Page 19

So Weird

Aleks

A week later, eight of the top-ten songs on Billboard’s Top 100 were from Mia’s new album.

And of course, she held the number one spot.

The album streams were outrageous, the kind of numbers that had every radio and television show host talking about Mia Love and her particular kind of magic. She was days away from announcing her tour, and as if the fans weren’t already going wild wondering what cities she’d be in and how they would get tickets, we were about to give them all fangirl heart attacks.

A jeweler was showing up at my condo in twenty minutes.

We were picking out a ring.

And tomorrow, I’d propose.

The thought had my heart racing. I knew now that Mia wanted a family, from what she’d told me when we talked about her breakup with Austin. She wanted to get married. She wanted to have kids. And it didn’t matter that our little engagement was going to be fake.

I wanted to make it memorable for her.

There had to be a part of her that didn’t love this, even if it was saving her album release and helping with the tour. She wanted the real thing, not something pretend.

So, I’d do my best to give her what she deserved.

As for me, this would likely be the only time I had this experience — fake or otherwise.

I would never admit it out loud, not to myself or to anyone else, but I longed for a family, too. I wondered what it would feel like to have a woman to come home to after each game, to have a child or two running around a big house. What would I teach them? How would I show them a home life better than I had? What part of me would live in them?

That was always where the fantasy ended.

Because when I thought about that, about how they’d be stuck with my genes, it stopped me from dreaming. The dream became a nightmare.

I didn’t want to subject any woman to a lifetime of putting up with me, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of failing as a father to an innocent child.

Mia looked a bit green in my kitchen as Isabella ran over the plan for today. I wondered what was going through her mind, if her thoughts were as chaotic as mine right now. Her bronze arms were folded over her middle, hair tied into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a Dodgers baseball cap, an oversized t-shirt, and black biker shorts — the hem of which disappeared under her shirt and made me wonder if she was even wearing pants when she first showed up.

Isabella and the team had managed to sneak her in without anyone being the wiser, but now, paparazzi had been tipped off that I was having a jeweler come to my condo, and they were camped out downstairs waiting to get proof of it.

It was Mia’s first time in my place here in Tampa. She’d visited a few times when I lived in Seattle, but never here.

It was crazy how she could make a condo feel like a home just by walking through the door.

Maybe it was because we grew up together. Maybe it was because in that big house in Chicago, she was the warmth and comfort that made it not feel intimidating. Whatever the reason, having her here in my space again brought a familiar, nostalgic ache to my chest.

I watched her as she took it all in, as her gaze snagged on each piece of furniture and décor.

I was a simple man. I didn’t need much, nor did I want it. If I was being honest, my main goal was to keep my place clean for when I brought a woman home with me. Most of the items that filled my space were picked out by my interior designer and had very little to do with my preferences.

But Mia seemed to know what was mine and what wasn’t. Her gaze skimmed over the brown leather sectional in my living area, but they locked on the plush cream bean bag. She didn’t give a second glance to the art on the wall, but she smiled a little at the coffee table — one made from an old World War II war ship door. And her eyes particularly dazzled at the Steinway in the corner of my main living area, the seat of which faced the Hillsborough River.

Could I ever tell her I bought that piano for her, just in case she ever came to see me, just in case she ever needed to play?

“Alright, he’s parking,” Isabella said, shooting off a text to whoever it was who’d let her know that about the jeweler. “Aleks, you ready?”

I saluted her, heading toward my door, but I paused next to Mia.

“Are you ready?”

She blinked, turning her tired eyes toward me. I couldn’t even imagine the whirlwind week she’d had. My summer break was coming to an end, the guys and I using time we’d rented at a local rink to get ready for training camp next month. But Mia had been flying back and forth across the country for interviews, events, and live performances — all while continuing to plan and train for her tour that would start in October.

I wondered if she ever stopped to consider just how damn impressive she was. If I had to guess, the answer was no. She’d always been oblivious to her natural talent and drive that so many people wished for.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head as if coming out of a dream. “I was just asking myself what woman would come up here and actually sleep with you after seeing that a grown-ass man has a bean bag in his living room.”

“Hey, that thing is fucking comfy. Sit on it and you’ll see.”

“Ew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I absolutely will not. I don’t want to know what you do on that comfy thing.”

I smirked. “Don’t worry — I haven’t fucked anyone on it. Yet.”

She let out a huff of a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And this is the man I have to pretend to be engaged to.”

I kept my smirk fixed with her comment, despite how my stomach sank a bit with it.

It was all fun and games until I remembered that there was a bit of truth behind her jokes like that one, that there was always going to be an underlying truth beneath all this pretending.

She was in a different league than I was, one where pretty boys with well-adjusted families and positive PR reigned supreme.

And I was just the riffraff friend she had thanks to a decision her parents made when she was a kid.

“Alright, he’s downstairs. Cameras are clamoring at the door. Try to greet him close enough that they can get a shot through the glass.”

