He Made Me the Joke, So I Went Home to the Mafia

The slab of cream cake hit me in the face the moment I opened the private room door.

The room exploded.

Chloe was perched on the arm of a leather sofa, phone in hand, laughing like she had just won a trophy.

“Told you she’d show,” she said. “Pay up, Wilson.”

Cream slid into my lashes and down my chin. Wilson came over with his soft, careful smile and dabbed my cheek with a napkin.

“Damn, Viv. You dressed up.” He looked almost sorry for the dress. Not for me.

“We had a bet. I said you wouldn’t come. If I won, I was going to propose tomorrow. But you showed up, so I lost. Guess we’re pushing the wedding talk to next year.”

Every April Fools’ Day, Wilson Hale helped Chloe Mercer fake a proposal for me.

Last year, he dropped to one knee in the back room of a Manhattan club with candles on the tables and half his friends filming. I thought he was finally serious. Then the ring popped open and sprayed silver glitter glue across my hand. Chloe laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. Wilson only stopped smiling when he saw my eyes fill with tears.

Later, he held my stained fingers and promised, “Next year, Viv. I swear. No jokes. A real proposal.”

So when he texted me on the night before April Fools and told me to meet him at the jazz bar where we had our first date, I let myself believe him.

I had my hair done. I wore the black satin dress he loved, pearl earrings, and the heels he once said made me look like trouble. I even had the Instagram caption typed and saved, one ridiculous little announcement waiting for one ridiculous little dream.

“So you know what tomorrow is?” I asked.

“Our sixth anniversary. Come on, you think I’d forget?”

No, he had not forgotten. That was worse. He knew exactly what he was ruining.

I slipped off the plain band we had worn for six years and let it fall. The ring struck the marble with a clean little sound, sharp enough to cut through the laughter.

“Wilson,” I said, “we’re done.”

His smile faded into annoyance.

“Don’t make a thing out of this. It was cake, Viv. I’ll get the dress cleaned. Chloe has pulled way worse stunts, and honestly, she went easy on you tonight.”

Chloe lifted both hands, all wounded innocence. “It was a joke. If you didn’t like it, fine, we won’t do it again. Why go straight to breaking up?”

Someone at the back snorted. “Told you she couldn’t take a joke.”

That was how their circle worked. Chloe cried, everyone comforted her. Chloe pushed too far, everyone called it fun. Chloe humiliated me, and somehow I was the problem for not smiling.

The first time I met her, Wilson had thrown a dinner for me. Chloe suggested truth or dare. Everyone else got silly questions or easy dares. When it was my turn, she told me to fake bedroom noises at the table.

I said no.

She burst into tears and ran out. Every man in the room chased after her. Wilson did, too. The dinner had been for me, but I finished it alone while the candles burned down.

After that, he only brought me around when Chloe allowed it.

Now he looked at me with that same tired impatience.

“Vivian, apologize to Chloe.”

Once, I would have done it. I would have swallowed the shame, saved his pride, and told myself he loved me when we were alone.

Not tonight.

I picked up my clutch and coat. “Wilson Hale, we are over. For real this time.”

As I walked out, Chloe’s voice floated after me. “You’re really not going after her? Your girlfriend looks mad.”

Wilson gave a short laugh. “She’s throwing a tantrum. Where else is she going to go? Besides, she’s easier to coax than you.”

The words cut clean.

And the part of me that kept forgiving him finally went quiet.