I gasped as I looked around. The room was filled with pink balloons, and a banner hung above the couch with a simple message printed on it: “Happy Anniversary. Be my girlfriend, Celia.”
“Happy four-month anniversary! So, what do you say?” Anton asked behind me.
The happiness I’d felt on the ride here poured out of me, mingling with tears welling in my eyes. The door closed behind me, and I turned back to Anton. “You planned this?”
He nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly, as though embarrassed.
I wrapped my arms around him, standing on my toes to press my lips to his. He returned my kiss, then pulled back, still keeping his arms around me.
“So, is that a yes?”
I beamed. “I had no idea you would do this. In my mind, we were already official. I didn’t peg you for an old-school guy.”
“This is how I make it official. If that makes me old-school, I’ll take it.”
Maddison started cooing from the corner of the living room. “Shall I give you guys some privacy?” she teased.
We pulled apart, chuckling.
Maddison was the best cousin, cheerleader, and bestie anyone should have in their life.
Then I noticed a chocolate cake on the kitchen counter.
“You got cake, too? You’re so sweet.”
He was much more romantic than he had ever let on before. Maybe I was the only one who brought it out of him. The thought warmed my insides.
I walked over to the counter to take a closer look at the cake. Swirls of dark, rich chocolate surrounded a simple red heart with our names piped in white icing, like they had been carved into a tree trunk.
“Because you are my heart,” Anton said.
Tears welled up again, and I swallowed them. “What if I’d said no?” I asked, shifting the focus away from my emotional state. “Would you take the cake back?”
He took my light-hearted teasing in stride. “I never doubted you would say yes.”
He was right. He knew me so well.
On Saturday morning, I padded out of my room in nothing but my undies and an old, oversized T-shirt. Maddison was in the kitchen, her back turned to me. She startled when I came in. I poured myself a cup of coffee, as she stared wide-eyed at me with a newspaper clutched in her hand.
I laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was such a travesty to look at in the morning.”
She cleared her throat, looking nervous. “It’s not you, sweetie.”
I was instantly on alert. She only used that nickname when something was wrong. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Cel, but….” She held up the paper. “Brace yourself.”
I set my cup of coffee on the counter and took the paper with shaking hands. My eyes search the headline. One of them read, “Famed NY Lawyer’s Baby Scandal.”
I felt all the warmth and color leave my face, my knees going weak.
“What is this?” I asked. But there it was in black and white on the front page ofTheNew York Quotidian.
I read aloud, “In an interview, Reeva Smith told reporters that she and Anton Waltons had been in an exclusive relationship for six months. Until recently, she and the well-known son of Anton Waltons Sr., of the tech giant company, had been planning to take their relationship to the next level. We quote, ‘When he found out I was pregnant, he disappeared. He found new love in the pretty junior lawyer he hired a few months ago. I suffered a miscarriage as a result of stress and depression from Anton walking out on me.’”
“What?!” I yelled.
My hands shook as my eyes fell on a small photograph of Anton and me locked in an embrace outside the fancy restaurant after the celebratory dinner with our colleagues. I kept reading.
