“Your brother deserves a perfect day.”
But first things first.
I texted Jordan to invite him to the party.
“Ethan wants the whole family there,” I typed.
A short while later, my phone buzzed on the counter.
I saw Jordan’s name light up the screen.
Something inside me tightened before I’d even read a single word of what he’d sent.
I texted Jordan to invite him to the party.
Jordan’s message was short and sharp.
“I’ll bring Percy. She’s part of my family too.”
I read it three times before the words fully landed.
My chest tightened.
I set the phone down and stared at the pool skimmer in the shallow end, trying to breathe.
“Mom, are you okay?”
I read it three times
My son stood in the doorway, wet hair plastered to his forehead.
I forced a smile.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just finalizing details for your big day.”
He studied me for a moment longer than I wanted him to.
Then he disappeared back into the yard.
That look, the way my fifteen-year-old already knew when I was lying, it broke something loose inside me.
I forced a smile.
I couldn’t let Jordan walk in with Percy and reduce me to the sad, discarded wife.
Not in front of my children.
Not in front of the neighbors who had watched our family for twenty years.
I opened my laptop and searched for something I’d never imagined typing.
“Actors for hire, private events, discreet.”
An agency near downtown responded within the hour.
Something I’d never imagined typing.
The woman on the phone was efficient.
As if hiring a fake boyfriend was as ordinary as ordering catering.
“We have someone available Saturday. His name is Clark. Very professional.”
“Just for a few hours,” I said quickly. “He doesn’t have to do much. Just stand next to me. Maybe smile.”
“Of course. He’ll play the role you describe.”
“He doesn’t have to do much.”
I hung up and pressed my palms flat against the counter.
I’d become the kind of woman who paid strangers to pretend she was loved.
***
We arranged to meet at a coffee shop the day before the party.
I got there early, ordered nothing, and picked at a napkin until it was shreds.
When Clark walked in, I actually looked over my shoulder to see who he was really coming to meet.
We arranged to meet
He was tall.
Dark hair, warm brown eyes.
The kind of clean-cut face you saw in magazine ads.
He slid into the seat across from me and offered his hand like we were old friends.
“You must be my client,” he said.
“I think this was a mistake.”
He tilted his head, waiting.
“You must be my client,”
“Look at you,” I whispered. “Nobody is going to believe you’re with someone like me. My ex-husband will laugh in my face. He’ll know.”
“What do you do for a living?” Clark asked.
The question caught me off-guard.
“I raised four children while he built his career. I ran the household. I kept everything together while he cheated on me for a year.”
