
“Okay.”
“Love you.”
“Love you.” I wave, and Brian takes off toward the elevator, where he presses the down button and sticks his hand in his pocket.
When he’s firmly in the elevator, I turn to Breaker, who has his eyebrow raised. “Are you moving to New York?” he asks.
“What?” I nearly shout. “No!” I shake my head. “No. I don’t know what he was talking about.”
“Are you sure? Because you’re looking sort of fidgety right now.”
That’s because I’m trying to hide the giant ice rink on my finger.
“I’m sure. I think that was just some offhand comment. We’re not moving.” I turn toward my door, unlock it, and then let us both in.
“Okay, because that would not settle well with me. I mean, I would make the move, but I like it here on the West Coast.”
“I do too.”
He sets the food down on my kitchen counter and pulls out the to-go boxes while I set my things down. “You look nice, by the way.” I feel his eyes on me, and I want to slither away in this dress.
“The dress is not me. Too short.”
“It might not be you, but it still looks good. What was the occasion?”
I face him and place my hands behind my back. “Uh, lunch with The Beave.”
We came up with the nickname after my first interaction with her. I’m careful when I use it because I don’t want to accidentally address Brian’s mother as The Beave in front of him. I’m pretty sure that would earn me a hefty scowl, a long lecture, and copious apologies. The man loves his mother. Nothing wrong with that. You just have to be conscious of what not to do.
“Ah . . . at the club?” Breaker asks in a snooty voice while raising his pinky.
Breaker is a billionaire. He has more than enough money to put the Beavers to shame, yet he doesn’t act like he has money. Sure, he might wear the most perfectly tailored suits with the richest fabric, his watches are more like expensive jewelry, and his haircuts cost way more than they should, but he lives modestly in an apartment next to mine because this is what I can afford. He could live in the Flats with his brothers. He could have a beach house out in Malibu, and he could even have a penthouse downtown, but he chose to live here.
“Yes, at the club.”
“Get the salmon salad again?”
“Yes, and it was as dreadful as the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth time I’ve had it.”
He chuckles lightly. “Next time, excuse yourself after you order and tell the waitstaff to bring you a burger instead.”
I clutch my chest in horror. “And risk the waitstaff being snapped at? No, thank you. I’d rather suffer through the salmon.”
“You’re a real Joan of Arc, you know that?”
“I try. Okay, I’m going to change real quick because I can’t sit comfortably in this without flashing you my underwear.”
“Not that I haven’t been flashed countless times before.”
“By accident! You make me sound like a philandering woman.”
“Halloween, five years ago, you wore that maid outfit. I think I saw your underwear more times that night than all the years we’ve known each other.”
“Uh, excuse me, sir. I wore that maid outfit because I lost a bet to you, and that’s what you chose. If it was my choice, I would have gone as a piece of toast with melted butter. You know how much I love dressing up as food.”
“Yeah, but the maid costume was more fun.”
“For you . . . you pervert.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “For the last time, it wasn’t because I was being pervy. It was because I knew you would hate it.”
“Wow, you’re such a great best friend.”
He smiles broadly. “I know.”
Chuckling, I go to my bedroom, where I quickly strip out of the dress and the heels and trade them out for fluffy black slippers, a pair of cotton shorts, and a murder mystery shirt. I toss my hair up in a bun, then stare down at my engagement ring. Should I wear it out there, or should I tell him first?
I nibble on my bottom lip as I try to figure it out. Five weeks, that’s so quick. Like lightning-fast quick, and sure, of course I want to marry Brian, I love him, but five weeks? I’m barely able to wrap my head around the fact I’m getting married.