Page 132 of Fumbled Into Love

I attempt to pull Nathalie away, but she stands firm, assessing Brian and Savannah. “You two make a cute couple,” she mulls.

Oh, dear, she is winding up for something.

“Who are you?” Brian asks.

“She’s a bitch who—” Savannah starts, but Nathalie cuts her off.

“Does she refuse to give you blowjobs, too?” She nails the innocence of her question, but Brian’s face burns and we all know she’s struck a chord.

“That is not any of your business! Who do you think you are?”

Savannah takes a step closer and I move to cut her off, but Nathalie holds out her hand to stop me.

“I’m nobody.” Nathalie shrugs. “But you,” she takes a step towards Savannah, “are the woman foolish enough to fumble Deon. Does it bother you that he’s far better off without you than he ever was with you?” Savannah’s jaw falls and my lips tip into a smug smile. “So, I may be a nobody, but at least I didn’t throw away the best thing that could have ever happened to me.”

“Are you serious?” Brian asks, blinking. “You can’t speak to her like that.”

“You’re an asshole, too,” Nathalie says flatly. “And have highly questionable morals if you think it’s okay to sleep with your best friend's fiancée. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to bet on things I cannot afford and spend the rest of my night with Deon. I wish you both all of the happiness in whatever dark hole you crawled out of.”

Nathalie bows, takes my hand, pulls me away, and back to the table where our friends sit, jaws on the floor. The only one unsurprised is Maren, whose phone is aimed in our direction.

“What did you say to her?!” Maren yells. “She looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

I flop into my seat beside Jack, shell-shocked by the conversation. It all happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t want to. My chest burned with pride and admiration and love as she stood up for me, even if it was slightly unconventionaland contained far too many references about blowjobs for my liking.

It only solidifies my resolve to tell her how I feel.

Something flares in my chest, a knowing of sorts. A confirmation that I’m making the right choice in choosing her and trusting her with my heart.

“I asked her if the reason she never gave Deon—”

I slap my hand over Nathalie’s mouth before she can spill that embarrassing secret to all of our friends. Nathalie’s eyes widen in realization and once I’m confident she won’t drunkenly spill any of our secrets, I release my palm.

“I told her I loved her dress and then called her a fool,” she amends, beaming a lopsided, tipsy smile.

When she looks away, I slide her drink to the side and replace it with water. The night is young and Nathalie is small, with nearly no tolerance for drinking. As much as I love her public declarations—and I do—I don’t want to have to carry her out of here at the end of the night.

“And I called her husband an asshole!” Nathalie yells and Maren clinks her glass. “Here’s your ring back.”

Jack’s brows furrow as Maren slips the ring back onto her finger. “Why did you need Maren’s ring?” he asks, glancing confusingly between Nathalie, Maren, and me.

I lift my hands in innocence.

“Don’t look at me. I walked up and Nathalie was telling Savannah that we were engaged.”

“What’s going on? ” Declan asks from behind us and I leap.

“Nathalie confronted Savannah,” I say, pride in my voice. “Then told her we were engaged.”

Declan meets my gaze and smiles.

“Oh. So she’s drunk?”

“Mhm.”

“Got it.” He salutes. “Well, that’stwiceshe proposed. Maybe it will stick a third time.”

I hum a non-committal response, but I can picture that future, one where I bend down onto one knee and ask Nathalie to marry me.

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