His Promise of Frozen Pizza

My boyfriend, Miguel Rossi, called himself an old-school man.

For our tenth anniversary, I gave him a vintage Patek Philippe watch I had spent ages searching for. In return, he gave me a rusty, counterfeit Zippo lighter.

"That watch is all flash, no soul. Must've cost a fortune! But look at what I got you—this is practical. It's got history. It's got a story."

Miguel promised to make it up to me. He’d throw us an engagement party at his nightclub, he said, and even invite my parents and family—a gesture he knew meant the world to me.

We arrived at his club, buzzing with anticipation, only to find a table laden with cheap draft beer and frozen pizzas in a service corridor behind the VIP lounge.

"You know me. I came from the streets, I'm not about all that fancy stuff. This? This is keeping it real. Not many guys like me stay true to where they came from!"

The faces of my older family members hardened. My parents’ expressions were a mask of pure humiliation. I could only force a brittle smile, a silent plea for them not to storm out.

But the moment I stepped out of the club, I received a notification from my bank. The four hundred thousand dollars my family had transferred to his account for the party had been withdrawn in a single transaction.

At the same time, Miguel's childhood sweetheart, Gia Bellucci, was flaunting on her Instagram the Maserati he had just bought for her birthday.

"I told Miguel I wanted to celebrate my birthday, and not only did he buy me a Maserati, but he also booked the entire venue to throw me the most lavish party!

"When a man truly loves you, he gives you the world, he doesn’t teach you how cruel it is. A real old-school man knows how to spoil his queen!"

I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. As I looked back at Miguel, the man who constantly preached about staying true to his roots, the sheer exhaustion of maintaining this unequal relationship hit me like a physical blow.

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1

"Papa, Mamma, I know what you're thinking, but Miguel isn't clueless about tradition. He just... doesn't get hung up on the little things," I explained, my smile feeling stretched and thin. "He specifically chose his club for the engagement party because he wanted you to see his accomplishments. It shows how much he values you!"

But the moment I pushed open the door to the VIP lounge, the smile on my face froze. The grand mahogany table was laden with stacks of greasy pizza boxes and flanked by kegs of cheap draft beer.

Miguel Rossi stood at the head of the table, humming a cheerful tune as he poured beer into a crystal glass.

"Miguel."

I froze for a second, then, avoiding my parents' murderous glares, I pulled him aside.

"My family gave you four hundred thousand dollars for this party. Where is it?"

"I prepared it. Isn't it right there?"

He gestured toward the pizza boxes with an air of absolute confidence. "I had the kitchen staff grab them. There's plenty to go around, it's filling, and it's a hell of a lot smarter than blowing money on those Michelin-starred places you like."

My mind went blank. I could hear my own voice trembling.

"Miguel Rossi, this is our engagement party. I invited the entire Sterling family. And you're serving them… frozen pizza?"

"Come on, Aveline, you know me. I'm a simple man. I don't do all that pretentious stuff. Besides, who doesn't love pizza? This is keeping it real!"

Behind me, the murmurs from my relatives grew louder. I swallowed my anger and took a slow breath. "And the drinks I asked you to prepare?"

"Right here." Miguel held up a beer pitcher, sloshing it slightly. "Draft beer. Even had it chilled for you. See? I think of everything."

Thoughtful, indeed.

I had been with Miguel for ten years.

I had invited my entire family to this engagement party to prove two things: that I, Aveline Sterling, was not some forgotten spinster, and that the man I was marrying was not some low-life hoodlum unfit for polite company.

But everything Miguel did tonight felt like a deliberate humiliation, staged right in front of all my relatives.

"Oh my god." My cousin, Chloe Sterling, was the first to break, covering her mouth as she laughed out loud. "Aveline, this is the man you've been defending? He serves this at an engagement party. So generous!"

My aunt, Eleonora Sterling, chimed in, her voice dripping with mock admiration. "Pizza and beer for an engagement? My, he's certainly a frugal one. Aveline, you'd better lock a man that thrifty down fast!"

My parents looked ready to flip the table.

Miguel smiled humbly. "Thank you. That means a lot. Actually, I prepared one other thing."

He turned and knelt on one knee. "Aveline Sterling, will you marry me?"

I froze. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my hollow chest.

Had I misjudged him? Was all of this just a prelude to some grand surprise?

Then I saw what he was holding out to me. It was a paper cigar band, peeled off and shaped into a ring.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

"Miguel Rossi," I stared at it in disbelief, "you're proposing to me with this?"

He seemed completely unbothered. "It's practical and it's pure. Isn't that better than wasting money on gold and diamonds? Aveline, you know how I feel about that stuff. I don't need a woman corrupted by materialism. A pure love, born from the streets—that's the foundation of our relationship."