Remember When 2 (4 page)

   I snapped out of my trance enough to reach out and take the polished wooden box in my hands. When I creaked the lid, I saw the sparkling, round diamond in its yellow-gold setting.

   If I’m going to be honest, I’d like to explain that I was in a bit of a daze looking at the thing. So, my first reaction—I’m ashamed to admit—was to think,
yellow gold
?

   I never realized until that moment that I must have pictured myself wearing something a little less obvious, a little more vintage, most definitely a lot more silver in color... and certainly not until many, many years from then.

   But there was Devin, just sitting there beaming, his handsome face split nearly in half with a huge grin and asking me to marry him. I was stunned, and my head was swirling with questions—
How would we tell our co-workers? What was my father going to think?—
but of course I said yes. I’d spent two whole years just kind of floating through the relationship, but I guess Devin had been taking things more seriously than I’d given him credit for.

   In my defense, it
was
kind of hard to think of us as a real couple when the main basis for our relationship was hiding out from the whole rest of the world. My own father had only met Devin a handful of times over the years, and I still, two days later, hadn’t been able to find a way to tell him about the engagement.

   My best friend Lisa, on the other hand, was given the news immediately.

   I’d called her as soon as Devin passed out after our engagement “celebration”. I knew she rarely fell asleep before midnight, so it wouldn’t be too late to call. Although, news like that wouldn’t have been able to wait until morning even if it
was
too late to call.

   Of course she freaked out and had a million questions, but my head was still in such a daze that I didn’t have any of the right answers. I just tried to sound excited and happy—because I was—and it was easy to conjure the right tone since the proposal was just such a surprise!

Chapter 4

WHAT LIES BENEATH

   Our reservations were for eight o’clock, and if I didn’t get my butt in gear, I’d never make it in time.

   I had already waxed my lip (lay off, I’m Italian) and tweezed my eyebrows sufficiently. I slathered on the Jolén before realizing I hadn’t yet pulled out the pair of shoes I was planning to wear.

   So, there I was, racing around my apartment with cream bleach on my arms, searching high and low for my strappy gold heels when Lisa decided to call. I answered the phone and was met not with a ‘Hello’ or a ‘Hey, what’s up’ like you’d expect from a normal person. No. The first thing I hear out of my best friend’s mouth is, “What are you wearing tonight?”

   “A Disney jean jacket and Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. You think I’ll be overdressed?”

   Lisa was not amused. “Listen, bitch. I’m totally PMSing right now. Don’t fuck with me.”

   I laughed, then decided I didn’t really have time to spend goofing around anyway. I’d been on fast forward since leaving the office, sweating my ass off in the process, seeing as my window-mounted air conditioner was barely cutting through the sweltering August heat wave we were experiencing. I fanned my face, hoping that I’d find my stupid shoes quickly so I could get off the phone and finally get in the shower. “Fine. A beige knit dress that you’ve never seen before and therefore can’t offer criticism about.”

   “Is it nice?”

   “No. It makes me look fat. Of course it’s nice, you dipwad!”

   I finally reached the bottom of the big, plastic bin that my summer shoes were kept in and came up with the elusive gold stiletto. “Aha! Found it!”

  There was a silent pause on Lisa’s end before she offered quietly, “I can’t believe I don’t even know this guy you’re marrying.”

  Her words managed to stop me in my tracks. Despite the time constraints I was dealing with, I slumped down cross-legged on the floor of my closet, absorbing what my best friend had just said. She’d only met Devin a few times, and half of those instances were before he and I had even started dating. I guessed it seemed weird for her to think I had agreed to marry a guy that my family and closest friends had barely met.

   “I know. But you’ll get to know him.” The declaration came out sounding more resolute than I had intended. Like I thought my statement would come true just because I had said the words so determinedly.

   Lis tossed me a bone. “I know, I know. You know I will. I just-” she sounded hesitant, like she was about to tell me something I wouldn’t want to hear. I readied myself for a lecture when instead, she suddenly switched gears. “Hey. I hope you guys have a great time tonight. Call me tomorrow or just fill me in on Sunday, okay?”

   “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

             
* * *             

   By the time Devin was due to pick me up, I was primped and ready for a big night out on the town. I’d broken some major land-speed records in order to get ready on time, but still managed to look pretty darned good, considering. I’d worn my dark hair pulled back into a loose knot at my nape—not really my favorite style, but I knew Devin liked it that way—and I was happy to oblige him with such a painless gesture considering the gorgeous ring
he’d
given
me
. My dress was elegant and tasteful, yet still came off as alluring, the crocheted beige knit hugging every curve. I was thankful to have found my gold heels, because they were a perfect complement to the gold costume bangles at my wrist, the pave-ball drops at my ears, and of course, the band of my new engagement ring.

   When I heard the buzz of my intercom, I punched the button and said I was on my way down. I grabbed my handbag and teetered down three flights of stairs before emerging dramatically out my front door, striking a pose on the top step. I looked down at the sidewalk and realized Devin wasn’t the one there to meet me, but his driver, Peters, instead. He was standing next to the opened door of a black Lincoln Towncar, which upon inspection I could plainly see was very, very empty.

   I let my arms flop to my sides, visibly deflating. I gave Peters an awkward grin, feeling silly for going all
Vogue
for the benefit of my boyfriend—er,
fiancé
—who wasn’t even there. I wanted to crawl under a rock, but offered the man who
was
there a greeting instead. “Oh, hi, Peters.”

