The staff glide in like they've rehearsed it—trays of glasses, fresh flutes of something bubbly, plates of cheese and bread and small, perfect slices of cake that look too pretty to touch. Music hums softly in the background. The welcoming has officially shifted into linger and eat, and everyone seems happy to comply.

I am eating like it's my job.

Cheese. Bread. Cake. Another mimosa. Then another. I perch on one of the high bar stools, elbows on the counter, chewing thoughtfully like I'm evaluating a five-course meal instead of emotionally imploding.

Maya, meanwhile, is already gone.

She's leaned halfway across the bar toward a very patient, very attractive bartender, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh despite himself.

"You're hot," she stage-whispers. "Like... European hot. But also emotionally available hot."

He clears his throat. "Another mimosa?"

"Yes," she says immediately. "For my friend. She's coping."

Sophia exhales slowly. "Okay. Let's focus."

I look at her with bread still in my mouth. "Great. What's the solution?"

She folds her arms. "We're not telling Dylan it was fake."

"Excellent," I mumble. "Love that for us."

"Because he was objectively awful," she continues. "So now we need a different plan."

Maya swivels back toward us. "Easy. Just date Luke Parker for three days."

I choke. Actually choke.

"I cannot date Luke Parker," I say once I recover. "I can't even date him for one hour. I'd rather die alone."

Sophia tilts her head. "This is about your dignity."

"My dignity is already dead," I say. "Buried. Gone."

Maya shrugs. "It's still better than admitting you lied because your ex moved on first."

"Oh, that's supposed to make me feel better?" I glare at her. "This was your idea."

"You could've fake-dated Oliver," I add bitterly. "Oliver was right there."

She looks at me, unimpressed. "No one would believe that."

"Why not?"

Sophia doesn't even hesitate. "Honey... no one believes Oliver is dating anyone."

"Okay, fine," I say quickly. "Ralph. Ralph was a jock. He was funny."

Both of them shake their heads in unison.

Maya sighs. "Luke was the most believable option."

Sophia nods. "Painfully believable."

I press my palms into my eyes. "I haven't seen him in ten years. Ten. And now I'm apparently dating him."

"Well," Sophia says gently, "I'm sure he's a nice guy."

"He's nice to everyone else," I snap.

Maya snorts. "You two have a weird history."

"Everyone thought you were dating," she adds. "Everyone."

I stare at her. "You thought that?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations," I say flatly. "Your delusion is now canon."

Sophia raises her hands. "Okay. We know you haven't talked in years. But he might agree. For three days."

Maya laughs. "If it were anyone else."

I point at her. "See? That's not encouraging."

"Look," Maya says, serious now. "People thought you were perfect together. Dylan knows Luke was your best friend. That's all he needs to know."

Sophia nods. "Forget your actual history."

"Oh, fantastic," I say. "Erase my trauma. That helps."

Maya grins. "We just need to catch Luke when he arrives and tell him."

"Tell him what?" I ask.

"That he's dating you," she says simply.

"This is insanity."

"Yes," Sophia agrees calmly. "But manageable insanity."

She leans closer. "Henry talks to Luke all the time. He'll know when he arrives."

"We stop him," Maya says. "We explain. We recruit him."

"Into this madness," I mutter.

"And then," Sophia continues, smiling brightly, "I get married, you give me a fantastic gift, Dylan is uncomfortable, and everyone wins."

Maya claps. "Perfect plan."

I stare at them. "Luke will not help me. Not after what happened."

Maya waves a hand. "I never fully understood that anyway."

"I understood it," I say quietly.

She shrugs. "Doesn't matter. He'll help you."

"Why?"

"Because if he doesn't," she says cheerfully, "I'll kill him. Then Dylan. Maybe Lauren. I don't like her."

I take another long sip of mimosa.

Somewhere in this villa, Luke Parker is on his way.

And apparently, he's my boyfriend now.

Sophia flags Henry over with the kind of smile that means something is wrong but I'm pretending it's fine.

"Hey, babe," she says sweetly. "By any chance... do you know if Luke is coming?"

Henry nods easily. "Yeah. He texted me earlier. Some transportation issue—train delay or something—but he said he's on an Uber now. He's definitely coming." He squints at her. "Why?"

Sophia opens her mouth. Closes it. Smiles wider. "Oh, you know. Just wondering."

Henry's gaze slides past her—to me, to Maya, to the mimosa graveyard forming around us.

"Why do the three of you look suspicious?" he asks.

Maya straightens immediately. "We're not suspicious."

"If we were suspicious," she adds thoughtfully, "it would be because we invented a fake relationship between two people."

Henry blinks. "Okay."

Sophia mutters, "Just... forget it. Please."

Henry doesn't forget it.

He looks at me, eyes narrowing slightly. "She doesn't look great," he says, nodding toward me. "What did you do?"

Then—naturally—he looks at Maya.

I lift a finger. "I just want it noted that someone believed me without blaming me."

Henry snorts. "You panic-talk when you're stressed."

"True," I say. "But you're forgetting that Maya is very drunk."

Maya lifts her glass. "Functionally."

Henry sighs. "Okay. Someone explain. Slowly."

Maya leans in. "So. Hypothetically. You might've heard that Luke is dating someone."

Henry nods. "Yeah. Jack told me."

"Jack," Maya repeats.

