The ntion of food broke the tension, and a chorus of "!" went up. We migrated to the kitchen, the heart of our ho, with Ivy and Captain trailing behind us, their hopes high for any dropped morsels. As Dad started pulling the foil-covered dish from the fridge, and Leo began a dramatic monologue about the proper cheese-to-sauce ratio, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out, my heart doing a little flip-flop at the na on the screen: Fiancé. Yes, I changed his na from peacock to fiancé.
Fiancé:Everything okay? Did you get ho safe? I miss you already.
A smile blood on my face, genuine and warm.
:Ho safe. The welcoming committee was... enthusiastic. I miss you too.
Fiancé:Good. I can’t wait for our families to et. I took the liberty of making a reservation for Saturday night. Hope that’s okay. The private room at The Celestine.
I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen. The Celestine. I read the na three tis, sure I was mistaken. The Celestine wasn’t just a restaurant; it was an institution. It was the kind of place celebrities and billionaires went to dine in secret, a place with a legendary waiting list and prices that were whispered about in hushed, reverent tones. It was a world away from our cozy kitchen and leftover lasagna.
The lie—’Washington’ instead of ’Walton’—suddenly felt ten feet tall and growing.
"Who’s that, pumpkin?" Dad asked, sliding a plate of lasagna in front of that was big enough to feed a small army.
"Uh," I stamred, my throat suddenly dry. "It’s Adrien. He, um, he made a reservation for the family dinner."
"Oh, great!" Aria chirped, pulling up a stool beside . "Where are we going?"
This was it. The first crack in the dam. I took a deep breath, trying to say the na as casually as possible. "He booked a room for us at The Celestine."
Silence. Complete and utter silence, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Leo, who had been about to shovel a massive forkful of lasagna into his mouth, stopped mid-air, his eyes wide. Aria’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
My dad just set his fork down slowly. "The Celestine?" he repeated, his voice carefully neutral. "As in... the The Celestine?"
Leo’s phone was already out, his thumbs a blur. A mont later, his jaw dropped. "Holy mother of... Sis, a single appetizer there costs more than our monthly mortgage paynt! The water is imported from a mystical glacier guarded by actual elves! This isn’t a restaurant, it’s a financial transaction!" He looked from his phone to , his eyes filled with a new, dawning horror. "For the thirty sixth ti. Who is Adrien Washington? Is he secretly a prince? Is he in the mafia? People like us don’t just go to The Celestine!"
The panic was rising in my chest, hot and fast.
Aria ca to the rescue. "He’s not in the mafia, Leo. He works in managent systems, optimization, that kind of stuff. Rember?" Aria’s attempt at nonchalance was admirable, but her voice was a little too bright, her smile a little too fixed. It was the sa tone she used when she accidentally bought a five-thousand-dollar handbag, thinking it was on sale.
"Managent systems?!" Leo exploded, his fork, still laden with lasagna, pointing accusingly at Aria. "Aria, did you see the price of their breadsticks? Their water? You don’t get ’managent systems’ money unless you’re managing a country! And how do you even get a reservation there in two days? People wait months, years even!" He was practically hyperventilating, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you sure he’s not secretly running a black market for rare earth minerals?"
Aria rolled her eyes, a performative sigh escaping her lips. "Leo, rich people exist. So people are just... good at making money. Adrien is very good at what he does. And he obviously has connections. It’s not that complicated." She shot a warning glance, a silent plea for to back her up.
My face felt hot. My best friend was laying it on thick, but what else could she do? The truth was a wrecking ball I wasn’t ready to swing. "He just... he wants to make a good impression," I managed, my voice a whisper. "He wanted to do sothing special for our families."
Dad cleared his throat, pushing his lasagna plate slightly away. His eyes, though twinkling with amusent, also held a shrewd glint. He looked at , then at Aria, then back to . "Sweet chicks," he said, his voice calm, "Adrien’s a good kid. Always has been. But ’managent systems’ doesn’t usually buy you ’private room at The Celestine’ kind of money. Not unless he’s inventing the next internet or sothing." He paused, looking directly into my eyes. "Is there sothing you haven’t told us about Adrien, honey?"
