Page 63 of Faking the Pass
He smiled. “Yes. We do. Wait right here.”
Presley went into the garage while I sat at the counter. I heard the door of his car open then close moments later.
He came back inside, strode over to the kitchen island, and placed something on it in front of me.
It was a small velvet box. The kind that came from a jewelry store.
My eyes flew up to find Presley’s. “What is this?”
He gave me an uncertain smile. “Open it and find out.”
When I opened the box and saw the diamond ring inside, my mind went blank for a second. I just sat there breathing and blinking.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “If it’s not your style, we can take it back and get a different one you like better, something that fits your taste.”
Finally my mind came back online. “You bought a ring?”
“Yes. This morning when I went shopping. I put it in the glove box, until, you know, the right time.”
He gestured to the summons on the counter in front of us. “I figure that time is now.”
“You went grocery shopping… and you bought an engagement ring,” I repeated, still trying to process.
He laughed. “Yes, but I didn’t buy itatthe grocery store. It didn’t come from one of those little coin-operated machines out front if that’s what you’re thinking. I got it at the Treasure Chest. That’s a jewelry store on Main Street.”
Tearing my eyes away from the gorgeous solitaire, I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Well, you know… I got it in case Randy summonsed us… and he did. So…”
Presley’s face contracted in a frown. “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t the best proposal anyone’s ever gotten.”
He lifted a hand and scrubbed the top of his head, messing up his hair.
“I just thought after our conversation the other day at the press conference, we’d already agreed… youdowant to get married right? I mean temporarily—because of the court case.”
My gaze bounced between his face and the stunning ring, which wasexactlymy taste.
The large central stone was an emerald-cut diamond, and three-quarters of the platinum band was adorned by a collection of round, marquise, and pear-shaped diamonds. It looked very expensive.
“Yes,” I said finally. “I just didn’t expect you to buy a ring, I guess. I hope this is fake.”
Presley didn’t confirm or deny, just lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “We’ve got to make it look legit, don’t we? Those telephoto lenses capture all the details.”
The details of our story—ourfakestory about ourfakemarriage.
I nodded. “Right. So… when should we do it? Can we even get a license by next week?”
“Rhode Island doesn’t have a waiting period for marriage licenses,” Presley said. “And I have a friend who works at Town Hall. We could probably get one today.”
“Today.”
I was swamped by a feeling of unreality. Suddenly my hands felt disconnected from my body. My head was spinning, and there was a weird pain in my stomach.
I’m getting married today. To Presley Lowe.
I looked down at myself, at my t-shirt and skort and sneakers.
