Lizzy is not happy about this dinner.

Or about my continuing arrangement with Blake.

Or how I'm "lying to myself."

She spends the afternoon in her room making alternating claims of doing homework and picking out an outfit.

I knock at five. It's at least half an hour on the subway to Midtown. I don't want to make it harder for her by taking a cab.

My jaw drops as she pulls the door open. She looks so pretty. So grown up.

Her hair is swept into an elegant updo. Her makeup is soft and subtle. Her chic black dress suits her perfectly.

"You look beautiful," I say.

"Thanks. You too." She reaches for her purse. "Should we go?"

"In a minute." I take a long look at my sister. We've barely talked since the fight at the boutique. I miss her. I miss having camaraderie.

I check my phone for word from Blake.

There are a few days of sweet dreams texts. And there's a reminder with the restaurant's address. That's it.

Maybe he doesn't want me. I don't know. It's confusing.

I throw my sketchbook in my purse. It's a new habit. In case inspiration strikes. I still have a lot of work to do for my portfolio.

"Listen, Kat." Lizzy looks at her foot. Presses it into the ground. "Never mind. We should talk about it later."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, totally." She pulls the door open. "About the other day… I know I should have—"

"It's okay. I understand."

I follow her out the door.

* * *

The restaurant is beautiful. Romantic.

Black walls. Flickering candles. Roses bouquets.

It's the perfect place for a date. Or a proposal. Or a declaration of undying love.

It's perfect for a panel. The happy moment where the couple falls in love or the miserable one where everything falls apart.

I swallow the lump that rises in my throat. There's only a week until Blake and I marry.

In one week, I'll be the wife of a man who will never love me.

It feels more real every day.

The hostess leads us to a private room in the back of the restaurant. It's just as romantic, though it's brighter. Ornate lamps in the corner offer plenty of illumination.

Meryl is sitting at the end of the table, nursing a glass of wine.

Blake is next to her, his fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, his attention on his mom.

She turns to us. "About time someone entertaining shows up." She looks to Lizzy. "You must be Kat's sister."

"Lizzy." She offers her hand.

Meryl shakes. "It's nice to meet you, sweetheart. You're just as pretty as Kat. Tell me there's some man desperate to scoop you up."

Lizzy laughs. "There have been a few."

"None good enough for your demanding older sister?" Meryl asks.

"How did you know?" Lizzy takes a seat. She turns to Meryl. Her expression gets bright. Animated. "None were good enough for me either. They're such… boys."

"And you want a man?" Meryl asks.

Lizzy nods.

"She's only eighteen," Blake says.

"But an old eighteen. Like you were." Meryl leans in to whisper in Lizzy's ear.

Lizzy laughs. She turns back to me. "I get it."

"Hmm?" Meryl asks.

"Why Kat was so… insistent about this… dinner." Lizzy pats the spot next to her. "She's been really excited for me to meet you."

"I've been excited too." Meryl takes a long sip of her wine. "Tell me, sweetheart. Are you an artist like your sister?"

Lizzy laughs. "No. I don't get art."

Meryl stage-whispers. "Me either."

"What's the deal with that one guy who does plaid paintings? I mean, those would look awesome on a skirt, but on the wall of a museum?" Lizzy shakes her head with distaste.

I can't help but smile. Even if Lizzy has no idea what she's talking about. The modernist movement—

"You look gorgeous." Blake's voice grabs my attention. He's staring into my eyes. "I've missed you."

"Me too. I've been busy." I take a seat next to my sister and look to Meryl. "College applications."

"Still?" Meryl plays with the stem of her wineglass.

"With art school, you need a portfolio. But nothing I draw feels good enough," I say.

"Her work is wonderful. She's underselling herself," Blake says.

"I haven't showed you anything." My cheeks flush.

"You leave your sketchbook open on the table. I see plenty when you're drawing." His voice is proud. He really does appreciate my skill.