I was still staring at Mia as Isabella barked the order, but I saluted her again, and then I was out the door and in the elevator.

I did my best to shake out of my thoughts as I greeted the jeweler waiting for me in the lobby. He was a Black man, tall and stout with one of those smiles that you couldn’t help but return when he flashed it at you. He introduced himself as Mr. Lionel Bachman with a firm handshake and a booming voice that bragged about the impressive collection of rings he’d brought me. He tapped the briefcase in his other hand, and I nodded, thanking him for his time.

I made sure to drag out the exchange in the lobby, and I saw the shutterbugs behind the glass clicking away even though I pretended not to. Some fans had stopped as they were passing by, too, holding their cell phones up. I was sure they didn’t even know what they were capturing — not yet. But they’d wait to see what the headlines were and then post their videos to social media and brag that they were there.

Ever since Mia and I had started “dating,” I’d had more attention than ever around Tampa Bay. Tourists would take selfies in front of my condo building. Locals recognized me more now and weren’t shy when it came to asking for a picture or a signature. And suddenly, my fans weren’t mostly men or little kids. There was a healthy amount of young women now, ones who asked me how Mia was, when I’d see her again, if I loved her, if we were going to get married.

When I was sure they all had plenty of shots to get the rumors going like Isabella wanted, I led Mr. Bachman to the elevator and up to my floor.

Mia was seated on the edge of my sectional when we returned, and Isabella was in a tizzy, thanking Mr. Bachman profusely for his discretion and offering him a drink. I took a seat next to Mia, watching her watch the buzzing city of Tampa outside my floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Ms. Love,” Mr. Bachman said when he sat in the chair across from us. He shook her hand with pure admiration in his eyes. “What an absolute pleasure to meet you. I’ll have you know I’ve brought my most prized selection for you to view today. I hope the gems sparkle even half as bright as you do.”

Mia smiled with the cheesy compliment, waving her hand over the coffee table. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

For the next half hour, Mia and I listened intently as Lionel went over his impressive collection. He had everything from twenty-carat diamond rings to the most colorful sapphires I’d ever seen. Each ring was meticulously crafted and had some special story attached to it, and while I was listening intently to Mr. Bachman as he explained each one, I was mostly tuned into Mia.

I noticed she lit up most when there was a colorful diamond or a gorgeously cut sapphire. The larger diamonds did nothing for her, her eyes scanning them quickly and catching on the others.

After a full explanation, she picked a few to try on, holding out her hand and examining how each ring dazzled on her manicured finger.

“Does it feel weird?” I asked her when she slid on the first one.

“So weird,” she said on a laugh, but I didn’t miss how she tilted her head and assessed the way her hand looked, how she wiggled her finger and watched the diamond sparkle.

Mr. Bachman praised her for each choice she made to try on, but I could tell from the soft crook of her lips that she hadn’t quite found the one she wanted yet.

I also wondered if there was a part of her that didn’t want to.

Mia had always been a romantic, ever since I’d known her. I knew part of her had to be dying right now.

She didn’t want to pick out her own ring.

She wanted a man who loved her to pick it out for her, to know her so well that he would select the perfect one. She wanted to be surprised by a proposal that would take her breath away.

She wanted to say yes to the man of her dreams.

I swallowed the thick knot in my throat, knowing I couldn’t give her that.

But maybe I could at least give her part of it.

“Let me pick it out.”

Mia blinked up at me from where she’d been focused on a green sapphire princess-cut ring on her finger. “What?”

I slipped the ring off her finger and put it carefully back on the velvet before grabbing her by the arms and hauling her up off the couch. I walked her backward a few steps toward my balcony, nodding for Isabella to follow.

“You two, stay out here,” I said, sliding the glass door open and plopping Mia down in one of my cushioned chairs. “Check your phones or take a nap or whatever you want. I’ll pick out the ring.”

“But—”

“Hey, it doesn’t really matter, right?” I asked Mia. “If it’s not real?”

She blinked several times, opening her mouth and shutting it again. “I… I guess not.”

“Then let me do it. It’ll be a fun surprise. Besides, you make decisions all day, every day. Let me take this one off your plate.”

I held back the fact that I really did want to surprise her, to shop those rings as if I had an actual shot in hell of her ever saying yes to marrying me.

I wondered if I could pick out the right one, if I could open that box tomorrow when I was on one knee and elicit a genuine gasp of a reaction from her. I remembered a lot about the jewelry she wore in high school, and even looking at her when she got all dolled up for show appearances or live performances, I could tell what she’d picked out, what was her choice versus the choice of her team.

I didn’t miss the bit of relief that came from Mia’s sigh as she conceded, and I knew then that I’d been right.

Even if it was fake, she didn’t want to pick out her own wedding ring. It took the magic out of it all, and if I knew one thing about Mia, it was that she loved to hold onto the magic life had to offer.

“Okay,” she said. Her little finger snapped up to point into my chest next. “But don’t be a funny guy about it, okay? I swear to the Beatles, if you get some unicorn-looking gargantuan thing—”

“So pink, purple, large…”

She smacked my arm. “Aleks.”

