His Fake Proposal Led Me To My Real Husband Chapter 01
My engagement party was about to start when Natalie rushed into the lounge, her face pale. Not a single member of the Westbrook family had shown up.
A knot of worry tightened in my chest—had something happened to them?—when Mason’s friend, Tyler, let out a laugh.
“Rebecca, we made a bet a month ago. Mason would pretend to propose, and we’d see if you’d actually fall for it. We never thought you’d not only believe him, but actually book the venue.”
“Guess you were in a real hurry to become Mrs. Westbrook.”
Everyone laughed. Mason Westbrook reached over and ruffled my hair.
“We’re not even married, and you’re already this attached. If we didn’t give you some space to cool off, you might actually start thinking you’re already a Westbrook.”
I turned to Natalie Reed, who was standing off to the side.
“You knew about this?”
Color drained from Natalie’s face, and she immediately looked away.
“Becca, they were just messing around. They didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I shoved Mason’s hand away and sent Julian Cavendish a text.
You told me once that you wanted to be with me. You have half an hour. Come to Beacon House. Get engaged to me.
…
After the message was sent, I went back to the private lounge.
Mason followed me in.
“Rebecca, that’s enough. Don’t make this uglier than it needs to be.”
“Go tell the host to cancel the opening. Don’t keep the guests waiting.”
I shook his hand off. “Now you’re worried about being embarrassed?”
“Who was the one who staged a fake proposal and kept me in the dark for a month?”
“Who waited until right before the party to tell me?”
“Everyone knew but me. Was it fun? Watching me believe you?”
They all exchanged glances. It was the first time I had ever lost my temper with them.
“A month ago, I folded a thousand favor boxes by hand. I folded until my fingers were raw and blistered, while you were all joking in your group chat about how desperate I was to be a Westbrook.”
“Two weeks ago, you changed the guest list three times. I stayed up all night cross-referencing everything, while you were all at some bar, betting on how long it would take me to notice.”
“Last Thanksgiving, you said you were taking me home to meet your parents. I spent three months picking out the perfect gifts. Right before we were supposed to leave, you told me they’d suddenly flown to London.”
“You never even told them I was coming.”
“You must have thought it was hysterical, watching me try so hard.”
Mason frowned.
“People get a kick out of your reactions, so they give you a hard time.”
“It was just a joke. Everyone was worried you couldn’t handle it, so they all came today. Don’t be so ungrateful.”
I let out a single, sharp laugh.
“Were they worried about me, or did they want front-row seats to my humiliation? You know the answer better than I do.”
Mason’s face darkened.
After a few seconds of silence, Tyler muttered, “It’s not like Mason said he’d never marry you. He just wanted you to stop pushing so hard.”
I stared at Mason.
“So the fake proposal was your idea?”
Mason nodded, his casualness a slap in the face.
“It was.”
“You kept talking about marriage. I needed space.”
“Becoming a Westbrook takes more than a ring. My friends and family have to accept you, too.”
He said it so lightly, as if he were deciding on dinner.
Suddenly, I remembered last winter. I’d worked past midnight and posted on my Instagram Story about craving chicken soup from that place in the South End that closes early.
Half an hour later, Mason showed up at my apartment building in a pair of sweatpants.
The soup in the thermal container was still steaming.
The tip of his nose was red from the cold, but all he said was, “I was in the neighborhood, so I brought you some.”
I only found out later that the restaurant had been closed. He’d driven all over Boston to find another one of their locations that was still open.
Back then, Mason was willing to drive all over the city for me, just to say, “I was in the neighborhood.”
I gave a small, humorless laugh.
“Don’t worry. I won’t push you anymore.”
Mason frowned at that.
His friends crowded around.
“That’s more like it, Rebecca.”
“When Mason’s ready, he’ll marry you. What’s the rush?”
Hearing that, the tension in Mason’s shoulders eased.
“And another thing—you need to stop bringing up old grievances. People only joke with you because they see you as one of us.”
I lowered my eyes.
For years, Mason’s friends had made me the butt of their jokes. He always said it was because they saw me as one of their own.
Only today did I finally understand that Mason was the one who gave them permission.
In the mirror, I saw Natalie sitting on the sofa, her head bowed. Her phone lit up, the screen casting a pale glow on her face. She typed a few lines, my name clear at the top of the iMessage thread.
My clutch vibrated. Before I could reach for my phone, Natalie’s thumb hovered over the send button for a long second before she snatched it back, deleting the message and quickly turning her screen dark.
I pulled out my phone.
The notification bar read: *Natalie unsent a message.*
She avoided my gaze, setting her phone face-down on her lap.
I didn’t press her. I turned back to Mason.
“They treat me like this because you don’t care about me. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Mason’s expression turned ugly.
No one answered.
Natalie said softly, “Becca, I’m sorry. Don’t make any rash decisions.”
“Mason will throw you a bigger party later.”
I looked at her.
“So you helped them lie to me?”
She tightened her grip on her phone and lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked away.
“I heard your apology.”
“But I don’t accept it.”
Natalie’s face went white.
She didn’t say anything else, just walked to the corner of the lounge and picked up one of the empty gold favor boxes from beside the sofa—one I had folded myself.
She set the empty box on her lap and pressed both hands over the lid, sitting perfectly still for a long time.
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