The sleek, black Maybach prowled into the quiet, middle-class Long Island neighborhood like a panther entering a petting zoo.
Caroline stared out the tinted window at the familiar manicured lawns. Her fingers gripped the leather armrest so tightly her knuckles were stark white. Her stomach churned with violent nausea.
Arlington reached over. He pried her stiff fingers off the armrest one by one, lacing his warm, large hand through hers. He held her hand in a grip that looked gentle but felt like iron.
The massive engine gave a low rumble as the car pulled into the Sanders family driveway.
The driver scrambled out and opened Arlington's door. Arlington stepped out, his long legs hitting the pavement. He casually buttoned his suit jacket, radiating an aura of absolute, untouchable wealth.
He turned, leaned into the car, and offered Caroline his hand.
Caroline sucked in a lungful of air, plastered a sickeningly sweet smile on her face, and placed her trembling hand in his.
The loud purr of the engine had already done its job.
Next door, Meryl Finch dropped her heavy hedge clippers. Her eyes bugged out, scanning the million-dollar car and the devastatingly handsome man standing in the driveway.
Across the street, Judith and Lois suddenly decided they needed to take a walk. They speed-walked over, their eyes burning with aggressive suburban curiosity.
Within seconds, the three neighborhood gossips had formed a tight semicircle around Caroline and Arlington.
"Caroline, dear!" Meryl chirped, her eyes glued to Arlington's chest. "Who is this stunning gentleman?"
Caroline's fake smile felt like it was cracking her face in half. She opened her mouth, her brain scrambling for the fake story she had just invented. "He's... um, we..."
Arlington smoothly slid his arm around Caroline's waist, pulling her flush against his side.
"I'm Arlington," he said, his voice a rich, velvety baritone that made the older women swoon. "Caroline's fiancé."
Meryl gasped loudly. Judith's eyes narrowed with instant, bitter jealousy.
Before they could ask another question, Arlington reached into the trunk of the car. He pulled out three exquisite, ribbon-tied boxes of imported French macarons from a bakery that required a six-month waitlist.
He handed a box to each woman with a dazzling, polite smile.
"A small token of my appreciation," Arlington said smoothly. "Caroline has told me how wonderfully you've all looked after her."
The women were instantly disarmed. They clutched the expensive boxes, their faces flushed, showering Caroline with compliments about how lucky she was before scurrying off to spread the explosive news to the rest of the block.
Caroline dug her elbow hard into Arlington's ribs. "Stop handing out bribes," she hissed under her breath.
Arlington just smirked, his hand tightening on her waist as he guided her up the front steps.
Caroline pressed the doorbell.
Three seconds later, the door swung open. Eleanor stood there, still wearing her flour-dusted apron.
Eleanor's eyes landed on the towering, incredibly handsome man standing next to her daughter. The dish towel slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.
Arthur Sanders walked out of the living room, holding his reading glasses. When he saw Arlington, Arthur's spine stiffened. His eyes narrowed into a sharp, protective glare.
"Mom, Dad," Caroline choked out, her throat tight. "This is Arlington. My... boyfriend."
Arlington stepped forward. He bypassed the handshake entirely and presented Arthur with a bottle of vintage Bordeaux and a pristine, sealed vinyl record.
Arthur looked down. It was the exact rare jazz pressing he had been hunting for at flea markets for a decade.
"Caroline happened to mention your profound love for classic jazz during one of our dates," Arlington said smoothly, his eyes flashing with a calculated warmth as he handed it over. "She told me you've been searching for this specific pressing for years. I had a few collectors track it down for you."
The hostility in Arthur's eyes instantly fractured.
Eleanor, meanwhile, was completely melted by the way Arlington looked at Caroline-like she was the only woman on earth.
"Come in, come in!" Eleanor ushered them into the house.
They sat on the floral sofas in the living room. The silence was thick and heavy.
Arthur put his reading glasses on. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at Arlington like a detective interrogating a murder suspect.
"So, Arlington," Arthur barked, his voice stern. "What exactly do you do for a living? And what are your intentions with my daughter?"
Caroline's heart hammered against her ribs. She dug her thumbnail into her index finger, praying Arlington wouldn't mention anything that sounded like he owned half of Manhattan. If he scared her father, this whole fragile lie would explode.
