Page 66 of I Think He Knows
I think he knows.
Frick. Frick. Double freaking frickety frick.
Because what wasthat? We were just sitting here in the car, joking about getting into character to pull off our fake engagement charade for the evening, and the next moment, Carter’s spouting some story about how I was the prettiest girl he’d ever met, but respecting my “boundary” by just being my friend—and then he finished by saying that, in a huge plot twist, I turned out to be in love with him, too.
I know we were technically joking around about our “characters” for the evening, but what he said felt… pointed. And the only conclusion I can come to is that he’s onto me. He knows that I’ve been harboring very real feelings for him this entire time and is letting me know, in his way, that he’ll be sensitive to this in case I get the wrong idea about our little arrangement and start reading into it.
Which, again, proves how well he knows me, because we’ve only been doing this fake engagement thing for a few days, and already, my mind is blurring the lines between what’s real and what’s not. What’s true and what’s for show.
So much for fake dating Carter as a way to get him out of my system. I currently feel more wrapped up in him than one of those gag Christmas gifts with a million layers of paper and tape that you have to pry open using your teeth like a feral wildcat.
I mean, the man’s so good at playing his part that he was looking at me earlier like he wanted to devour me. He even confessed that he’d gotten so into the role that he forgot it was fake for a moment. What’s a girl to do but physically respond to that?
I swallow, hard, and look away from the scenery passing by outside to see him smiling at me, the corners of his eyes crinkled. I haven’t been able to say anything since uttering that lame “ha!” a few minutes ago. I mean, what am Isupposedto say in this situation.
And why on earth is Carter now looking at me like he’s a child who’s high on too much cotton candy?
“Open the glove box.”
“What?”
“That thing I said I’d show you when we got to the party. We’re almost there.” He turns off the 19 and onto East Andrews. “It’s in the glove box.”
The wooly mammoth-sized elephant in the car momentarily forgotten, I flip open the small door and pull out a velvet ring box.
Oh my giddy goodness.
“Is this…?”
Those blue eyes move all over my face, and he nods. “Open it.”
I crack open the ring box and suck in a breath. Nestled on the little blue velvet cushion is the most stunning ring I’ve ever seen in my life. A flawless emerald-cut diamond sits atop two tiny, delicate, diamond-studded gold bands that come to meet at the back. I’ve literally never seen anything so beautiful.
“Holy sh—”
“It looked like you.” Carter smiles at the look on my face. “Of all the rings I’ve ever seen, this one looks like it belongs onyourfinger.”
My heart is practically hammering out of my chest. “It’s gorgeous. But you know I can’t accept this, Carter. It’s way too much.”
“You need to have a ring, Lan. Can’t have everyone thinking I’m a terrible fiancé,” he teases, eyes glinting as we turn into his property and drive down the long, densely treed driveway. “A violent bruteanda cheapskate? Not a good look.”
“Nobody thinks you’re a brute,” I say automatically, then look at the ring again, my head spinning. “But you can’t spend this kind of money on me. This ring must cost more than my house.”
“Nah,” Carter says as he comes to a stop at the top of the driveway and kills the engine. The courtyard in front of his house is all lit up, and there are staff in full black tie attire darting here, there and everywhere, adding last minute touches to the party preparations. Elena is in the middle of it all, clutching a clipboard and barking orders.
Carter doesn't even seem to notice the hive of activity surrounding us though. Instead, his focus is wholly on me as he gently takes the box from my hands and extracts the ring. He reaches for my left hand, his skin warm and his fingers calloused. The graze of them over my knuckles turns my bones to jelly.
“I knew you’d freak out if I bought you a real ring, so this one’s just an imitation. A prop. Keiko from the wardrobe department of my last movie hooked me up.”
“Oh.” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “In that case, thank you. It’s perfect. More beautiful than any real diamond ring I’ve ever seen. And I don’t have to worry about accidentally flushing it down the toilet, or having Harry Styles eat it then barf it back up or something.”
I’m rewarded with my favorite smile: his dimple-popping one. “And with that beautifully romantic mental image… Lana Mae Donovan, will you do me the very real honor of being my fake wife?”
“Absofreakinglutely.”
Carter slides the diamond ring onto my finger. It fits (gosh, this thing is heavy, what are fake diamonds made of?) and I look at my hand in awe. “Woah.”
“Perfect,” he says softly. “Ready to do this thing, Mrs. Callahan-to-be?”