Sunlight filtered through the trees outside Cafe Allegro’s window as I took a sip of coffee and crossed my legs, examining the menu for the tenth time. While I liked to arrive early to avoid feeling rushed, rushed was Lola’s default setting. Factoring in her usual fifteen-minute delay, I had roughly five more minutes to wait before she’d arrive for our standing ten AM Saturday brunch date. Or ten-fifteen, if you were going by her time zone.
I scanned the array of omelets, steel-cut oatmeal, and green juices, trying to focus on the food, but the menu items kept blurring together. My chest tightened, mouth turning sticky. I had to tell Lola about Bennett. She was my dry run—my practice for my family, other friends, and frenemies. If I could convince her, I could easily convince the rest.
Lola strolled up and pulled out the chair across from me, her gold-streaked ringlets bouncing as she flopped into the seat. “Sorry. I sat down to open my mail for a minute, and when I looked up, it was ten. My bad.” She slid her mustard yellow purse off her shoulder, hanging it on the arm of the chair.
“No worries.” I glanced up from the menu, giving what I hoped was a natural-looking smile. At the moment, her tardiness was the least of my problems. “I was debating between the banana French toast and the blueberry pancakes. Do you want to get both and share?”
Weekends were my one and only time to eat processed carbs. At least, until after Quinn’s wedding and I didn’t have to worry about fitting into my bridesmaid dress, which had mysteriously been ordered at least one size too small. I tended to think Millie, who’d been tasked with handling the dresses, was somehow responsible. She was still bitter that I was named Maid of Honor instead of her.
And lucky me, I had the pleasure of heading to a bridesmaid dress fitting with Millie and my sister after this.
“Sure.” Lola reached over, pouring a generous splash of cream into her coffee, followed by two packets of sugar. The spoon clinked against the sides as she stirred it in and took a sip, making a face. Unsatisfied, she added more cream and sugar, repeating the process until the contents of her cup had nearly turned white. I’d tasted Lola’s coffee before and it was so sweet it made my toes curl.
We ordered and fell into small talk about our jobs for a while. She’d acquired some new pieces by an up-and-coming artist for the gallery, then ended up going out on a date with said artist in Paris via his private jet. Only Lola.
I tried to keep the topics of conversation on her so I didn’t have to say as much, even though I knew that was only prolonging my agony.
Halfway through our meal, I gathered up the courage to break the news. I reasoned it would be like jumping out of an airplane—not that I ever had. Just hold your breath and leap. No turning back.
“I have to tell you something.” I set down my fork, still loaded with a massive bite of blueberry pancake. I’d boomeranged from losing my appetite due to stress, into stress-eating all the carbs in sight.
Lola looked at me over the rim of her Bloody Mary, her expression a cross between concern and confusion. “What is it? Is everything okay?”
Okay, so maybe my approach was a little abrupt.
I shook my head. “No, no. Everything is fine. It’s, er, great. It’s about who I’m dating.”
“You mean you’re finally ready to reveal your mysterious new beau?” She shimmied in her seat, raising the roof with her hands. “Yes! I’ve been dying for this moment. Who is he?”
“Well, he’s—” I paused, suddenly feeling like I’d jumped out of said plane without a parachute. “It’s going to come as a bit of a surprise.”
“Ooh, is he famous?” Lola seized a forkful of waffle laden with syrup and butter. “Or is he in politics? A silver fox, maybe. Or…” Her amber-gold eyes flicked back up to mine, brow furrowed. She winced, lowering her voice. “He isn’t married, is he?”
Goddamn Millie and that stupid rumor. It had grown legs and run all over town. Now everyone believed it, including my own best friend. Guess Bennett wasn’t the only one who needed reputation rehab.
“Nothing like that.” I swallowed, pasting on my best impression of a lovestruck smile; it was more of a best guess, as it wasn’t an emotion that I had firsthand experience with. “It’s Bennett.”
Lola’s jaw dropped and she froze, the fork full of waffle halfway to her lips. A thin trail of golden syrup dripped down onto her plate. “Bennett…who?”
“Bradford.” I shoved the bite of pancake in my mouth.
“The same Bennett Bradford we went to prep school with?” She glanced around the cafe as if checking for hidden cameras, turning back to face me. “But you hate Bennett.”
“Hate is a strong word.” Though entirely accurate, in this case. I looked down at my plate, nudging my turkey sausage with my fork. “I’ve had strong opinions of him in the past. But you know what they say, where there are sparks, there’s a flame.”
“Isn’t it, where there’s smoke, there’s fire?”
“Same idea,” I said, even though it clearly wasn’t. Unfortunately, I wasn’t nearly as good as Bennett at dodging and weaving verbally.
I should have written myself a script and rehearsed it. Or drawn up a flowchart, perhaps, to account for the various possible outcomes for this conversation. Yes, definitely a flowchart.
Maybe I could download an app for that in the car later, before I faced the interrogation squad at the bridal boutique.
Lola blinked slowly. “I’m confused.”
