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CASSIE
THE ANNIVERSARY AMBUSH
"Is tonight the night?" Mia's voice crackles through my phone speaker, her excitement making her sound even younger than her nineteen years.
I adjust my diamond earrings, Camden's Christmas gift from last year.
The tiny stones catch the light as I try not to sound as nervous as I feel. "Would you stop? He hasn't said anything about proposing."
"Um, hello? Two-year anniversary at Velluto? The restaurant where you had your first date? The place that's impossible to get into unless you book, like, six months in advance?"
"Maybe he just wants to celebrate," I say, but my stomach flutters as I smooth down my dress—a splurge from Nordstrom that cost nearly half my rent. The deep emerald complements my eyes, and the cut is classic but with just enough curve-hugging to make Camden give me that look I love.
"Right. And maybe I'll get straight A's without studying." Mia laughs. "Look, I've been sending him ring photos for months. If he doesn't propose tonight, he's officially clueless."
"You've been doing what?" My mascara nearly slips from my fingers. "Mia! He's going to think we're crazy."
"No, he's going to think you're worth it. Now, are you wearing the lingerie set I got you for your birthday?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I am not discussing that with my baby sister."
"That's a yes! Good girl. Look, just promise you'll call me the second you get home. I don't care how late it is."
"I promise." I smile at my reflection. "Did you finish that design I helped you with? The one with the asymmetrical?—"
"Yes, and I'm sending it to my professor tomorrow, but forget about my homework for one night! This is your night! Mr. Perfect Jawline is finally going to make an honest woman out of you."
I glance at the time. "I've got to finish getting ready. Love you."
"Love you too. And don't forget—call me tonight!"
I set down the phone and lean closer to the bathroom mirror. I've spent an hour on my makeup, going for elegance over drama.
Camden always says he prefers my "natural beauty," but I know what that really means—nothing too bold, nothing that would stand out at the restaurant full of tasteful, moneyed patrons.
The bathroom mirror reflects a version of myself I barely recognize. My dark hair falls in carefully styled waves past my shoulders, each strand smoothed to perfection.
The smoky eye makeup makes my green eyes look larger, more dramatic than usual.
Classic elegance. The kind Camden prefers.
I practice my surprised face, just in case. Too wide-eyed? Maybe. Too calm? Definitely. Just the right amount of emotion without looking like I've been expecting it? Perfect.
Our shared apartment feels oddly quiet as I gather my clutch. Two years living together, and sometimes I still feel like a visitor. The sleek gray sofa that's beautiful but never quite comfortable. The carefully curated bookshelves with first editions Camden collects. The minimalist decor that leaves no room for the colorful, eclectic pieces I used to love.
My phone pings with a text from Camden:
Running 10 minutes late. Order me the usual.
No "I love you." No cute emoji. Just instructions.
When did that start to seem normal?
I send back a thumbs-up and head out, my heels clicking against the hardwood floors that Camden insisted on when we moved in together. "Carpets trap dust and memories," he'd said, as if both were equally undesirable.
Velluto hasn't changedsince our first date. Still impossibly romantic with its dim lighting and plush velvet booths, still filled with the soft murmur of expensive conversations and the gentle clink of crystal glasses.