"I assumed he was either drunk or on mushrooms," Henry continues. "Because even for Jack, that would be a smart joke."

Then he stops.

Actually stops.

He looks at Maya.

Then at me.

Then at Sophia.

"Oh no," he says slowly. "You did not."

Maya gives him a sheepish smile. "I wish I could say I didn't. But I absolutely did."

Henry rubs his face. "Why?"

Sophia answers for her. "Dylan was awful to Maddie. Guilt-tripped her. Asked for her blessing. Basically apologized for moving on too fast while rubbing it in her face."

Henry winces. "Yeah... that sounds like Dylan."

"He was being stupid," Maya adds. "So I said she'd moved on. With someone he knew."

Henry closes his eyes. "And that someone was Luke."

Maya nods. "First name that came to mind."

"You have problems," Henry says flatly.

"I have instincts," she replies.

Henry looks at me. "You never dated Luke."

"I tried to tell her that," I say, still chewing.

Sophia jumps back in. "So—if you know when he's arriving, we just need to intercept him. Give him a heads up."

Henry straightens. "No. You tell him the truth. You say Maya's drunk—"

"I am," Maya says proudly.

"—and that she lied."

I nod quickly. "Yes. That's perfect. Blame Maya. I'm free."

Sophia shakes her head. "No."

"No?" Henry repeats.

"No," she says firmly. "Dylan was cruel. He deserves this."

Henry hesitates. "Sophia—"

"He might've cheated on her," she continues. "Emotionally at the very least. And then he brings Lauren as a plus one after three months?"

"Four," I mumble.

Sophia ignores me. "He deserves to think Maddie moved on spectacularly. And the idea of her with Luke will destroy him."

Henry exhales. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She smiles. "Just make sure Luke walks past us before anyone else."

Henry stares at her. "You mean before he finds out he's fake-dating Maddie?"

"Exactly."

He looks at me. "You okay with this?"

I grab my mimosa and down it in one go.

"Yes," I say hoarsely. "Someone finally understands my pain."

The problem with stress eating is that it eventually turns into stress existing.

I'm perched at the bar again, one foot hooked around the stool, fingers sticky with cheese and honey, my head buzzing in that pleasant-but-dangerous way that mimosas create. Maya is gone—emotionally, spiritually, and conversationally—leaning over the bar and whispering to the bartender like she's auditioning for a European rom-com spin-off.

I'm mid-bite when Sophia stiffens beside me.

"Oh," she says.

Henry follows her gaze.

"Oh," he repeats, lower.

My stomach drops before my brain catches up.

"Don't," I say, mouth full. "Don't say anything."

But it's already too late.

Luke Parker is here.

Not arriving—here. Like he's been here for a while. Like he materialized out of thin air and slipped straight into the center of the room, tall and calm and unfairly familiar, already talking to someone who looks thrilled to be talking to him.

Jack. Of course it's Jack.

Luke laughs at something Jack says, easy and warm, and Jack claps him on the shoulder like they never left high school at all. Heads turn. People notice. A ripple of recognition moves through the room.

There he is.
Of course he's here.
Of course it's him.

It's ridiculous how quickly a space rearranges itself around a person.

"Oh my God," I whisper. "He's already talking to people."

"And everyone knows him," Sophia mutters. "Of course they do."

Henry exhales. "We need to intercept."

Maya, oblivious and dangerously confident, is now holding a microphone.

Henry makes a split-second decision.

"Attention, everyone," he says smoothly, taking the mic from the stand. "Sorry—quick interruption. Maya just wants to share something."

Sophia whirls on him. "You gave the microphone to the drunk girl?"

"She'll be fine," he says.

Maya grins. "Oh, I will."

She launches into a story about one of her kindergarten students—Trevor—who once asked her what "switching" meant because his parents apparently "did it with Riley's parents," and the room dissolves into laughter, confusion, and just enough shock to keep everyone listening.

Sophia stares at Henry. "Amazing. Truly."

"At least everyone's distracted," he says.

They both turn to me.

"Okay," Sophia says gently. "Now. Go."

"What?" I croak.

"Go talk to him," Henry says. "Tell him. Quickly."

"I feel sick," I say. "I might throw up."

"That's the mimosas," Sophia replies.

"No," I say. "That's him."

Henry winces. "I knew this would happen."

Sophia hesitates. "What actually happened between you two?"

"Not now," I say immediately.

She nods. "Fair."

We start walking.

Or rather—they walk, and I follow like I've forgotten how legs work.

Halfway there, Sophia's mother intercepts them. Then Henry's aunt. Then someone grabs Henry to show him something outside. Hands squeeze shoulders. Hugs happen. The crowd shifts.

And suddenly—

I'm alone.

Luke is ten steps away.

Eight.

Seven.

I can hear my own heartbeat. My mouth goes dry. Every instinct I have—the organized, controlled, capable part of me—starts screaming that this was not in the plan.

I slow.

Stop.

This is a mistake.

I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to explain. I don't want to pretend. I don't want to relive whatever we never even got to have.

Embarrassment or Luke.

I choose embarrassment.

I turn around.

And walk straight into a waitress.

The tray tilts.

Time slows in the cruelest way.

Champagne glasses slip. Liquid arcs through the air. Someone gasps.

And then—

Splash.

Cold bubbles soak through fabric.

Luke freezes.

So do I.

I stare at his chest, now sparkling with champagne, my brain short-circuiting completely.