Free My Fake Fiancé by Lisa Scott

 
     
     
    “ My Fake Fiancé”
    By Lisa Scott
     
     
    Sorting through the mail, my fingers closed
around the thick, glossy envelope that screamed wedding invitation.
I passed it to my roommate, Micki, who was sipping her coffee while
grumbling about men who tie up the bar, then leave lousy tips when
she refuses to hand over her phone number.
    “Shocking news,” I told her. “Another wedding
invitation.” She was scheduled to be a bridesmaid in eight weddings
over the summer and had been invited to another five. It was
costing her a fortune. Thus, the grumpy attitude as she detailed
the night from bartending hell. She’d been moonlighting to pay for
all the wedding costs. Affordable bridesmaids’ dresses are the
thing of fairy tales, apparently. But she’d created a wedding
advice blog detailing her adventures, so she was making the best of
it. “Did you get invited to this many weddings when you lived in
Boston?”
    She sighed. “Nope. But Springfield’s my
hometown, so I know lots of people here. Guess they were all
waiting for me to move back before they got married.” Micki held
out her hand and took the envelope from me. She looked at the front
of it and laughed, tossing it back to me. “Sorry, Sammie, this
one’s for you.”
    I jumped back and let it drop to the floor
with a thwack. Micki didn’t mind standing up in weddings because
she had no plans to get married. At least that’s what she told me
privately. It was another story on her blog.
    I, on the other hand, should’ve been married
by now, or at least had a close call, and hated going to
weddings—reminding me that at age twenty-nine, I’d never had the
pleasure. I didn’t even have anyone I could bring as a date. All
this, and I had twenty thousand dollars in a savings account my
mother had left me before she died, specifically set aside to throw
the wedding of my dreams. A wedding she’d never see. So yeah, I had
a few good reasons to hate weddings.
    Reluctantly, I picked up the envelope, and
slid out the card. A trail of fine glitter and dried rose petals
spilled out. I read the invitation and groaned. “No, no, no. Not
Carrie LaMont. Anyone but Carrie LaMont.” I was waiting for a dove
to fly out of the envelope next, the way she did things.
    Micki poured herself another cup of coffee
and doused it with creamer. “What’s wrong with Carrie LaMont?”
    I slumped onto the stool and propped my chin
in my hand. “She was my number one frenemy in high school before
the word was coined. Anything I could do, she could do better.”
    “Carrie La Mont. Sounds familiar.” She held
out her hand and I passed her the invitation. Reading over the
details, she nodded. “Didn’t recognize the name at first. I’m in
this wedding. She’s marrying my cousin.”
    “Your cousin the brain surgeon?” My voice
squeaked.
    “Pediatric brain surgeon,” she clarified.
“Yes. Despite the gaggle of models and lawyers and beauty pageant
queens following him, Carrie LaMont won the game.”
    I whimpered. “Why? Why her?”
    “You haven’t seen her in a while I take
it.”
    I shook my head.
    “She’s gorgeous, her father’s loaded, and she
apparently does things in bed that are illegal in some states.”
Micki shrugged. “My cousin’s a talker when he’s drunk.”
    “She’s also a natural blonde with a
supermodel figure and the prettiest teeth I’ve ever seen.” I
stomped my foot. “Why isn’t life fair?”
    Micki shrugged. “So don’t go.”
    “She’ll think my life is so miserable I’m
ashamed to show up.”
    Micki tucked her hair behind her ears,
showing off the new blue streak she’d added after moving back home.
Some people get tattoos to mark life milestones, Micki changes her
hair. “But isn’t it true? You were just telling me your dating life
is so slow that you only shave your legs once a week.”
    I cringed, thinking about my prickly legs. “I
can’t let her know that! Besides, there should be some perks to
being