“I was thinking this one,” he says, turning around his phone to show me the shot of him down on one knee and my hand clapped over my mouth. “I love how surprised you look,” he adds.

“Ha. Yeah.”

He screws up his mouth. “Is everything okay?”

I freeze. I feel caught. “Yeah. No, I’m sorry for, um . . .” I trail off, unsure of what I’m apologizing for.

“It’s a big step,” he concedes. His fingers drift across my thigh. “I get it if you feel nervous. I don’t want to push you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

His eyes are round and bright with concern. I savor this view; this could be the last moment he looks at me with any sympathy ever again. I’m terrified to tell him the truth, but I’ve let this ruse play out far too long. As awful as coming clean could be, the alternative would be even worse.

“Blake, there’s something I need to tell you,” I say, forcing the words out of my mouth before I lose my nerve. “About how we met.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I . . .” I inhale deeply. I already feel light-headed. “I accidentally posted a photo on Instagram the night before I met you. A photo of myself wearing an engagement ring. And people thought I was really engaged.”

“Okay . . .” he says, giving me a confused look.

“So the night I met you, my plan was to find a guy who could ultimately pose as my fiancé.”

He cocks his head and furrows his brow. “Why, though?”

“There was so much more interest in Brooklyn Jewels,” I explain. “I’ve never seen such a spike in sales before. I would’ve taken it down, but we really needed the money, especially since our rent is going up and we can’t afford the new lease. And then . . . and then I met you. And things were going so well. I wondered if a wedding would drum up sales the way that ‘engagement’ did,” I explain, making dramatic air quotes.

He simply stares at me in disgust.

“Everything happened so fast,” I add. “A publicist offered me a wedding for free at the Wythe Hotel, and then there was a dress, and there was just never a good time to tell you about all of this because we were falling in love for real.”

“So you’ve been using me this entire time,” he says flatly.

“No! I mean, maybe it was convenient at first, but—”

He visibly flinches.

“But then it felt real! It is real. I know it’s hard to understand, but I’m not lying when I say I love you. You can’t say that what we have together isn’t real.”

“I can’t? Because to me, it sounds like you manipulated our entire relationship for the sake of padding your own wallet,” he accuses me.