Chapter3
1383 Words
Emma didn’t sleep well.
Maybe it was the embarrassing awareness that Jake Harper — her make-believe boyfriend — was ten feet away on a chaise lounge, or that her mother would be scrutinizing her every move by morning, but Megan spent much of the night knotted up in hotel sheets, overanalyzing.
At 7:00 AM, she finally lost hope and decided to make her way to the bathroom to prepare for the day.
She emerged dressed in a crisp white blouse and linen pants; Jake was already awake, shirtless, making coffee from the room’s tiny machine.
“I decided caffeine was going to be important today,” he said without looking up. “You snore, by the way.”
She rolled her eyes. “I do not.”
“Oh, you do.” He spun around, coffee in hand, grinning. “Sweet little exhale sounds like a puppy dreaming of chasing ducks.”
Emma crossed her arms. “You’re a remarkably cheerful person for someone that’s faking a whole relationship.”
“I told you, this is fun.” He handed her a mug. “Plus, I always wanted to know what dating a woman who schedules her sarcasm into hourly blocks is like.”
She took a sip, resisting the heat rising up her neck. “And I always wondered what it would be like to date a man who’s flirty with every bartender in Manhattan.”
Jake smirked. “Then you are watching me?”
She walked past him. “Don’t embarrass me today.”
“No promises,” he shouted after her. “But I’ll keep my pants on. For now.”
The morning was a frenzy of introductions and small talk.
Emma’s parents were already posted up in the garden outside the main venue, sipping mimosas with Rachel and her fiancé, Andrew. The sun beat down, the grass was aggressively manicured, and the air smelled of mildly expensive floral perfume and quiet judgment.
“There they are,” her mom said, squinting at Emma and Jake as they neared. “My beautiful daughter. And her — oh my goodness, attractive friend.”
Jake flipped the charm like a switch. “Glad to meet you, Mrs. Collins. Emma’s been so much to tell me about you.”
Her mother beamed. “Well, so nice to finally meet you, Jake. You’re much taller than I thought!”
He laughed as if they were already old friends. “She always makes me sound like a tall building.”
Emma stared at the exchange in disbelief. It was…flawless.
“And you must be Rachel,” he said, looking at her sister. “The bride-to-be. Congratulations.”
Rachel blinked in surprise but then cast Emma a look she hadn’t seen in years — genuine curiosity.
“Thanks. And who exactly are you?” Rachel asked, arms crossed.
Emma interjected: “Jake and I met at a charity fundraiser a few months back. He was charming. I was skeptical.”
Jake chuckled. “Within five minutes, she insulted my haircut. I knew she was the one.”
Their mother laughed.
Emma stared at Jake, perplexed by how he was this skillful at lying.
Following brunch, there was a rehearsal for the wedding party. Jake was attentive, polite and somehow had made even the maid of honor and the grumpy officiant feel at ease. He chuckled at the appropriate moments, made Emma gaze up at him as though she didn’t mind him being there, and even assisted an elderly uncle in finding a seat.
He was… annoying. In a weirdly seductive way.
“Your phony boyfriend is perfect,” Rachel whispered to her when they were alone in the ladies’ room. “Where did you find him?”
Emma washed her hands. “Friend of a friend. Just got lucky, I guess.”
Rachel arched a brow. “Does Momans know he’s not real?”
“No one knows. And that’s how it’s staying.”
Her sister looked thoughtful. “You sure? “You look like you really like him.”
Emma met her eyes
Jake’s laugh floated through the garden as if it was welcome there. Warm, casual. It made Emma’s stomach quiver in a way she didn’t like.
She did not think he would fit in. That wasn’t part of the deal.
He was meant to be charming enough to slip through the weekend unnoticed. Harmless. Forgettable.
But Jake was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.
He had held her hand when they were partnered during rehearsal. He muttered the occasional snarky remark under his breath when Rachel pronounces yet another decisively dramatic comment about her “bridal vision.” He assisted the small ring bearer when he fell and played it off as part of the act. People adored him.
Emma watched from the sidelines as her father and Jake discussed tools and renovation time lines as if they were old drinking buddies. At one point her father slapped Jake on the shoulder and said, “Good to see Emma finally not picking a loser.”
The compliment stung. Because it wasn’t real.
None of it was.
⸻
Emma faced Rachel in the inn's kitchen later.
“You’re in over your head,” Rachel said flatly, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
Rachel peered from the open doorway at Jake, squatting by the fireplace with a bottle of wine, charming yet another sort-of distant cousin.
“That dude isn’t merely a phony,” Rachel went on. “He’s an upgrade from your actual ex. And that’s really saying something, considering you dated Mr. Spreadsheet for two years.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know you,” Rachel said. “And I know that face you’re making. You’re panicking.”
Emma forced a laugh. “Because I brought an attractive person to a wedding?”
“No.” Rachel stepped closer. “Because you’re starting to like him.”
An awkward silence fell between them.
Emma broke it. This is your wedding weekend, is it not, Rachel? Perhaps focus on your own relationship.”
Rachel’s jaw tightened. But she backed off. “Fine. But don’t say I wasn’t warned.”
⸻
That night, in their room, the air between Emma and Jake changed.
They weren’t touching. They weren’t even facing one another. But the awareness hung there, a heavy, electric tension that echoed in the chasm between them.
“I believe your uncle offered me a job,” Jake said, taking off his dress shirt and flinging it over the chair. “And your mother asked me for Thanksgiving.”
Emma crossed her legs as she sat on the bed and flipped through tomorrow’s wedding schedule. “You’ve gotten dangerously good at this.”
Jake tilted his head. “You sound like that’s a bad thing.”
She met his eyes. “It might be.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I’m aware of the rules,” he said at last. “This is pretend. No lines crossed.”
Emma nodded slowly.
Jake headed for the couch, taking his pillow with him.
She stopped him with a soft, “Wait.”
He turned.
Emma looked uncertain. “It is not that you have to sleep there.”
Jake blinked. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “It’s a king bed. And you didn’t snore.”
He smiled. “Yet.”
They slipped beneath the covers, leaving space between them. But their arms brushed. Their legs tangled briefly. And neither of them ever got away.
In the dark Jake’s voice was low. “You hate weddings, don’t you?”
Emma stared at the ceiling. “I hate what they represent.”
“Which is?”
“Expectations. Judgment. The notion that if you’re not married by the age of 30, something’s wrong with you.”
Jake was silent for a moment. And then, softly: “You’re not bad.”
She turned to face him. His eyes shone in the moonlight.
“You don’t know me,” she said, whispering.
“I’m starting to,” he said.
And for the first time that weekend, Emma wasn't ready for this to be over.
- Writer
