“Evening, Louise,” I say, strolling past the front desk of the Genesis Art Center. “Is Jonathan in the studio?”

“Yup, and so is your fiancé.”

“Pardon?”

“Archer is in the studio,” she says.

“What’s he doing here?”

Louise cocks her head. “Volunteering, of course. I think he’s staffing the clay table tonight. He’s been here every night for a week, and we definitely need the help.”

“Oh…” I raise a hand to my forehead. “I must have forgotten.”

I walk to the double doors and throw them open. My eyes dart to the clay station. Sure enough, my fiancé is walking around the table, helping kids model their lumps of clay into—well—more lumps of clay.

No one ever accused Archer of being an artist.

I’m halfway to the table when Archer spots me. “Quinn!” he calls out. He comes toward me, wiping his hands on his apron.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Archer demands, stopping in front of me.

“Can we talk about this somewhere more private?” I hiss. I grab his arm and drag him to a quiet corner with couches and armchairs. “I’m not breaking up with you. I promised I’d see this through to the end, and I don’t break my word.”

Archer’s face lights up, and I poke his chest with my finger. “You could benefit from doing the same. Now what are you doing here? The receptionist said you’ve been coming here all week.”

“I needed to see you. It was the only way I could get to you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What about stalking me at work?”

“I’m trying to be better about that,” Archer admits with a shrug.

Hmm. That’s progress…

“You’ve been avoiding my calls and texts,” he continues, “and you skipped the campaign event this week.”

“I’ve been busy at work,” I half-lie. I’m always busy, but now I’m hiding behind it. “Are your parents mad?”

Archer shakes his head. “I told them you had a migraine.”

“Oh. That was—” kind? “—smart of you,” I say. “I can’t do any events this week, either. Holly’s wedding is next weekend and I’m getting overwhelmed.”

“Let me help,” Archer says.

“Haven’t you already helped enough?” I snap.

A pained look comes over Archer’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Please forgive me for being an idiot. I don’t want to go back to being strangers.”

“I don’t want that, either…” I trail off, studying my shoes.

“I have fun with you, East,” he murmurs. “I miss that.”

I sigh. “Me too.”

“Then why can’t we go back to how things were? So what if our relationship has another label. This engagement doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything. Marriage means something to me, Archer.”

“I know,” he mutters.

“We’re in so deep now,” I continue. “When we break up, we’re going to hurt more people than ourselves—”

Archer jerks his head up, and I clamp my mouth shut. How could I have let that slip!

“What does that mean?” he asks slowly.

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s…complicated,” I say, which it is. I haven’t talked to Archer in a week because I realized I was getting too close. If my feelings are getting out of control now, how will I cope with our breakup in November?

“You say it’s complicated, but you don’t elaborate. You say we have fun together, but you pull away.” Archer drags a hand through his hair. “Tell me what you want from me.”

We stare at each other, him waiting for me to speak, but I can’t. I’m too afraid that I’ll lose myself in our charade.

Archer throws his hands up. “Fine. I get it that you still need time. I guess I’ll wait and live in this ‘it’s complicated’ hell.” He brushes past me and heads for the exit.

I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turn. Jonathan is standing right behind me, watching me with his shrewd gray eyes.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” he says.

“Hello to you, too,” I reply, shaking my head.

“I couldn’t help but overhear the last part of your conversation with Archer—”

More like spy.

“—but take it from me: grudges only hurt you in the end.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonathan,” I argue. “You don’t know what he did.”

Jonathan shrugs. “You’re right, and I’m an old fogey so I don’t know anything, but that boy was sorry. You should forgive him.”

“I’ve already forgiven him,” I mutter, though I know that’s a lie.

“Quinny…” Jonathan steps toward me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

I look away.

“Give Archer another chance,” Jonathan urges. “So he’s not perfect, big deal. But he’s come a long way from that cold man I used to read about.”

I turn in time to see Archer disappear through the double doors. My heart battles with my head as I consider Jonathan’s words. No one’s perfect, but a fake engagement? That’s pushing it.

I look back at Jonathan. “Mind if we reschedule tonight’s meeting?”

Jonathan smiles. “Go get him.”

I race down the aisle and glance around the lobby, but it’s only full of kids. I catch a glimpse of Archer outside on the sidewalk and run after him.

“Archer, wait!” I call.

Archer whirls around. “East?”

I stop in front of him. “Don’t…leave…” I pant, gasping for air.

“Okay, I won’t,” he says. He grabs my hands and holds me up. “But maybe consider adding a few runs to your workout regimen.”

“Yeah, right.” I straighten and glance at his hand in mine. I gently pull mine back. “I don’t want to stay in this limbo. I was angry about the engagement at first, but that’s not why I’m mad.” I pause and bite my lip, searching for the right words. “This…changes things between us. I don’t know how to act around you anymore.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Archer says in a pained voice. “I’ll make it up to you. We can tell my parents the truth—”

“And have you stuck with Tessa for the next two months?” I laugh. “I’m not a sadist.”