But that only makes things more confusing.

He misses me. He wants the world for me. He's interested in my art.

And he's never going to love me.

It doesn't add up.

It doesn't make sense.

"And how have you been, Lizzy? How's your chess bot?" Blake asks.

She blushes. "Oh. It's okay. I mean, I'm trying something with Go, but it's impossible." She looks to Blake. "I spent a few hours testing the chat bot."

"You're more interested than I am," he says.

"Did you really program it all by yourself?" she asks.

"I did," he says. "It was my first time programming in awhile."

"It's amazing." Her voice gets loud. Excited. "I go into that room where you can play a game." She turns to me. "You have to guess if you're talking to a human or a chat bot, and the other person does the same."

"What if the other person is a chat bot?" I ask.

"Then it guesses. Sometimes it's two bots talking to each other. You can read the logs of that." Her eyes go wide. "It's so cool."

"Thank you," Blake says.

"Programming is his idea of fun, I think," I say.

Meryl laughs, but it's strained. She brings her fist to her mouth and coughs.

Blake leans closer.

She waves him away. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just thirsty." She holds up her empty glass.

Right on cue, a server enters our room. He smiles at Meryl. "Another?"

"You're too kind." She hands him her glass.

He looks to Blake. "You too, sir?"

Blake nods. "A gin and tonic for my fiancée."

"You order for her?" Meryl coughs. "Really? Don't you think that's a bit old-fashioned?"

"You'll confuse the man." Blake's lips curl into a half-smile. He looks to me and winks.

He's making another joke. It's not a good joke—no server is so easily confused that the word old-fashioned would make him think he should fix an old fashioned rather than a gin and tonic—but it's mine.

It makes me warm all over.

"Yeah, it's weird. But I think they're into that." Lizzy looks to the server. "Diet Coke with a maraschino cherry."

"A second glass for my daughter." Meryl motions to the empty spot next to Blake. "She got held up discussing something with Trey."

The server nods and disappears through the doors.

Meryl lets out another cough. Or more like a fit. She clears her throat and forces a smile. "Lizzy, I heard you're going to school next year. Is that true?"

Lizzy takes a seat. She plays with her dress.

"Well, sweetheart, do tell. Have you decided?"

"Stanford."

My stomach drops. "Officially?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Kat. I should have told you sooner. But I already enrolled. Yesterday actually." She bites her lip. "I have a full scholarship."

"That's great, sweetheart," Meryl says. "Lovely campus. And California, well, it's not my taste, but the weather is lovely."

"Stanford grads do great in Silicon Valley." Blake takes a long sip of his drink. His eyes pass over Meryl.

There's something in his expression. He's worried.

God, if Blake's worried, it must be bad. Or it could be I've somehow cracked the code to his expression.

I look closer. No, that can't be it. The man is still a mystery. A beautiful mystery who makes me come so hard I scream. But a mystery nonetheless.

"I'll miss you," I say.

"Blake, honey, I hope you'll keep your wife too busy to miss her sister." Meryl lets out a light laugh and turns to me. "And aren't you looking at schools?"

"I won't start until the spring semester." I tug at the fabric of my dress. Same thing Lizzy was doing. "Most of them are in the northeast." None are anywhere near Stanford.

Meryl smiles at Lizzy. "At least you'll get the apartment to yourself for a few months."

"Oh, yeah. I guess you're not going to live here after you and Blake get married," Lizzy says.

"After the honeymoon." He looks at me with love in his eyes. The pretend kind. "We can pick out furniture tomorrow if you'd like."

Meryl shakes her head. "Please, my son has never picked out a piece of furniture. He has a decorator."

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

"You better take the reins, honey. His apartment and his office are so terribly utilitarian. Who can live like that? It's like a science fiction film," Meryl asks.

Lizzy's ears perk. "Which one?" She looks to Blake. "Don't tell me you have an intentional aesthetic."

"She hates art unless it's art direction in a sci-fi movie." I shake my head.

