They’re good together.
Real.
You can see it in the way he looks at her—like she hung the moon and personally arranged all the stars. The way she touches his arm when she’s excited.
This is what actual love looks like.
Unlike whatever performance Brody and I just gave.
He’s standing next to me now, playing his role perfectly. Arm around my waist. Smiling at the right moments. Laughing at Derek’s jokes about honeymoon plans.
Every inch the devoted boyfriend.
But I can feel the tension. The coiled energy. His hand on my waist is just a fraction too careful. His laugh doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He’s performing.
And I’m starting to hate that I can tell the difference.
One of Maya’s bridesmaids—Hayley, I think—corners us by the bar.
“You two are so cute together!” she coos, like we’re fuzzy zoo animals. “I follow you on Instagram.” This to Brody. “The way you post about Chloe is so sweet. That picture of you two at that Spanish restaurant? Very cute.”
Wait. What?
I glance at Brody. He looks uncomfortable for half a second before the Candy Kane smile returns, brighter than before.
“She makes it easy,” he says, pulling me closer.
Hayley practically melts. “You guys are relationship goals. Seriously.”
She floats away to talk to someone else, nearly bumping into a side table in her champagne-induced haze.
I turn to Brody, keeping my voice low enough that the couple standing three feet away can’t hear. “You posted about our date?”
“Rick handles most of my social media.” He’s not meeting my eyes, instead watching the happy couple as they tear open another gift they really don’t need. “He’s just making it look authentic.”
The words sting more than they should.
Authentic.
“Right. Okay.” The word is salt and lemon on my tongue.
Maya tears into another gift—a large box from Tyler and his girlfriend.
She gasps. “A karaoke machine!”
Oh no.
I turn. Maybe I can take it from her, tell her I’ll stash it with the other gifts before she can?—
She’s already pulling Derek to his feet. “We have to try it right now!”
Tyler moves to help set it up. Plugs it in near the fireplace, where I’d arranged the makeshift stage area. The little TV flickers to life.
Maya scrolls through songs. Lands on “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen.
Of course. Very on-brand.
