“That sounds great,” I said, and Magalie agreed.
The first part of dinner was smoother, and Andie seemed to find her stride, thanks to Magalie’s efforts to put her at ease.
“That was really kind of you,” I told her. “Making poor Andie’s first night easier.”
Magalie smiled and lifted a shoulder. “We’re all just people,” she said. “Doesn’t matter who we are or what we’re doing. We owe each other some kindness. We all do the best we can.”
That was nice. Magalie was nice. I liked her more than I wanted to and almost wished she’d shown some edge of malice, maybe laughed at our waitress or been indignant.
“So what do we need to figure out?” I asked. “About how we met and how long we’ve been dating and stuff like that.”
“Hmm.” She laid a finger next to her mouth as she rested her elbow on the table, and there was something adorable about the pose—thoughtful French girl. I was struggling not to find everything about her attractive and had to keep reminding myself how much better this would be as a kind of mutually beneficial arrangement. Not a relationship.
“Well, I guess we need to decide how we met,” she said.
“Mr. Match?” I suggested. “Maybe stay as close to the truth as possible?”
She nodded, agreeing. “Okay, that was easy.”
“And we have been dating for how long?” I asked her.
“Long enough to get engaged,” she said.
“But you’ve only been here six months, right?”
“True.” She looked down at her plate for a minute and then back up with a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “We must have fallen madly in love.”
My heart thumped painfully like it was trying to send me a message in Morse code. “Right. Yeah.”
“And we need a couple of stories. Dates we’ve been on? Your proposal story?”
“Wait,” I said. “Why does it always have to be the man who proposes? Maybe you proposed to me?”
She wrinkled up her adorable nose and tilted her head to one side. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes. I think I proposed on that beautiful bench in Del Mar. I was swept away with the beauty of the ocean, and the warm sun, and then you leaned in and kissed me, and . . .” she trailed off, a blush turning her cheeks pink. “After that.”
That kiss was something I’d thought about a lot, something that had replayed in my mind over and over again. Had she thought about it too? Her blush suggested she had. “Okay,” I said.
We covered a few more details, getting some backstory straight, building in a few believable memories we could share when her mother arrived with this Henri guy, and then the waitress thanked us and we were on our way outside.
Chapter 52
Here, Have a Rock
Magalie
Trace and I left the restaurant, my head still spinning. The problem was that I found I actually liked him. Very much. Too much. I wanted him to kiss me again, but I knew it would complicate things. The way his eyes had grown dark and deep when I’d mentioned the kiss made me wonder if he’d thought about it too, about what it meant if he had.
But he’d been clear that a fake relationship would be a good thing for him too, and I didn’t want to muddy things more than I already had. We had made good progress on establishing our pretend history, and that was all this really needed to be about.
“Can I ask you something, Magalie?” he said as we walked out of the restaurant, finding ourselves strolling down the sidewalk outside. “About this whole thing with your mom?”
I knew exactly what he would ask. “Why don’t I just tell her to stop? Why don’t I stand up to her?”
“Yeah,” he said, dipping his head slightly.
“You don’t know my mother. It is not that simple.”
“So you signed up for Mr. Match to find someone willing to pretend to be engaged.” He sounded disappointed, but I had the sense the disappointment was in me, in my inability to stand up to my mother. “That isn’t really simple either.”
It sounded so awful. “Yes.”
We walked on a bit in silence, and then he turned to me, a strange smile on his face. “Let’s get you a ring.”
"Oh, no. I mean, you don't . . ."
“Nah, you need a ring to make it seem real. If we’re this in love, surely I’d have gotten you a big ring. Your mom will need to see it.”
He took my hand and nearly pulled me along the sidewalk toward a little cluster of shops, one of which had a sign indicating it was a jewelry store. He tugged me into the store, brightly lit in comparison to the darkness of the sidewalk outside.
"Trace," I whispered. But it was too late to go back out. The gentleman's eyes lit up behind the counter. "This is not—" I began.
"We’re engaged," Trace told him a little too loudly, cutting me off. "But we don’t have a ring. She proposed, and I said yes, so now . . ." He waved his hand toward a counter filled with diamonds.
"Trace, no," I said, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. I hadn’t thought this through. The attention of the man in the shop made me feel like a fraud.
"Certainly," said the man, the certainty of a sale making his eyes light up. "Why don't you have a seat here, and we'll find something that's just perfect. Congratulations," he added, waving to a girl who'd been hovering near the cash register.
Moments later, champagne was pressed into our hands and I was trying on diamonds in ridiculously large cuts, feeling my heart protest madly. Nothing about this felt right. And it would soon be too late to fix it. “Maybe we should wait,” I said to Trace, hoping we could go back outside, discuss this some more.
“Nope,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood just to my side, looking at the extravagant display of diamonds. “You need a ring.”
"Sir, forgive me asking, but aren't you the goalie for the Sharks?" the man asked Trace as he slipped a huge rock onto my hand. My own hand looked foreign to me, and the champagne I'd gulped was threatening to come back up.
