She set the case on her lap and opened it. Inside, instead of sunglasses, she found a ring. A delicate 1920s ring with a transitional cut small diamond. It had a deco platinum setting with small diamonds surrounding the main stone in its square bezel. It was absolutely stunning.

Celeste’s stomach dropped.

“What is this?” she said, looking up at him but not removing the ring.

“That, my love, is my sixtieth birthday present,” he said.

“You bought yourself a ring?” She wanted to keep things light. She wanted to not go down this road.

“No. The ring is for you. I’m asking you to do me the great honor of becoming my wife.”

Celeste snapped the sunglass case shut.

“Jack.”

“I know, I know. You don’t believe in marriage. But, Celeste, I hope by now you do believe in us. We’re great partners.”

“Of course we are. So why change anything?”

“Because I’m turning sixty years old in August and I want you to be my wife. Forever isn’t such a long time anymore, Celeste. After all these years, I want to make it official.”

Celeste knew this should be a romantic moment. She loved Jack and didn’t want to spend her life with anyone else. But that didn’t mean she wanted to get married. But he did. So now what?

It would be insensitive in that moment to remind him of how badly her first marriage proposal had turned out. Of course, that had nothing to do with Jack. Unless, of course, the rumors of the Pavlin curse were true.

She wished she’d never given in to her father’s insistence that she go back to New York City that fateful weekend. She should have seen the red flag when he insisted she bring her boyfriend. And she didn’t just bring him to New York. She pulled him into the white-hot center of Manhattan media and society only to find out the whole evening was just a publicity stunt.

After the Electric Rose party, they took the first Amtrak back to Philadelphia in the morning, and she promised Brodie—and herself—that they wouldn’t be going back again. Not for a long time at least.

Two nights later they went to a concert at Penn’s Landing. It was an all-female group from Seattle that was one of Celeste’s favorites. Brodie surprised her with the tickets.

“Sitting here, it’s like New York City doesn’t even exist,” she said to him that night, relieved to be back in her own milieu, her feet solidly on the ground. “I’m sorry the other night was such a circus. But I’m glad you were with me.”

“I’m glad I was with you, too,” he said, his arm around her shoulders. She smiled at him and then glanced at the women onstage rocking out against the backdrop of Center City.