Chewing her bite of waffle, she studied my face, waiting for me to continue. To explain the inexplicable. I threw back a gulp of mimosa and drew in a breath, scrambling inwardly for words. She looked at me like she was trying to determine whether I needed a psych hold. I was questioning the same thing myself. The alone time did sound kind of nice.
Suddenly, the weight of the lie came crashing down around my shoulders. I couldn’t do it. Not with Lola. She was the one person I didn’t have to wear my mask around, the one person in my life who accepted me as I was.
“It’s more of an arrangement,” I admitted.
“Even more confused.”
I sighed. “Millie was needling me about not having a date to the wedding. Then Quinn jumped in, and they started threatening to set me up with one of Adam’s banker bros. Again. I got annoyed and said I had a date to get everyone off my back.”
Guilt washed over me. I just broke one of the rules in the contract. It hadn’t even been a whole day since we’d signed it. If I couldn’t follow the rules, what hope was there for Bennett?
“But how does Bennett factor into this?” Lola prodded.
“Well, that part just sort of happened.” It wasn’t untrue. First came the impromptu lie, then before I knew it, a fake relationship landed right in my lap. Like dominoes in a series of terrible decisions, which left me worried about which poor choice I might make next.
I began to explain from the beginning, recapping our meeting at Starbucks, followed by his sneaky flower stunt and our negotiations at my place. Lola leaned forward and listened intently, interjecting with the odd comment or question along the way. I concluded my story and stared at her from across the table sheepishly, my heart racing.
“This is kind of awesome,” she said.
“It is?”
“It sounds like something I would do.”
Oh, God. It did. I loved Lola, but she wasn’t exactly a bastion of good judgement.
Lola set down her fork, dabbing her coral-painted lips with the ivory cloth napkin. “To be clear, there are no ‘benefits’ associated with this arrangement?”
“Just the opposite. Like I said, it’s strictly forbidden in our agreement.”
“I mean…” she shrugged. “You could have a little fun.”
“Not a chance.”
Lola raised her eyebrows, watching me over the rim of her glass. “Are you sure? Anya Switzer slept with Bennett a while ago and she said it was, and I quote, ‘fucking mind blowing.’” She took a sip and set her glass back down. “Anya said she still thinks about him when she—”
“Okay, okay.” I held up a hand, squeezing my eyes shut. “That’s quite enough of that.”
I couldn’t explain why, but the mental image her story created was strangely unsettling. It was unreasonable, considering Bennett wasn’t even mine. Not for now, and definitely not to keep.
“Anyway, that wasn’t my point. I just want to make sure he’s good to you, whatever the ‘arrangement’ is. I don’t want you to end up with a selfish fucker like Adam.” Lola giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Oh my God, selfish fucker. Get it? It works both ways.”
After a few too many martinis last month, Quinn had confessed that Adam was only interested in his own pleasure in the bedroom. That summed up my disappointing college experiences with Adam as well. Apparently, some things hadn’t changed. I still had no idea why my beautiful, sweet sister was marrying the guy.
Despite myself, I snorted; then I made a mental note to veto Lola’s third Bloody Mary. Otherwise, she was going to end up passed out by noon. She was a lightweight.
Lola hummed thoughtfully to herself. “Though, I always did think Bennett had a thing for you.”
A laugh escaped the back of my throat because that was ridiculous, even crazier than Bennett being my boyfriend. “Yeah, right.”
“Have you told your parents yet? Or Quinn?
“Not yet. You were going to be my dry run, but I guess that crashed and burned.” The server came by with our bill and I snatched it off the table before Lola could grab it, slipping my credit card inside the folio.
She grimaced. “Yeah, your delivery could use some work.”
“I’m aware.”
“Fortunately, you have me. Let’s run through your story a few times. Rehearse a little, get you more comfortable. Then I’ll send out texts to a few key people telling them about the hottest new couple in town.”
I nodded and my shoulders relaxed as the tension I’d been holding all morning started to dissolve. Having someone in my corner was a massive relief. And Lola was right, I could do this. I just needed some practice. Or a lot of practice, likely.
“You’ll make a smoking hot couple,” she added. “I’m sure you guys will be able to sell this.”
“If we don’t kill each other first.”
She grinned. “I’d tell you to tread carefully, but if anyone was going to serve Bennett his balls on a silver platter, it would be you.”
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, I was standing in Belle Bridal boutique, glass of champagne in hand, wishing I was anywhere but here.
The seamstress, Ingrid, tsked and adjusted the straps of my pale pink dress to account for my utter and complete lack of boobs. She’d been fussing over me for twenty-five minutes and couldn’t have seemed more disappointed in me for being flat-chested if she tried, like it was a choice I’d made to make her job more difficult.
Unfortunately, the style flattered the other bridesmaids’ figures and Quinn was dead-set on all the dresses being identical, so Ingrid and I were both out of luck.
Millie came to stand in front of me, tilting her head. A flute of champagne rested in her long, slender fingers. Immediately, I knew Lola’s promise to help spread the word has succeeded.
“You and Bennett, Thay?” Her eyes scanned my face methodically, watching for my reaction. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
Translation: She wasn’t.