"I am," Trace shook the man's hand. "Trace Johnson."
"Well, this is wonderful," the man gushed. "So exciting. Congratulations," he added again.
"Trace," I said, still trying to backpedal. I actually tried to stand, and he put a hand on my shoulder and then leaned down next to me, keeping me seated. "These are too large, they're all so . . ." I stammered.
"Ah yes," the man jumped in. "Something more understated, perhaps?" He brought out a tray of marginally less extravagant rings, the glint of each under the store's lights accusing me, mocking me.
"What about this one?" Trace chose the same ring my eye had been drawn to, slipping it onto my finger just as our eyes met. His blue gaze hit mine, and I wished everything could be different, wished that in some other world we'd met under completely alternate circumstances. He held my eyes for a long moment and I thought I saw a similar wistfulness there, a longing that things could be other than they were.
"I like this one," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
"Sold," said Trace to the man, and he pulled a credit card from his wallet and paid for a ring that cost more than my car without a moment's hesitation.
Trace gave me a brilliant smile. “There. All set now.”
I smiled back at him, but everything felt wrong. I realized I wanted to actually know him, but this pretense was a giant wedge between us. I’d finally met a man I might actually be interested in, and I’d already ruined it.
Chapter 53
Six o'clock News
Beckie Arcada, Channel Four News Anchor
"Brace yourselves, San Diego," Beckie Arcada trilled, her ruby lips grinning into the camera across the anchor desk. "We might be news at six but we have some seriously prime time features for you tonight."
"That's right, Beckie," Chad Tritt chimed in, grinning alongside his co-anchor. "I hear we've got Mr. Match himself?"
"Well, you know he's very secretive," Beckie said. "But we've got a voice interview—rookie reporter Erica Jo
hnson scored that one, and the interview is really exciting."
"Plus, we've got news about one of the most popular members of a local San Diego sports team. It sounds like wedding bells just might be ringing on the soccer field soon." Chad positively beamed at the camera.
"All that and more, coming up."
Erica Johnson stood in the shadows, furiously texting her brother again before her segment was slated to begin after national news.
Erica: Why are you avoiding me? You got home super late and were out before I was even up. Did the date go that well? Or that badly?
Erica: You're going to have to talk to me eventually.
Erica: You know I'll figure out whatever it is, even if you don't tell me.
- After five minutes -
Erica: Please just tell me you're okay. I'm getting freaked out Trace.
Trace: I'm fine. Talk later.
Erica shoved her phone back into her pocket and stepped through makeup ahead of the biggest news segment of her life. Fuerte had arranged for her to chat with Mr. Match himself on the phone, and while he hadn't been exactly helpful, at least he'd agreed to do the interview, and that was more than any other news channel could say. Even though it was infuriating to find out that her boyfriend knew exactly who Mr. Match was and wouldn't tell her, at least he was willing to use the knowledge to help her. And though Mr. Match said he was always interested in promoting his business, Erica thought Fuerte really had pulled some strings just to see her score.
"And now we welcome the newest member of the Channel Four News team, Erica Johnson." Beckie's chipper voice rang through the studio and the cameraman signaled that Erica's camera was live. She smiled, trying not to look maniacal and hoping desperately that none of the kale she'd had for lunch had hidden between her molars before deciding to move front and center just before her first big spot.
"Hello Beckie. Chad." Erica adopted her professional news-person tone.
Beckie, her best friend off-camera and the reason she had the job, smiled back. "Erica, I understand you've managed to pin down the elusive Mr. Match for a phone interview."
"That's right," Erica said.
"How'd you manage that? Supposedly there are only a few people in town who know the true identity of Mr. Match."
"I'll never give away my secrets," Erica said, smiling. "But the entrepreneur behind the most successful dating site in Southern California is definitely hard to get hold of. Still, I managed to ask a few questions that I think will be interesting to the lonely hearts out there in San Diego."
"Great! Let's roll the tape."
Erica nodded and listened as her voice flooded the studio, while a graphic with a darkened silhouette labeled 'Mr. Match' appeared on screens in viewers' homes.
"Mr. Match, thanks for taking the time to chat with me today," Erica said.
"Sure," the rich masculine voice answered. "Happy to do it."
"Well, I don’t know if that’s true. You sure aren’t easy to get a hold of. Why did you finally agree to speak with me?"
"I’m a businessman. Promoting the business is smart." Mr. Match chuckled.
"Okay then. So let's get right to it. What inspired you to create the site the Los Angeles Times has called 'matchmaking gold'?"
"Love, Erica. Aren't we all inspired by love?"
Erica laughed. "Sure, but how does one guy decide to devote himself to finding soul mates for all the lonely folks living in San Diego?"
"San Diego and Orange County now, Erica. We've grown."
"Right."
"Well, I guess I've just always believed love couldn't possibly be as complicated as everyone's made it out to be. Certain aspects of one person line up—or don't—with certain aspects of another. Variables, basically. And I've always been good at math. I guess it was just a little leap to figure out that there's basically a mathematical solution to the question of love."
