I looked over my shoulder. “A little.” It was the first honest thing I’d said to her all day.
Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it from her beaded purse. “The limo is here. All set?”
I smiled and nodded, unable to make myself move. With one last look around my overstuffed closet, I steeled myself for the day ahead of me.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I felt like I was dying.
The restof the morning flew by in a blur. When I arrived at the cathedral-style church, the coordinator and photographer were already waiting. The air inside smelled like old wood, candle wax, and fresh flowers—a Pinterest board come to life. As soon as I saw the camera, my spine straightened and my chin tipped, like my body knew how to slide into bridal Clara whether I wanted to or not. I hit my best angles, pausing at the right moment to capture the slit in my dress as I stepped from the limo. If anything, the day felt like another day on the job. Flashing lights, gentle orders to lean my shoulders or tilt my chin.
Bridal modeling had never been the plan for me. Though, neither was marrying a man that I knew couldn’t love me. Somewhere along the way, pretending had become my default. Pretend bride. Pretend college major. Pretend fiancée. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t recognizerealif it ever showed up.
When I went away to school, I’d just assumed I would findsomethingthat lit me up, but that particular muse turned out to be a fickle bitch.
Four major changes later, I was struggling to even graduate.
When I needed some quick cash, I’d answered an ad for a bridal model with zero experience becauseHow hard can that be?
Turns out, really fucking hard, but I fell in love with it. I fell in love with pulling all the pieces together and watching a vision come to life. It was the first time my “too much” energy actually had somewhere to go.
Initially I stayed in my lane as the model only, but the disorganized photo shoots got old quickly. I found I had a knack for finding hair and makeup experts, looking up dress designers online, researching florals and photographers. Mood boards were my specialty, and they never felt like work.
I eventually got a generic degree in “general studies,” but if you asked me what that meant or what you could do with it, I couldn’t tell you. So far, it meant that I would meet other wandering souls who also had no idea what they were doing.
Which is how I met my fiancé, Greg.
Greg had gone to school knowing he’d take over his father’s tech company. His life path was set for him, but his father valued the experience of college. Greg’s experiences mostly entailed partying and skipping class.
But he’d always made me laugh.
When we met, we became fast friends. He was as wide-eyed and enthusiastic as I was. If I got the wild idea to move across town or foster a rescue kitten or take up tap dancing, Greg was there to cheer me on.
Somewhere along the way, he’d become the man I agreed to marry.
Not because there’d been some sweeping, cinematic moment where everything clicked. Mostly because he was safe and familiar and already sitting next to me when the idea was floated. It felt less like a proposal and more like ... forward momentum.
A creepy voice floated through the door of the bridal suite, where I was waiting for the ceremony to start. “Hello, Clarice.”
My eyes rolled as I pulled the door open. “You’re an idiot.”
Greg stood with his silly grin, and I yanked him inside. “Your mom is going to freak out if she sees you and me talking before the ceremony. What’s wrong with you?”
He scoffed and leaned against the counter, crossing one long leg over the other. A hand gestured between the two of us. “Please. She believed this schtick a long time ago.”
A dry laugh escaped me. Shortly after meeting, Greg and I were hanging out, and I told him I had a crush on a guy in my math class. Turned out, Gregalsohad a crush on him.
The trouble was, Greg’s parents were assholes, and his being openly gay wasn’t an option if he wanted to take over the family business. He’d been hiding his true self nearly his entire life. I’d grown to feel oddly protective of him over the years. If I could stand between him and their disappointment—even for a little while—it felt like maybe I was good for something.
I suppose that was a major reason why I’d agreed to marry him in the first place. We had a great time together, liked the same food, and laughed all the time. We were great friends, even if he tended to be a little bit shallow and self-centered.
It also helped that Greg knew I dreamed of opening my own business. Bridal modeling barely paid the bills, but it was the planning that lit me up. A designer could come to me and say she needed four dresses to be captured, ten photos, and fifteen seconds of video per dress for their website and social media. I’d put together a quote that included a photographer, videographer, hair and makeup, and a florist. I could run the show and make sure the team was paid well and on time. All I needed to get my business off the ground was time and money to make it happen.
Greg’s plan was simple—we’d pretend to be engaged and get his parents off his back. Then, when he finally took over the family business, he’d be my first investor.
He asked, and I said,Why the hell not?
The worst part was lying to my family, but I’d made a promise to my best friend. A huge part of me knew that when it came to the Darling family, any gossip would spread through our small town like wildfire. I was desperate to get my dreams off the ground, so I convinced myself that a little white lie would be worth it in the end.
Besides, what was a little lavender marriage between friends?
