“I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this all the time, but I thought I recognized you from Instagram,” she says. “I followed you back when Teddy and I were still just dating. Loved your pieces. I wound up falling in love with this other designer—no offense—but seriously, your stuff is so gorgeous.” She absentmindedly runs a finger over her engagement ring, a flashy cushion-cut rock set in platinum, surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds. I’d guess it’s two and a half, maybe three carats.

“Well, thank you so much for considering us,” I say, dropping my voice’s volume to avoid catching Blake’s attention. I can hear him talking to his friends, but I don’t dare risk letting this woman ask any further questions. Instead, I go on the offensive and ask questions of my own to keep her distracted. “So, when did you get engaged?”

She happily chatters about her Christmas Eve proposal, the headaches of planning a destination wedding in Napa Valley, and her plans to honeymoon in Florence and the rest of Tuscany. The whole time, I freeze my face into a huge grin and punctuate her every sentence with an enthusiastic nod.

“But wait, wait, enough about me,” Stephanie says. Her eyes go wide and she drops her voice even lower. “Is this . . . him?”

She gestures in the least subtle way possible to Blake. I want the marble floors to swallow me up.

I feel too nauseated to speak. I can’t think straight—one wrong word from this woman, spoken just loudly enough for Blake to hear, and everything could crumble. I settle on a response that’s as noncommittal as possible: a smile and a raised eyebrow, which I hope makes me look mysterious and coy, rather than deranged.

“If you’ll excuse me for just one moment,” I tell Stephanie.

I turn to tug on the sleeve of Blake’s jacket. “Can you come with me for a sec?”

He’s mid-conversation with Dan, Arielle, Peter, and Jeff, but doesn’t protest. Instead, he scoots out of his chair and places a hand on the small of my back as I weave through the sea of tables. As we walk, I notice how women’s eyes flit up to Blake and I feel a swell of pride. I’m not ready to lose him.

I pull Blake into a secluded corner of the venue by the coat check. Whoever mans the station appears to have stepped out. Panic unspools in my chest like a flock of birds, frantically flapping their wings to get out. I don’t know what to say to Blake—I only know that I have to say something, anything to justify pulling him away from dinner. We can’t go back to that table. Not with Stephanie poking around with her nosy questions.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.