Page 29

Once. Twice. Three times.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” she breathed, already tilting her face upward. “Thank you. Thank you, Father God. When I said bless this family, I didn’t mean like this, but I’ll take it.”

I snorted despite myself. “Elena, stop.”

“Tell me everything,” she demanded. “Start from the beginning. I want all the details.”

I told her about the date. About the restaurant with the absurdly expensive menu, where I pretended not to notice the prices. About the way Callahan had helped me change shoes, the way his voice softened when he laughed, the way his attention had felt like a spotlight trained only on me.

I told her how he’d admitted, calmly and unapologetically, that he was obscenely wealthy.

What I didn’t tell her was the pause that had followed.

There was a flicker of something like hesitation in his eyes. He seemed reluctant to entertain the thought of entering a marriage of convenience with me when it was clear he needed to enter it with someone. So why not me?

“So,” Elena said when I finished, eyes shining. “You’re basically engaged.”

I choked on my muffin. “What? No.”

“Well, not officially,” she amended quickly.

“Elena.”

She leaned back, grinning. “So when’s the wedding?”

I shrugged, and this time the motion wasn’t playful. Elena might only be teasing me, but it opened up questions that I truly couldn't answer,= which was telling.

“I don’t know.”

Her smile faltered. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean,” I said carefully, “we didn’t… decide anything. Not really.”

She frowned. “But you said he wants to marry you.”

“I said he's being forced into a marriage of convenience,” I corrected. “I didn't say he'd marry me.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

Elena studied my face, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. She’d always been better at reading people than I was, probably because she’d had to be as the oldest daughter.

“So what happens now?” she asked.

And just like that, the air shifted. I opened my mouth, ready to give her an answer. Ready to say, "We’ll see," or "He’ll call me." Nothing came out. Because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly.

"You don't know." Elena blinked. “What does that mean?”

“As in I don’t know what happens next,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I don’t even know how to reach him.”

Silence stretched between us.

“You don’t have his number?” she asked slowly.

I shook my head.