Meryl laughs. "She's a plebeian. Like me. You'll have to leave the art and literature to intellectuals like you and Blake. The rest of us need explosions and drama."

"True." Lizzy looks to Blake. "Where are you going? On your honeymoon?"

"Paris," Blake says.

Right. Paris. I knew that. I nod like it was my decision. It won't be so bad, fucking Blake in the City of Light. All that romance surrounding us…

"Paris. How lovely." Something in Meryl's expression changes. More serious. "I'm glad you two…"

"Mom?"

"You seem happy. I never thought…" She stares at her wineglass. "I never thought Blake would find something real."

Real. Right. I smile my biggest smile.

Lizzy frowns, but she doesn't say anything.

I think she gets it. How can she not? Meryl lights up the room. It's impossible to do anything but want her happy.

The server arrives with our drinks.

It's a perfect distraction.

Lizzy buries her face in her soda.

I drink half my gin and tonic in a single sip.

Meryl studies me the way Blake does, picking apart my intentions.

I'm not sure I can keep up my poker face. Between Stanford being official and our wedding in two weeks and Meryl coughing…

It's too much.

A loud hello interrupts my train of thought.

Fiona steps into the room. Alone.

We go through a round of introductions then she sits next to Blake. "You okay, Mom?"

"Fine. Stop asking," she says.

But Meryl doesn't look fine. Her skin has a slight yellow sheen. She's sweating. Her smile is strained. Her voice is shaky.

"Are you sure?" Fiona asks.

"I'd like to have one dinner that isn't about my condition. We're celebrating your brother's wedding."

"Of course." Fiona taps my shoulder. "I'm going to use the restroom. Join me, Kat?"

She isn't really asking.

But what could she possibly have to say with me?

She already offered me a small fortune in go-away money.

I look to Blake for a clue.

He nods go with her.

He knows his sister better than I do.

"Yes." I push out of my chair. "I need to fix my lipstick."

I follow Fiona to the restroom. It's quiet. Empty.

And beautiful. How can a bathroom be this beautiful? It defies logic.

She stares back at me. "I take it you're going through with the wedding?"

"Yes."

"I guess that's your decision." She looks to the mirror and adjusts her hair. "I have to admit, I admire it."

"Huh?"

"Your prenup. You only get a million dollars if you divorce."

Only a million dollars. What's wrong with these people?

She looks to me. "The offer stands. I know a hundred grand is a lot less than a million dollars, but it's a lot faster."

"I don't want money."

She looks me in the eyes. "I believe you."

My cheeks flush. "Then why are you—"

"I thought I was sparing Blake before. Maybe I was. If you were a gold digger, you'd have taken the money and run. Or demanded a lot more in your prenup."

"I told you—"

"I know. You aren't after his money. You want to be with him."

"Yes. Of course."

"I know my brother. I love him. He's my best friend. But he's another rich man. He thinks the world revolves around his desires."

"He won't—"

"Exactly. He won't. That's a full sentence. All those things you dreamed of as a little girl, the romantic walks on the beach, the candlelit dinners, the long, sweet kisses. He won't offer you that. He won't make time for it. And when you get sick of it—and you will, trust me—you'll leave him. And it will crush him. I don't want that."

"I won't leave. I love Blake."

The second the words are out of my mouth, I know they're true. I love Blake. I'm madly, crazy in love with him.

My stomach flip-flops.

I'm madly in love with him, and the best he'll ever be able to muster is I care about you.

My knees buckle.

Oh, God.

Talk about fucking things up.

I grab onto the counter to stay upright.

The bathroom door opens. Lizzy. Her face is the picture of concern. "Blake's mom collapsed."

Fiona goes white. "Is she okay?"

"They're calling an ambulance." Lizzy shakes. "We should— Kat? What do we do?"

Fiona rushes out of the bathroom.

I take a deep breath. "We follow the ambulance."