   He stood at the curb, trying not to crack a smile at my ridiculous Cindy Crawford impersonation as he offered, “Mr. Fields wished for me to express his apologies for being detained.” Peters went on to tell me that Devin would meet me at the restaurant, which was only a short distance from Howell House up in midtown. I guessed he was putting in another late night at the office.

   On our anniversary. Two days after our engagement.

   Sure enough and true to his word, however, he was already at
Ocean
when I walked through the door. He’d been sitting at a small square table, but stood and waved me over before I even had to give the hostess his name.

   I appraised the sight of him, so handsome and commanding such a presence—even out of the office—and was slightly staggered at the thought that such a dynamic man wanted to marry me.

   I reached the table, kissed him hello and gave a little twirl, showing off the handiwork of the past two hours.

   “Well, don’t you look pretty tonight.”
             

   Ummm...
Pretty?

   Was he serious? I was well aware that Devin Fields was a man who
never
gave up control, but I truly thought that the sight of his fiancée all decked out would at least, oh, I don’t know, take his fucking breath away?

   But really. What was I going to do? Start our romantic evening off with a big, stupid fight over his flattering remark? Yeah, that would make a ton of sense. So, instead of reaming him out for not offering a bigger compliment, I got over myself, smiled, and sat down across from him. Out of pure habit, I futzed with my silverware, putting all the pieces at exact right angles to the edge of the table, making sure my place setting was perfectly centered in front of me. I hadn’t even realized I’d done it until I placed the napkin across my lap. The life of a borderline obsessive-compulsive. What can I tell you.

   Devin’s eyes scanned the room until he caught our waiter’s attention. With an almost imperceptible nod, he summoned the man to our table. “I ordered us the spicy tuna tartare to start. Would you like some wine? Here. See what you think of this.” He held out his half-emptied glass so I could try a sip of the chardonnay. I knew it would most assuredly be a very expensive vintage, with just the right tannins and bouquet and probably lots of other winey adjectives that I had absolutely no clue about. I took a small drink, thinking that it tasted lovely, but that the true appreciation of it was lost on me. But what the heck. It tasted good.

   “Mmm. Yes. This will be great, thanks.”

   The waiter appeared at my side presenting menus as Devin pointed to his glass and held up two fingers, silently commanding a round of drinks. The waiter nodded his head in acknowledgment and signaled the order to another server before launching into the night’s specials.

   I was only half-registering the descriptions of the chef’s offerings for the evening, my mouth already watering for
Ocean
’s macadamia-nut-encrusted Chilean sea bass. It was only my third visit to this particular restaurant, but I knew that that dish was excellent.

   Our first waiter left us as the second server appeared with our glasses of wine, and Devin held his out to me for a toast. “To my beautiful fiancée,” he started, as I smiled into his handsome face, “and the past two, wonderful, tumultuous years!”

   That made me laugh until he added seriously, “May we have many, many more.”

   His eyes bored unflinchingly into mine, and I was struck yet again that this amazing man across the table actually wanted to make me his wife.

   Jesus. His
wife
! The word itself was so foreign to me, a term reserved for women who weren’t quite so immature. I was twenty-six years old, but most days, at least in my mind, I still felt perpetually sixteen. Weren’t there laws in the state of New York about marrying minors?

   While glancing over the menu, I started to smile to myself. Devin must have noticed because he asked, “What’s going on in that nonstop brain of yours, over there grinning all cat-who-ate-the-canary?”

   I gave a small chuckle and replied, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about all the extra work you’ve just piled into my lap.”

   Devin had put on his reading glasses, which always managed to make him look like a pinup from a Hot Studs of the Ivy League calendar. If it weren’t for the wisps of grey at his temples, he’d spend his life in danger of being mistaken for a college student instead of the powerful media mogul that he aspired to be. I knew it wasn’t true, but he was just ambitious enough to be entirely capable of dying the few strands over his ears into a distinguished grey, just to be taken more seriously.

   When his confused brow raised over the edge of his glasses, I explained my initial statement. “In case you haven’t noticed, I now have an entire wedding to plan!” That made Devin grin as I added, businesslike, “You know, I should probably admit here that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing on this project.”

   He looked down to his menu, smirked and asked, “You think I should get someone else to fill the position?”

   “Devin! Don’t you dare!”

   That had us laughing as our waiter returned and asked, “Well, have we made up our minds yet?”

   I smiled and started to place my order, but Devin cut in. “Are you really getting that again? I thought you were only joking before.”

   I gave an apologetic glance to our waiter, feeling bad that he had to stand there waiting while my fiancé and I conferred in a sidebar.

   “Why would I be joking? The sea bass is amazing.” I smiled wide-eyed to the waiter, who promptly agreed.

   Devin shook his head, amused yet incredulous. “Alright. I thought the mahi special sounded right up your alley, but you go ahead and get what you want.”

   I considered his suggestion briefly, but knew I’d be deciding against it. I was really in the mood for the sea bass. I knew Devin was just trying to get me to be a little more adventurous, trying to help me expand my horizons, and I appreciated that about him, really. But I still felt overly self-conscious as I directed my reply to our waiter. “I’m sure it’s fantastic—everything here always is—but I think I’m going to stick with my original order, thank you.”

   Who cared if I was playing it safe? Better that than taking a chance on the unknown. It wasn’t every day that we went out to such an expensive restaurant. Not that Devin couldn’t afford it, but I would have hated wasting his money on a plate of food that went untouched when I realized I didn’t like it, sitting there starving and annoyed that I hadn’t gone with my first choice. There’s nothing like having disappointment for dinner.