How could Alexander do this to me? Why? Wasn’t I the easiest, most laid-back girlfriend in the world? Had I ever complained about his travel schedule? Ever insisted he come to a school event or birthday party? Before my father’s stroke, he’d only visited Stoningham once. I was always cheerful and upbeat around him because I was those things, goddamnit.

Luciano brought our courses. I ate, laughed, murmured in the appropriate places. The food was amazing. At least there was that. Also, the champagne, my God. So good. I might even order a second bottle.

As I watched Alexander, I saw it. The performance. The need for validation. He was working hard to make sure we were The Couple To Be at this swanky, sophisticated restaurant. When I fake laughed, he’d glance around to make sure people saw that he had the power to bring humor. He smiled a lot, and where my dorky brother-in-law also smiled a lot, Oliver was . . . sincere. He loved my sister and his daughters. He adored my parents. He even loved me, not that I’d given him much reason to.

We ordered dessert (though I was going to go into a coma soon if I ate much more).

“Babe,” Alexander said now, “I know this has been a rough couple of months for you.”

“You, sir, are absolutely right.” I was tipsy and enjoying it. It was fueling my rage.

“So I wanted to give this to you, and hope it will make things a little happier.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a little velvet box.

Shit. If there was an engagement ring in there, I knew it would be big, and I’d want it, and I wouldn’t be able to have it, and everyone in here would feel bad for the poor guy who proposed and got shot down. Cringing internally, I waited for him to get down on one knee.

Thank God, no. He just passed it across the many plates and smiled.

“Aw. So sweet of you!” I opened it and, shit, it was a beautiful necklace. A chunky bezel-set diamond surrounded by pink gold with a matching chain. “I love it.” I did, damn it. I’d keep it, too. I could sell it and pay for something in my house. “Thank you. How much did it cost?”

“Oh, babe. Whatever it cost, you’re worth ten times that much.”

“So . . . what are we talking? A thousand dollars?”

He grinned. “More. Significantly more. Here, let me put it on you.”

Ass. I allowed it. He sat back down, smug and pleased (glancing around to see if everyone had noticed).

“It’s beautiful,” said the woman from the next table.

“Thank you,” Alexander and I said in unison.

“Hey, Alexander, I have a quick question for you, babe.”

“Sure, babe.”

“When you came to my mom’s dinner party, did you remember Gillian?”

“Uh . . . the one with the baby?”