Chapter 2: Rehearsal Dinner Performance
1050 Words
The hotel restaurant tried to be romantic in a corporate way: low lighting, candles that were probably battery-powered, and a harpist who looked deeply tired.
I felt deeply tired too, but in a different currency—adrenaline mixed with dread, the kind that made my smile feel like a sticker on my face.
Noah sat beside me like he belonged there.
That should have been the first clue.
“So,” Uncle Rob said from across the table, leaning in with the confidence of a man who thought questions were favors, “Noah. What do you do?”
“Software,” Noah said. “Infrastructure. Basically I keep things from falling over when everyone clicks at once.”
Someone laughed. Noah didn’t talk down to the table. He didn’t perform intelligence. He just answered, then asked Uncle Rob a question about his golf swing, and suddenly my uncle was explaining a slice like Noah had asked for state secrets.
Mina kicked me under the table—lightly, bridesmaid solidarity. He’s good, her expression said.
I kicked her back. Stop.
Noah’s hand found mine under the tablecloth.
Not grabby. Not dramatic. Just… there. His thumb brushed the side of my finger once, a tiny anchor.
My heart did something dramatic anyway.
When salads arrived, Noah shifted my chair without making a production of it—just enough that I didn’t have to squeeze past Aunt Helen’s purse strap. When the server asked about allergies, he didn’t answer for me. He waited until I spoke, then nodded like my preferences were law.
Small things.
Dangerous things.
Because they didn’t look like a performance. They looked like habit.
“You two are so cute,” one of Mina’s friends said, leaning over from three seats down. “How did you even end up together? You seem so different.”
Noah glanced at me, amusement flickering. “She’s brave,” he said. “I’m careful. It balances.”
I almost choked on water.
Brave was not the word I’d use for someone who’d invented a boyfriend in a lobby.
But the way he said it—like he meant it—made my chest ache.
Across the table, a cousin I only saw at holidays leaned in with champagne breath and good intentions. “So when’s the proposal?”
I nearly inhaled bread.
Noah’s hand brushed my knee under the tablecloth—brief, grounding. “We’re happy,” he said, smiling at the table like warmth was easy. “We’re not racing anyone’s timeline.”
A collective aww rippled through the seats like he’d delivered poetry.
He hadn’t. He’d just refused to turn me into a deadline.
Aunt Helen returned to the topic I’d been hoping she’d forget. “And you’re serious?” she asked me, sweet as syrup. “Because you know, love is wonderful, but stability—”
Noah’s voice stayed mild. “Aria’s stability is hers,” he said. “I’m just trying to be someone worth showing up for.”
The table went a little quiet in a good way.
Aunt Helen blinked, then smiled—actually smiled, not the measuring smile. “Well,” she said. “That’s a nice answer.”
I exhaled.
Noah didn’t look at me like he wanted praise. He wasn’t fishing for a medal. He’d just drawn a boundary around my dignity without making a speech about it.
That felt like a kind of love, even if I wasn’t allowed to call it that.
Later—after speeches, after Mina cried at her sister’s toast, after someone’s phone blasted a ringtone during the blessing—Noah and I escaped toward the restrooms and a quieter hallway near the kitchen.
The noise faded to a muffled roar.
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “Okay,” I whispered. “We survived.”
“We did.” Noah leaned against the wall beside me, not crowding. “You okay?”
“I feel like I ran a marathon in heels I’m not even wearing.”
He chuckled. “Take the win.”
I dropped my hands. “You were terrifyingly good.”
Noah’s brows lifted. “Terrifying?”
“Convincing,” I corrected quickly. “I mean—convincing.”
His smile softened. “Good. That was the job.”
The word job landed wrong. Like cold water.
I looked away. “Right. Job.”
Silence stretched—not awkward, exactly. Heavy.
Noah shifted. “Aria.”
“Mm?”
“If you need me to dial it back—”
“No.” The denial came too fast. I softened it. “No. They needed… that. You were perfect.”
He studied me for a beat. “You’re a terrible liar when you’re complimenting me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then what?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The hallway smelled like garlic and lemon and something sweet—dessert trays being wheeled past.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted. “The pretending.”
Noah nodded once. “We can stop.”
Panic flared. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
I hated how gently he asked. Like I was allowed to be confused.
“I meant…” I swallowed. “I meant you’re good at it. And I’m not sure what that means.”
Noah’s gaze held mine. For a second, the hallway narrowed to just him—his eyes, the faint shadow along his jaw, the space between us that wasn’t touching but could have been.
Then footsteps clicked toward us—heels, fast—and Mina rounded the corner with a bridesmaid in tow.
“THERE you are!” Mina sing-songed. “Photos! Come on! Couple photo for the slideshow!”
The moment snapped shut.
Noah offered his arm like a gentleman in a movie. I took it, smiling automatically.
As we walked back toward the noise, Mina’s friend leaned close to me and whispered, loud enough to be intentional, “He looks at you like that’s not fake.”
I laughed—bright, brittle. “It’s been a long day.”
She grinned like I’d confirmed something.
I couldn’t unhear it.
And worse: I couldn’t stop looking at Noah and wondering if she was right.
- Writer