A familiar uneasiness settled into the pit of my stomach. “Thank you.”
“He must be the one who sent you that stunning arrangement at the store. Lucky girl.”
“Yeah, he’s really great.” I gave her a bland smile, letting Ingrid rearrange me a quarter turn. The champagne had taken enough of the edge off to make this encounter tolerable.
“He’s a catch,” she said. “I just hope it won’t be too awkward with Adam at family dinners.”
I huffed a dry laugh. “Ancient history, Millie. We’ve all moved on. Or else we wouldn’t be here, right?”
“Oh, I meant because of their business dealings.” She smiled sweetly, but it was sour beneath the surface and completely disingenuous. “You know, because things between them turned hostile when they split.”
Bennett hadn’t told me that. I knew they parted ways when Adam struck out on his own, but not that it had been on bad terms. Quinn hadn’t mentioned that, either. Was Bennett using me to get back at Adam?
“Mmm,” I said. “It’ll be fine. We’re all adults.”
The seamstress placed her last pin into the hem of the dress, guiding me off the platform while Millie continued her interrogation. “How long have you been together, exactly?”
Remember the script, remember the script.
“We’ve been serious for about a month.”
“Really.” Her thin eyebrows jumped. “How serious are we talking?”
“Well—” I began. Just then, Quinn swanned out of the dressing room, ensconced in satin and lace. The dress was beautiful, if a bit much, which meant it was perfect for her. We all ooh-ed and aah-ed over her for a few moments until her ego was sufficiently fed. Then she swung over to me and touched me on the arm gently.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.” I tipped back the last of my champagne, setting it down on the nearby marble counter.
Quinn led me over to the mirrors, away from everyone else. I gulped and dutifully prepared my lines. Recently dating, newly serious, I was head over heels…
“I have some great news,” she said, adjusting the sweetheart neckline of her dress. “Style and Society had a last-minute cancellation, and they want to feature Lace & Grace in their next issue.”
Thank God. It wasn’t about Bennett. Style and Society was the biggest local magazine around, featuring luxury homes, local fashion, and the biggest trends. A feature would be great publicity for the store.
“That’s amazing. They have a huge readership, don’t they?”
She nodded, beaming. “Especially within our target demographic. They want to include us in the feature too.” Her pale blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Both of us?”
“Of course.” Quinn looked at me funny. “That’s like, the entire point of the feature. It’s a family-run business. You know, the whole twin thing. It’s our hook.”
Dread took root in my belly, blossoming up into my chest. “Define feature.”
“A photoshoot and interview, that kind of thing.”
In other words, my worst nightmare.
“I don’t know, Quinn.” I hated being the center of attention. This was hard for Quinn to empathize with, however, because she thrived on it; she would have thrown herself a daily parade if it were possible. I often thought she’d missed her calling as a social media influencer.
She waved dismissively, nude nails glinting. “It’s just a photo shoot.”
“Which isn’t in my job description.”
I was nervous enough about being the Maid of Honor in the wedding, having all those people watching me walk down the aisle. Or worse yet, tripping and falling flat on my face. I couldn’t think of anything more awkward than posing for a photographer like Quinn was describing. Just the idea made me want to hide.
“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “Part of owning a business means you have to promote it.”
“And I do. On social media.” Behind the scenes and behind the camera, not in front of it.
“But this is a huge opportunity for us.” She blinked in disbelief. “We can’t say no.”
“We’re not,” I said. “I am. But I’ll meet you in the middle and do the interview, just not the shoot.”
“That’s even worse. Then everyone will think you’re a recluse.”
Or maybe just not thirsty for attention, but I didn’t want to start a fight in the middle of a bridal boutique, so I shrugged.
“Why are you always like this?” Quinn glared at me. “You’re being so selfish.”
The level of irony in her accusation was staggering. Our lives had revolved around her for as long as I could remember. She was the one who needed to be coddled, which meant I had to have everything under control. Or at least, had to appear like I did.
“I’m selfish? You’re trying to force me to do something I don’t want to do.” After dealing with Bennett, I had no patience left for being coerced into doing anything.
She stamped her foot, and in her poofy bridal gown, the effect was not unlike a tantruming child playing princess. “Good lord! I’m not asking you to pose nude. I’m asking you to be in some pictures to promote the store. Our store.”
“This is really more your thing, Quinn.” That was the deal. I shouldered more of the work on the back end, but Quinn was the public face. The people person. The meet-and-greet sister. That way, we both played to our strengths.
Quinn deflated, evidently realizing that she wasn’t going to be able to pressure me into agreeing. She switched gears and turned on her charm, flashing me a hopeful smile that worked ninety-nine percent of the time with other people.
“Can you at least think it over? Please?”
Normally, I’d have said no. But in light of the Bennett situation, maybe I should go along with it. My brain could only grapple with so much conflict at one time.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”
Millie rushed over. “The seamstress needs you again, Quinnie.”
My sister gave me a meaningful look. “They need to know by Monday. Let me know at dinner tomorrow night, okay?”
“Will do.”
