“Okay,” Luke says, opening his flip phone and dialing. “I think you’re right.”
A second later, as I’m squeezing my fingers together and praying that Chaz is still in the subway and won’t pick up, Luke says, “Chaz? Hey, it’s me. I’ve got some news, man. Are you sitting down?”
I jump from my chair, convinced I’m going to throw up what little Diet Coke I’ve downed so far, and run to clutch the edge of the sink.
This is it, I think. Chaz is going to tell him. Chaz is going to tell Luke that just twelve hours ago, his hand was down my bra.
And the engagement is going to be off.
Probably I’m not going to get to keep the ring.
“What? Yeah, I’m back. I’m at Lizzie’s. I got back this morning.”
What is Chaz doing? He knows Luke is back. I told him Luke’s back. Oh God. Just do it already, so we can get this over with.
“Okay. So you’re sitting down? In a cab? Where are you going in a cab on New Year’s morning? You were? You did? Who was she?”
I grab the edge of the sink. This is it. I’m going to hurl.
“What do you mean, you’re not going to tell me?” Luke laughs. “Fine, you dog, you. All right. Well, here’s my news: I asked Lizzie to marry me. And she said yes. And I want you to be my best man at the wedding.”
I close my eyes. This is the part where Chaz tells Luke that he can’t be his best man because he thinks he’s making the worst mistake of his entire life.
And that, oh yeah, by the way, last night his tongue was down my throat.
“Thanks!” Luke is saying into the phone in a cheerful voice. An entirely too cheerful voice for him to be responding to the news that last night his best friend and fiancée were making out in the back of a cab. “Yeah, I do too. What? Lizzie? Sure, you can talk to Lizzie. Hold on.”
I turn around from the sink just in time to see Luke cross the kitchen to hand the phone to me.
“He wants to talk to you,” he says. Luke is beaming. “I think he wants to extend his congratulations personally.”
I take the phone, feeling sicker to my stomach than ever. “Hello?”
“Hi, Lizzie.” Chaz’s deep voice rasps in my ear. “You were hoping I’d spill the truth to Luke about our illicit affair and he’d call the whole thing off, weren’t you? No such luck, I’m afraid. You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to get yourself out of it. If you think I’m going to come sweeping in like some kind of prince on a milk-white charger to save your pretty little buns on this one, you’re high.”
I let out a totally fake laugh. “Thank you!” I cry. “That is so nice of you to say!” Luke continues to beam at me from across the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Chaz says. “You know, when you packed up all your stuff and left his ass high and dry, I thought, finally. A woman with some moral fiber. Little did I know that all he’d need to win you back was a big diamond ring and a few crocodile tears. I really expected bigger things from you, Lizzie. Tell me something. Are you going to wait until the invitations have actually gone out before you admit to yourself that Luke is the last guy you ought to be spending the rest of your life with? Or are you going to do the right thing and call it off now?”
“Great, Chaz,” I say, with another fake laugh. “It was nice talking to you too.”
“This is like watching a lamb being led to slaughter,” Chaz mutters. “Is getting married really that important to you? It’s just a goddamned piece of paper.”
“Thanks, Chaz,” I say. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the fake laughing. Because I’m ready to start shedding real tears. “Thanks so much.”
“Look, I… Just put him back on.”
I hold the phone out to Luke. “He wants to talk to you,” I say.
Luke takes the phone from me. “Hey, man. Yeah? Uh-huh.”
I drift away, into the bedroom, unzipping my dress as I go. I can’t believe this… any of this. I have what I wanted… what it seems like I always wanted: The man of my dreams has proposed to me. I’m going to be married.
I should be happy.
Strike that. I am happy. I am.
Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet.
“What’s going on?”
I look over to see Luke standing in the doorway, his cell phone closed in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Luke wants to know. His gaze falls on my dress, lying in a pink puddle on the floor. “I thought we were going to call people and tell them we’re engaged.”
“I changed my mind,” I say, flipping the bedclothes back to show him what I have on underneath them. Which is nothing. “I think I like your original idea better. Want to join me?”
Luke tosses his cell phone over his shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says. And dives into bed with me.
Luke and I are doing some postcoital spooning. It’s so nice to be in his arms—a place I seriously thought I’d never be again.
“So I was talking to my uncle when I was in France this past week,” Luke is saying.
“Umm-hmm?” I love the way he smells. Luke, I mean. I missed that smell so much. Being a strong, independent woman who stands up for herself and walks out on the man she feels has done her wrong is really empowering and everything.
But it’s not easy. Or fun.
It’s much nicer to hang out in bed with that man, completely naked.
“You know, my uncle Gerald?” Luke goes on.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “The one who lives in Houston. And offered you the job with his firm’s new branch in Paris.”
“Right,” Luke says. “Thibodeaux, Davies, and Stern. It’s one of the most exclusive private client investment companies in the world.”
“Mmmm,” I say. I’m admiring the way Luke’s bicep, even when he’s totally relaxed, like he is now, is just so… big. And round. And satiny smooth. And the perfect place for me to rest my cheek. It’s impossible to think about anything else—or anyone else—when you’re resting your cheek on a hot guy’s naked bicep. “Except you don’t care about that. Because you’re working on your post-baccalaureate program so you can finish up the premed classes you didn’t take in college because you were getting an MBA, and when you’re done, you can start applying to medical schools.”
“Yeah,” Luke says. “I know. That’s what’s so great about Gerald’s offer.”
I have no choice but to reluctantly lift my head from the satiny pillow of Luke’s bicep.
“Your uncle Gerald made you an offer?” I try to keep my voice even-sounding. Like I don’t care at all what we’re discussing. La la la, don’t care a bit about STUPID UNCLE GERALD BUTTING HIS NOSE INTO MY BOYFRIEND’S—excuse me, MY FIANCÉ’S—BUSINESS. “What kind of offer?”
“That this summer I could work for him, helping to get the Paris branch of Thibodeaux, Davies, and Stern up and running.”
“Oh.” I lay my head back down. “Instead of taking classes in your post-baccalaureate program?”
But no sooner have I laid my head down than Luke sits up, jiggling my head to the pillow.
“It’s a really fantastic offer,” he says excitedly. “Considering it’s for only three months. It’s about half a year’s salary of what I used to be making. It’s really generous of him.”
“Wow,” I say, trying to plump my pillow up so it’s as comfy as his arm was. “That is generous.”
“Not that it won’t be a lot of work,” Luke says. “I mean, it will be. Seventeen-, eighteen-hour days, most likely. But it’s a fantastic opportunity. And, of course, I can use the family apartment.”
“Neat,” I say. Luke’s lucky his family happens to have all these places to live just randomly sitting around empty all over the world. Apartments in New York City and Paris, a house in Houston, a château in the south of France…
“And I can make up the classes I’d miss,” Luke says, “in the fall. It’ll just be another semester tacked on to what I’ve already got ahead of me.”
“Oh,” I say.
“And the best part,” Luke says, leaning over to drape one of those tanned, muscular arms across my waist, “is that you can come with me.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Yeah,” Luke says, giving me a squeeze. “I’ve thought it all through. You can come with me, to Paris. It’ll be much easier to coordinate the wedding at Château Mirac from there than it would be from here… ”