My heart hamred. This was it. The mont of truth. My mouth opened, then closed. I glanced at Aria, who looked like a deer in headlights.
Before I could fumble out another half-truth, Aria chid in, a little too brightly. "Oh, Dad, you’re so dramatic! Maybe he just got a really big bonus. Or inherited so money. Haven’t you ever heard of trust funds? Lots of people have them!" She was trying to sound casual, but her voice was a pitch higher than usual. "Besides, what’s wrong with a nice dinner? We should be happy for her! He’s obviously head over heels! And frankly," she leaned in conspiratorially, "it’s about ti soone treated our girl like the queen she is. You know how rare good n are these days!"
"Isa, you haven’t gotten to drop your bag since you arrived. I’m sure you need rest. You are done eating right? Let’s go," she said, stringing the words together like a single breath.
I nodded numbly, my fork clattering against the half-eaten lasagna. Food, which minutes ago had been a symbol of comfort and ho, now seed like a lead weight in my stomach. "Yeah, I... I am pretty beat from the drive."
Aria’s arm linked through mine was a lifeline, and I let her steer out of the kitchen. Leo’s voice, high with indignation, followed us down the hallway. "But the breadsticks, Isa! They’re probably woven from gold thread and served on a diamond-encrusted platter by a guy nad Jean-Pierre who judges your very soul!"
"Shut up, Leo."
As we made our escape, Aria’s grip on my arm was firm, almost painful. We navigated the familiar hallway, past the overflowing coat rack and the dusty frad photos of our childhood, until we reached my bedroom as she practically shoved inside. She closed the door with a decisive click.
"That was close," she breathed, leaning back against the door as if to barricade it from the outside world. "A little too close. ’Trust funds’? I sounded like a character from a bad teen drama. Your dad was looking at like he could see every lie I’ve ever told."
"I know!!"
"First things first," she said, in that tone that brooked no argunt. "Have you told him?"
I blinked. "Told him? Which him—what?"
Aria’s eyes went wide, like she couldn’t believe the words had left my mouth. "Woman!" she hissed, stabbing a finger in my direction like she was about to ground . "Do not play dumb with ."
"Don’t you dare ’which him’ ," Aria shot back, pacing the small space between my bed and my desk. Her movents were sharp, agitated, like a caged tiger. "Adrien! Have you told your ridiculously charming, wealthy, and apparently-connected fiancé that you are pregnant?"
Heat crept into my cheeks. My hands instinctively rested over my stomach, a gesture I hadn’t even realized I was doing anymore. "No," I admitted softly. "I couldn’t. The mont was already... so much. He gave the world last night Aria. And I—" My throat closed up, emotions crowding it. "I decided I want to give this to him as a gift. For our wedding."
Her expression softened instantly. Gone was the scolding, replaced by a warmth that made my chest ache. She pulled into her arms without another word, hugging tight.
"Oh, Bella," she whispered into my hair. "That’s... actually kind of perfect."
I pressed my face against her shoulder, relief flooding at her acceptance. "You think so?"
"I know so." She pulled back just enough to look in the eyes, her grin returning, fierce and full of love. "And when that man finds out, he’s going to worship the ground you walk on even more than he already does. Which, frankly, I didn’t think was possible."
A laugh bubbled out of , shaky but real.
Aria gave my shoulders one last squeeze, then her practical side took over, eyes narrowing like she was about to draft a battle plan. "But before you get all fairytale with it, we’re doing this properly. You and . Hospital visit, full pregnancy panel, all the vitamins, the scans—everything for pregnant won. No excuses."
My chest swelled, gratitude and nerves tangling together. I nodded, smiling through the sting of tears. "Okay. Yes."
Just then, we heard a voice coming from the sitting room.
"Evening, Mr. Miller, I suppose Miss Smith is here."
Aria and I simultaneously stiffened. Our eyes t, wide with alarm. The fun police just walked in.
"Hi, John the Bad and Scary!" Leo’s voice rang out
Aria groaned. "Seems like my mother is back from her trip. I’ll call you okay?" she said as she left my room.
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