“Dear lord, don’t give up on me now. I’ll be the sole well-adjusted one in the family, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re well adjusted.”
I shove her and she shoves me back, but before we can take it any further, the jeweler clears this throat.
“Would you like to see it up close, sir?”
“Nope, I’ll take that one.” It’s not a real engagement so I’m not going to spend hours deliberating over the choice. As soon as I saw it, I could picture it on Christian’s finger, so that’s good enough for me.
“And would your young …” He eyes Elle’s shaved head. “Sweetheartlike to try it on?”
Is he … does he think …
Elle and I look at each other with wide eyes for a full second before bursting into laughter.
“Ah, no. My young sweetheart doesn’t need to try it on. He’s not here.”
The jeweler looks like he’s trying hard to maintain his professional face. “My mistake. I will box this up for you.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“That’s single-handedly the grossest thing I’ve heard all year.”
“Clifford’s getting married,” I remind her.
Her lips pinch. “I’m torn over whether to be disgusted or sympathetic.”
“Why not throw in horrified and be all three?”
“Because then I’ll need a very large Xanax and a very long sleep.”
I snort, trying to keep composure since I already lost it once in here, and given what I’m buying, I wouldn’t be surprised if this hits the Seattle gossip circles before I can even make it home. Usually the cheap rumor mills leave us alone, but thethought of a Cromwell getting hitched? Unfortunately that part of my life is going to be news whether I like it or not.
Vicious amusement hits me at the thought of my mom and dad assuming I’m buying a ring for Darcy, and I once again tilt my face toward the window to make sure any Seattleite posters are able to get a clear shot of me in front of the engagement ring display.
“Relax,” Elle murmurs. “There was someone with their phone pressed to the glass a good ten minutes ago.”
I hold back my urge to sigh. It’s one of the things I hate most about living here. Abroad, no one gives a shit who I am, but with all the tech start-up superminds in Georgetown and old money in Maple Park, the Seattleite site is thriving. And for the people constantly featured in it, suffocating.
Sure, my family are used to having the attention of publications likeThe New York Post, but they’re not spreading meager socialite gossip. You’d think those college students would have more to worry about than following around a bunch of boring trust fund kids.
The jeweler takes my card for payment, then returns with it and the fancy ring box. Elle and I thank him for his time before slipping our sunglasses back on and leaving.
“Are you getting nervous?” she asks.
“Nah. We both know the score.”
“And you think he can pull it off? Lying to our family? ToGran?”
The memory of Christian going ass-over into the cake makes me smile. “In his own way.”
“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means.”
“You’ll want to go with plausible deniability on this one anyway.” I check my watch. “Okay, just enough time to drop you off and pick him up.”
She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about me, I can get myself home.”
When I give her a skeptical look, she rolls her eyes.