“Mm, I love when you say my name like that, like you’re not sure if you want to kill me or kiss me.”

Isabella snorted a laugh as Mia narrowed her eyes at me. Then, she was kicking my butt with her bare foot, ushering me inside. “Go before I change my mind.”

I was still smirking when I ducked back into my condo to rejoin Mr. Bachman.

And after just a few more minutes of browsing, I knew exactly which ring to pick.

· · ·

Isabella excused herself shortly after Mr. Bachman rolled up what rings I didn’t purchase and went on his merry way. She was delighted, showing us the photos that were already circulating and the videos from fans losing their ever-loving minds with what it meant.

She particularly loved an edit that was made to one of Mia’s newer songs from the album about leaving her window open for the right man, knowing he’d come one day. The video was a montage of photos and videos of us over the years, including one from when we were kids. I was pretty sure they only got that one because Mia had posted it on her Instagram before she was discovered. It had one of the old filters on it, the two of us leaning in for a selfie.

Mia smiled brilliantly while I barely crooked a grin, but I remembered that photo. I remembered how I felt in that moment, just days before our graduation, knowing we were about to go our separate ways.

When Isabella was gone, it was just me and Mia in my condo, the silence falling over us as soon as my front door snicked shut.

I slid my hands into my pockets, turning to find Mia typing away on her phone. When she looked up at me, she let out a long sigh and shrugged on a smile. “Well, mission accomplished, I guess.”

“I don’t think you can say that until after tomorrow.”

She tilted her head side to side, still smiling. But then, her lips evened, her brows folding over her sharp blue eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay with all this?”

“A little late to back out now, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too late, if you want out.”

I thought I heard a touch of vulnerability in her voice when she said that, and I knew why.

Her album had blown up. It was breaking records even she didn’t expect. And this one was real to her, it was close to her heart.

A big part of her still wondered if Garrett and the other critics could take that from her.

“Hey, I’m not stopping until I play my big bad wolf part and send you riding off into the sunset of the most successful music tour of all time.”

She smirked a little at that, fussing with her hat. I thought I saw her tuck the top of her ear under it — as if she could look anything less than fucking adorable in a baseball cap, whether she had giant ears or baby mouse ones.

“I bet that’s the part you’re counting down to,” she snarked. “Poor you, having to make out with a bunch of puck bunnies and get caught on camera.”

My smile felt tighter knowing that was still what she thought of me, even though I couldn’t blame her. What had I done to make her think otherwise?

“Anyway, I guess I should get going.” Mia started gathering her things off my kitchen island, making her way toward the door.

“Where are you off to this fine evening, the last of which you are a single lady?”

She rolled her eyes at the little wink I added at the end of that question. “Probably to hide away in my hotel room and go over this number that the choreo isn’t right on,” she said.

“What? It’s the weekend. You can’t work tonight.”

She laughed in my face at that. “As if you don’t always work on the weekend during the season.”

“Strings, come on. It’s Friday. You’re in Tampa. Let’s do something fun.”

“I have a tour coming up. You and I?” She pointed between us. “We don’t work normal jobs where we take the weekends to lounge around the house in our pajamas and stuff our faces with pizza.”

“We could.”

She flattened her lips. “Why are you acting like you really want to spend your Friday night stuck in this condo with me?”

“I’m not acting.”

The words slid out of me before I could think better to hold them back, the weight of them hanging between us. They seemed to shock the sass right out of Mia, who blinked, her lips parting a bit.

“I don’t have plans,” I said quickly with a clearing of my throat. “Not like I can go out on the town tonight, get wasted, and fuck the first blonde I see when I’m supposed to get on one knee tomorrow.”

Fuck .

My skin burned with the words even as I said them, as if they were acid coming out of my throat and I was succumbing to the virus that I was, unable to control a thing.

Mia pinched her lips tight together on a nod. “Right. And with that sincere offer…”

She went to walk past me toward the door, but I caught her by the crook of her elbow, swinging her to a stop.

Her eyes snatched on where I held her before they crawled up my arm to my face, and I hoped she could see it. I hoped she knew that I didn’t mean what I’d said, that it was a cover up, a defense mechanism, a shield.

She used to know that.

Did she know it still?

“Stay,” I croaked, my voice a bit unsteady. “We can order pizza and play The Game of Life like we used to in high school. Or if you want to go out, we’ll go out.”

“I can’t just go out,” she said. “Not without us making a big scene, and I’ve had enough of the madness lately.”

“Not true.”

She pulled away from my touch, folding her arms over her middle. “In what world could we go anywhere without someone recognizing us?”

“Do you want to go out or do you want to stay in, Mia?” I leveled my gaze with hers. “Answer the question, and I’ll make it happen.”

She shook her head on an incredulous laugh, but then tongued her cheek, looking out my window and then back at me. “Fine. I want to go out.”

I smirked, chest buzzing with the challenge.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”