"I'll be honest, it doesn't sound very romantic."
"Well, I guess you would know, right Erica?"
Erica laughed nervously. "You did find a match for me, that's true."
"And for hundreds of other couples in the southland. I'm successful because it works."
"Tell us about what you promise when people sign up for the service."
It was Mr. Match's turn to laugh. "I don’t make promises."
"That doesn't sound very customer friendly."
Mr. Match sighed. "Maybe it's not, but isn't love worth a little gamble? People pay me each month to help them find a match, and maybe that increases their odds of finding true love. How do you put a value on that?"
"Sure, I guess you're right." Erica paused. "So Mr. Match, I guess the question everyone wants answered is this: are you happily matched yourself?"
"No, Erica. I don't date."
"But you're the king of helping other people find dates."
"No, I help other people find their perfect algebraic match. If you want a date, you can just go to Tinder or to the club."
"I think you're dodging the question. Why aren't you matched up, Mr. Match?"
"I guess some questions will remain unanswered."
"All right, well, thanks for your time."
But Mr. Match was already gone.
"Wow," Beckie said as the cameras came back to her. "And how are you and your match doing?" She asked Erica.
Though she could feel the blush sweeping over her cheeks, Erica managed, "We're doing great, thanks for asking."
"A true testament to Mr. Match's abilities, right here on the Channel Four team," Chad said. "And now for our next story. It seems not everyone needs a helping hand in finding a match, and maybe love is in the air at the Johnson household. Rumor has it that Erica’s brother, South Bay Sharks keeper, Trace Johnson, is newly engaged."
Erica stood up from the features desk abruptly, knocking over her chair with a loud clatter. Beckie shot her a horrified look, but Erica didn't know if it was because of the noise or because the little tidbit Chad had just read was a surprise to her too. Erica moved off set, pulling her phone from her pocket again as Chad continued.
"Sources tell us that Trace and the lucky lady who has yet to be identified were ring shopping last night in Carlsbad, and our source says they looked absolutely smitten."
"Wow," Beckie said, "that is juicy news. Thanks, Chad. We'll be back, right after this."
Beckie sprang to her feet and met Erica at the edge of the set. "You didn’t know about this?"
"No, I didn't know. He said he was going out to dinner with the woman he took to brunch, but I haven’t seen him since then."
"I guess dinner went pretty well." Beckie raised her eyebrows.
"Shit," Erica said, hanging up again as her call went to Trace's voicemail. "If this was good, he wouldn't be avoiding me." She dialed him again, hanging up when voicemail picked up.
Erica: Your engagement just made the news. Care to chat?
Trace: See you at home.
Erica took her friend's hand, happy for once she didn't have the lead anchor position. "I have to go. I'll call you later."
Chapter 54
The Wombat Effect
Trace
I spent a lot of time thinking about things after I said goodbye to Magalie and her new ring. I liked her. I was sure of that. And I actually thought she liked me. But like many people in my life, she seemed convinced of my worth only as a stand-in or as something temporary—not worth keeping around. Maybe the childhood we’d had didn’t bother my sister, but I had always suspected I had a label on me somewhere: disposable.
But I liked Magalie. And more than that, there had been something moving between us, something more than the chemistry of the kiss or the physical attraction. There was something else there, and even though I’d said multiple times that this was all for the best, that I didn’t need any distraction, I was curious about what might actually be possible between us. Even though my head had tried to shut my heart down, it seemed like maybe there was a chance.
I wondere
d if maybe I could give her what she needed—a fake fiancé to fool her mother—and also find something we were both looking for. Maybe it was worth trying.
Evidently our ring shopping expedition had made the news—I’d have to remember to thank that shady ring salesman for tipping off the press. I hadn’t really thought about that aspect of things—explaining a quick engagement to my sister and my teammates.
I couldn’t lie to Erica. I didn't know how to explain any of this to her, because I couldn’t quite explain it to myself. But when she got home from work, I knew we’d have to talk. My teammates would be easier. We supported each other, generally took things at face value unless we had some reason not to, and mostly worried about the drama on the field more than off.
I sat on the patio outside, staring out at the runners and bikers on the boardwalk at Mission Beach as I waited for my sister to get home, dreading the conversation I knew we were about to have.
I heard her come through the front door and drop her stuff as she made her way directly for me. A moment later, Erica stood next to me, hands on hips in her little news-lady pant suit. "What. The. Actual. Fuck, Trace?"
"Slow your roll, sis, it's not real."
She dropped into the chair next to me, dragging it to face me so she could continue giving me the devil's glare. "Engaged?"
"Fake engaged. There's a substantial difference."
"Explain."
"In one, you fall in love over a period of time, decide to get married and maybe live happily ever after. In another, a girl you think might actually like you tells you she actually just needs you to pretend to be her fiancé so her mom will quit trying to marry her off."
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