My Best Friend, My Fake Fiancé

“I’m getting married!”

The words exploded in the quiet room, sharp and sudden.

I blinked, my brain scrambling to process them. “What? You were seeing someone?”

“Obviously! You know I live for romance,” Chloe answered, her laugh bright and effervescent.

Her glow was undeniable. That was my first clue something was terribly wrong.

“Is it that guy, Caleb? The one from the three-month yoga intensive in Los Angeles?” I asked, a desperate hope flickering that it wasn’t him.

“Ugh, absolutely not! Caleb was the worst,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“Well… congratulations, I suppose. But who is it?” The word ‘unlucky’ sat on the tip of my tongue, begging to be said.

Chloe’s smile widened as she produced a pristine envelope. It was a tasteful mix of sage and ivory, with elegant silver script.

I took the wedding invitation, a cold dread already pooling in my stomach as I opened it. The names jumped out and slapped me.

“You are cordially invited to the wedding of Chloe Hart and Ethan Reed.”

My heart didn’t sink. It shattered, the pieces falling through a void in my chest.

“Ethan Reed,” I said slowly, the name tasting like ash. “My Ethan?”

Chloe plucked the card from my numb fingers, her eyes dancing. “My Ethan,” she corrected, her voice a chirp of pure delight. “Isn’t it insane? It was just… fate! He moved back to Willow Creek last Christmas, we reconnected, and bam! Instant fireworks!”

I just stared. She might as well have been speaking another language.

Ethan Reed wasn’t just a name. He was my college ex. The one who ghosted me. The one who ended things with a cold text message on my birthday, breaking my world into a million pieces.

The ex I had never fully recovered from.

The one who knew all my secrets, then vanished when I started to believe in us again.

“You’re marrying my ex?” My voice was a thin thread of sound.

Chloe rolled her eyes dramatically. “That ancient history? Please. Was that even a real relationship? It was a college fling, sis.”

My throat closed. Words became barbed wire.

She stood from the couch, moving to hug me, then stopped short. Her nose wrinkled in delicate distaste.

“Oh, I can’t. You’ve got ink on your hands. This sweater just came back from the dry cleaner.”

She was picture-perfect. A soft pink cable-knit sweater over a white silk camisole. Cream linen trousers, pressed to a knife’s edge. Ballet flats that looked brand new. Her blonde hair was swept into a flawless low bun. She was elegance personified.

I was a disaster in comparison. A wrinkled blouse. A charcoal pencil skirt that was too short. One broken stiletto dangling from my foot. Smudges of black ink on three fingers.

I gaped at her, speechless.

Chloe took a sip of her wine, studying me. “You okay? You look pale. Is it the vertigo? Maybe skip the champagne at the wedding. I’d die if you passed out during the vows. So embarrassing, Sav. Anyway, you’re my maid of honor. Maybe you’ll catch the bouquet. Ethan has some very handsome friends you could dazzle.”

I could only stare.

“I left work in a panic,” I finally said, my voice flat. “I broke my heel. I ran three red lights. I dodged drunk drivers and almost wrecked my car getting here. You said it was an emergency!”

She paused, her eyes going wide with faux innocence.

“Oh… sorry! I didn’t realize. I thought you were late because you got distracted by a store window again.” She giggled.

“No,” I said.

“Well, if you had, it might have helped. I’m very specific about the colors,” she prattled on.

I cut her off. “Just tell me.”

“It’s green. But not just any green. It’s… profound.”

“Emerald green?” I ventured.

“No! That’s so basic. Do I look like I shop off the rack? It’s deeper. Like if jealousy and royalty had a secret love affair. Think of a dark forest, glittering with silent judgment. Rich. Regal. A color that says ‘don’t touch me.’ Not teal. Not moss. Not jade. And definitely not that murky discount-store green you probably own. This shade announces, ‘I have arrived, and your opinion is irrelevant.’”

My mouth hung open.

“That’s emerald, Chloe.”

“It is not! That’s pedestrian! The fabric is silk. Luxe silk. Can you afford that, Sav? You’re my maid of honor. You need to look the part. Don’t bring your thrift-store finds to my wedding.”

Something inside me snapped.

Fine. If this is the game, little sister, let’s play.

“Can I bring a date?” I asked, lifting my chin.

She glanced up from her phone, skepticism etched on her face. “You haven’t had a serious boyfriend in years. Who would you bring?”

I squared my shoulders. “Actually, I have news too. I was going to keep it quiet, but now… why bother?”

“Did you get a promotion?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“I’m engaged,” I declared, a defiant smile spreading across my face.

Chloe choked on her wine. “You?”