Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(72)

“Enough,” said David, raising his chin. “The girls wanted a nice dinner, with no arguing for a change.”

“A noble dream,” chuckled Mal. “Seriously though, bands breaking up happens all the time. Takes a fair amount to put up with the same people day in, day out.”

“This your way of saying you’re out?” asked Jim, smirk in place.

“Damn, man,” said Ben with a straight face. “We’ll miss you and shit.”

“Wait, what was your name again?” asked David, scratching his head.

Mal gave them all the bird. “Ha-ha. You useless f*ckers. You’d be lost without me.”

David lobbed a bread roll at the drummer’s head.

“No,” shouted Ev. “No food fights. We’re behaving like adults for once. Stop it.”

“Way to be the fun police, child bride,” chided Mal, setting a profiterole back on his plate.

A waiter in a fancy suit stepped into the room, carrying a silver platter with a single white-frosted cupcake sitting in the middle. He stopped beside Lena and with great pomp and pageantry offered her the dessert.

“What is this?” she asked Jimmy, pointing at the cake like it was toxic. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, and I disagreed.”

“You don’t get to disagree.” A distinct little line appeared above her nose. “You asked, I said no. End of discussion.”

Clear blue eyes unimpressed, the man sat back in his seat, propping his ankle on his knee. “Sure I do. Put on the ring, Lena.”

Crap, he was right. I don’t know how I’d missed it. But there was an almighty chunk of bling sitting in pride of place on top of the cupcake. Holy hell, it would have made Liz Taylor weep with envy.

Lena narrowed her eyes on the man. “I said no. I still say no.”

“No worries, babe. You don’t want to get married, we won’t get married. But you’re still wearing the ring.”

“Why? Why is this so important to you?” she asked, mouth drawn in frustration. Or maybe she too was slightly astounded by the size of the rock. And I’d thought Anne’s and Ev’s rings were huge. This one bordered on accidental-eye-gouging ridiculousness.

“’Cause you’re mine, and I’m yours. And I want that clear to everyone.” Jimmy sat forward, staring her down. “I love you, Lena. Put on the f*cking ring.”

“Put on the f*cking ring,” she mumbled, doing an apt impersonation of the man. In a discreet show of emotion, the very pregnant brunette sniffed. “Honestly. You didn’t even say ‘please.’”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Fine,” she grouched, plucking the rock out of the cake and sucking off the icing. Then she slid the massive diamond onto her ring finger. “I’ll wear the stupid thing. But we are not getting married. I don’t care what you say. We’ve barely known each other half a year.”

“Whatever you want, Lena.”

She snorted. “Yeah right.”

There was a stunned sort of silence around the table as Jimmy sucked down some mineral water and Lena got on with eating the little cake. Like nothing had happened.

Finally, David Ferris cleared his throat. “Did you two actually just get engaged?”

Lena shrugged.

“Yeah. Pretty much,” said Jimmy.

Barely holding back a laugh, Ben raised his beer. “Congratulations, guys.”

I, David, Mal, and Anne likewise raised drinks in salute. With a gasp, Ev clasped her hands to her mouth, eyes glossy with emotion.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” said Lena. “It’s just a ring. The way I’m retaining fluid, it won’t even fit me by next week.”

Jimmy rolled up the cuffs on his fitted white shirt. “No worries. I got you a nice matching chain necklace for you to wear it on.”

“You do think of everything.”

“Anything for you, Lena.”

She gave him a dry look.

“What about you two?” asked Mal, tipping his freshly refilled glass of wine in Ben’s and my direction.

“You’re the only one left now,” said David, his amused gaze on Ben.

My boyfriend shifted in his seat, letting go of my hand. He licked his lips and fussed some more, clearly uncomfortable with all of the attention. Fair enough. We’d been dating for like two of the seventeen weeks I’d been pregnant. We’d known each other for only a few months before the miraculous conception. Now was definitely not the time to put on the pressure and rush into marriage.

“Don’t know if I’m really the marrying kind,” he said with a deep, not so humorous laugh.

Shit.

Every eye in the place apart from his turned to me, waiting on my reaction. Of all the things for him to say, the hundred and one ways to put off the question. God, laughing at it alone would have done the trick. I kept my gaze down, concentrating on my mostly empty plate. My stomach clenched, a weird, wiggling, vaguely nauseous sensation rising up inside. Meanwhile, you couldn’t have found a more profound silence in a church.

The ringing of Ben’s cell broke the quiet. He answered it with a manly grunt. Did I even want to marry someone who answered the phone with a grunt? I don’t know. And apparently I’d never need to decide. He wasn’t the marrying kind. All of a sudden the safety I’d found with him felt precarious indeed. The ledge that was our relationship had begun crumbling beneath my feet.