ONE
The Best Boyfriend in the World
April
The cupcake was a masterpiece: a double-chocolate crowned with Madagascar vanilla buttercream and topped with a tiny, hand-piped heart that read #1 BF. It had cost twelve dollars at the boutique bakery down the street, and April Feuller had carried it three blocks like it was a holy relic.
Today was April first—her day. It was also her three-year anniversary with Chad.
She knew the jokes were coming. Every year, Chad fancied himself a comedic genius. Last year, he'd replaced her shampoo with green hair dye; she'd spent a week looking like a swamp monster.
But this year felt different. He'd been distant, "working late" at Blackwood & Co., and April was convinced he was building toward the ultimate prank: a surprise proposal.
She stepped off the elevator onto the executive floor, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble. She moved toward Chad's corner office, VP of Marketing largely thanks to having been Killian Blackwood's roommate at Princeton.
As she neared the heavy oak doors, she heard it: giggling, high-pitched and breathy. Not the sound of someone preparing a boardroom presentation.
April slowed, the cupcake box trembling slightly in her hands. Maybe it was a surprise party, she told herself Maybe the whole marketing team was inside, ready to jump out.
She reached for the handle, pushed it open, a hopeful smile forming—ready to be surprised.
She was surprised all right.
Chad wasn't alone. Brenda from HR was draped across his glass-top desk—the same desk where April had eaten lunch three days ago—skirt hiked up in what looked like an extremely hands-on onboarding procedure.
The giggling stopped.
All that remained was the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of Chad's hips, a tempo he swore was "best for rhythm."
April knew that rhythm. Intimately.
Chad looked up. His rhythm faltered, stuttered, but didn't stop entirely, like a stalled car coasting. He gestured vaguely between himself and Brenda.
"We're testing the ergonomic limits of executive furniture! For the wellness committee—"
"Chad."
"Okay, OKAY—" He finally stopped moving.
Brenda let out a small, annoyed sigh.
"It's performance art, April. A commentary on workplace—very Banksy—"
April stared at him.
"It's April first—" Chad's face went through a terrifyingly fast structural reorganization. The panic in his eyes hit a wall and flipped into absolute, unearned enlightenment.
He threw his hands up like a magician revealing a trick.
"IT'S A PRANK, BRO!"
His grin widened. Still making eye contact, pants around his ankles, like "April Fools!" was a clever pitch, and cheating could be rebranded as "innovative holiday engagement."
April didn't move.
She looked at the man she'd loved for three years. The man currently using a national holiday to justify being pants-down with the woman who handled his payroll.
"A prank," she repeated.