“Then, what if I pay off the Met gift?”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that, Archer.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t want your money. I want…”

“What?”

“Your respect,” I finish, glancing away.

Archer steps toward me. “You have it,” he responds softly.

I look up and meet his gaze. I fight the overwhelming urge to close the space between us; I fight against edging toward him, taking his hand, and melting into his arms.

I step back, letting the distance widen. “Thanks, and you have mine.”

“Can we start over?” he asks. “Let me take you to dinner. How about Taboon again?”

I give a small smile. He’s really trying if he’s suggesting Hell’s Kitchen. “I can’t.”

“Oh…” he says, growing quiet.

Oh my God! Could he look more dejected?

“It’s Holly’s bachelorette tonight,” I add.

“Right.” Archer slides his eyes to the floor. “Have fun.”

I try not to let that sad puppy-dog look get to me, but I’m only human. “How about drinks?” I offer.

His grin almost knocks me off my feet. “It’s a date.”

A date? My heart skips a beat.

Archer offers me his right arm, and I slide my arm into his. He glances down with a frown. “Where’s your ring?”

I flush. “I took it off before I walked into GAC,” I answer. I reach into my pocket and pull it out.

Archer stops to face me. He picks the ring out of my palm, takes my left hand in his right, and slowly slides the ring onto my finger.

“There,” he murmurs, taking my arm in his again. He glances around the block. “Now where’s Tom?”

I stare at the ring that graces my finger. At first, I didn’t feel worthy of it. It’s a Stratton heirloom that symbolizes eternal love and a lifetime of partnership. Yet on my finger, it only means a lie. I taint it.

But sometime in the past week, I fell in love with it. Now, the thought of giving it back in a couple months makes me want to bawl.

* * *

The bachelorette party is in full swing by the time I walk into Ferraro’s. I’m an hour late because one drink with Archer turned into two, and then I had to hightail it home to change into my bachelorette getup. I did save time by springing for an Uber instead taking the subway, and if you could see my outfit, you’d support my choice.

“You’re late!” Holly cries, materializing out of the crowd in front of me.

“I’m always late,” I say. “It took me longer to get into this corset than I thought.”

Holly looks me up and down and whistles. “You look good, Quinny. I love that red with your hair.”

“Thanks, but you look the best,” I say, motioning to her all-white ensemble.

She scowls at me. “You have to say that, I’m the bride.”

Holly’s theme is burlesque. Although the thought of romping around New York City in a corset and fishnets daunted me at first, I came around to it. I had worked on my costume all week and was pretty pleased with the end result. I found a cherry-red, rhinestone-studded corset, tacked on black satin roses, and sewed a feathery black-and-red boa on the back so it would cascade down my legs. I completed the look with elbow-length gloves, black stilettos, some itchy fishnets, and voila! I was a damn fine-looking maid of honor.

“I’m gonna grab drinks!” I yell over the music. I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the bar. “What does the bride want?”

Holly gasps and grabs my hand. Oh crap. I had forgotten to take off the ginormous ring.

“Holy shit, are you engaged?!” Holly squeals.

“Umm—”

“How could you not tell me!” she demands. “I’m your best friend—technically your sister!”

“No, it’s not like that at all,” I say, laying a hand on her arm. “It happened last weekend—”

“You waited a WEEK to tell me?”

“Yes, but if you’ll listen—”

Holly gasps. “Does this mean Archer loves you?”

“Holly!” I yell, finally getting her attention. “I didn’t tell you because it’s not real. Archer did it to get votes.”

Holly’s eyes go wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. It was all a publicity stunt. I would’ve said no if Archer hadn’t proposed in front of two hundred people.”

Would I…?

“I’m going to kill him,” Holly says. “His ass is GRASS the next time I see him.”

I give her a weak smile. “Thanks. It’s been a rough week.”

Her scowl softens. “I wish you would have told me. We could have drowned your sorrows together—with tequila.”

“Well, there’s still time for that,” I say, taking her hand and heading for the bar.

Holly frowns. “But, Quinn—”

“This is your night, and I’m not spoiling it over some guy.” I reach the bar and shove my way to the front. It doesn’t take long to catch the bartender’s eye in the outfit I’m wearing. “Now, do you want a blow job or a fuzzy nipple?”

“You know I’m a whipped cream kinda gal,” Holly says, a smile peaking through her frown.

“Two blow job shots, please!” I say to the hot bartender checking me out, planting a twenty down in front of me. His eyes roam to my breasts straining against my corset.

“This one’s on the house,” he smirks.

Great. I sigh and add another twenty to the top. “Add a shot of tequila and keep them coming.”