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Amber liked to think of herself as a sharp and composed person. Someone who usually doesn’t panic. Hell, she caused panic, created it. She fanned the flames, sometimes even weaponized it, but she herself was never the type to spiral.
... Except right now she’s pacing the length of her apartment with her phone still hot in her hand, biting her nails.
She was very, very aware that she had just made the stupidest mistake of her entire life.
Her sister, Evelyn — three years older, with a law degree, somehow already the favorite before Amber even hit puberty — had called to invite her to her wedding.
“I’m getting married,” her sister Evelyn announced, in that breezy, self-satisfied way she had. “And I want you there. With a date.”
Amber heard what wasn’t said. Bring a date, Amber. Bring proof you aren’t a disaster. Bring evidence that you’re not lagging behind me, as usual.
She rolled her eyes, before mumbling “Wow, Eve, thanks for the honor” in reply.
“Amber, come on. I’m not asking for much. It’s just… you know how mom and dad are.”
Her parents had spent years treating Evelyn like the second coming of Marie Curie and Amber like… the other one. The younger sister; the one with promise that somehow never crystallized into perfection.
If she showed up alone, she could practically hear the clucking disappointment. Evelyn, of course, would glow in comparison.
So Amber, because she was impulsive and competitive and constitutionally incapable of backing down, had smiled into the phone and proudly stated, “Actually, I already have a girlfriend.”
The silence on the other end stretched too long.
“Oh? A girlfriend?” Evelyn’s voice sharpened, curious now. “What’s her name?”
Amber’s brain caught on fire. “Remy,” she blurted, mumbling a curse under her breath right after.
“Bring her,” her sister said sweetly. “Can’t wait to meet her.”
She had hung up seconds later, heart pounding, regretting every life choice that had led her to this exact moment.
Because she, in fact, did not have a girlfriend.
She did have a Remy, though.
After a night of pacing her apartment and making a pro/con list that was 90% cons, Amber dialed a number she didn’t even mean to memorize.
Calling Thirteen was the next worst decision of Amber’s life.
They weren’t friends. they were barely even colleagues — more like rivals forced into the same sandbox. Now she was about to ask her to be her girlfriend.
So, naturally, Amber blurted, “Hey, this is insane, but I want you to come to a wedding with me and pretend to be my girlfriend.”
“You want me to what?” Thirteen’s voice was calm, like she was asking Amber to repeat a diagnosis instead of a lunatic idea.
“Come to my sister’s wedding and be my girlfriend. Not Actually,” she quickly added, “Just pretend to be my girlfriend. Smile politely and occasionally hold my hand.”
On the other end of the line... silence. Amber winced.
“Look, I wouldn’t ask if I had literally any other options, but I don’t, so. You in?”
“Sure.”
And naturally, Thirteen said sure.
Wait. What.
“... You’re agreeing? Just like that?”
Amber barely got out a few more bewildered questions before realizing Thirteen had hung up on her. She inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to throw her phone across the room.
She didn’t know if she wanted to strangle her or kiss her.
The wedding was in Boston, which meant Amber and Thirteen would be stuck together for the entire weekend. A fact Amber did not fully process until she was standing outside a boutique on friday afternoon, staring at rows of cocktail dresses, waiting for her "girlfriend" to show up.
Amber hated herself for suggesting it, but Thirteen had shown up in jeans and a band tee, and Amber nearly had a coronary.
“No. Absolutely not. You cannot meet my parents looking like you’re about to headline Coachella,” Amber hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“You said ‘pretend to be your girlfriend’. This is exactly what your girlfriend would wear.”
“My girlfriend would wear something classy.”
“Gee, you’re a catch,” Thirteen murmured dryly.
Two hours later, after Amber insulted a floral print Thirteen secretly liked, and Thirteen made a cutting remark about Amber’s obsession with heels, they ended up in front of a mirror.
“This was a mistake,” Amber concluded, arms folded.
“Probably,” Thirteen agreed. She was holding up a navy dress against herself, tilting her head like she couldn’t decide. “But you’re committed now.”
Amber rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to look so calm about it.”
“I am calm about it.”
Amber ignored her, snatching the dress out of her hand. Thirteen raised an eyebrow, but she let Amber shove a powder blue dress at her.
“You’d look gorgeous in this,” Amber said before she could stop herself. Then she cleared her throat. “I mean. It matches your eyes. Or whatever.”
Thirteen didn’t buy that dress, but she filed away Amber’s slip.
Amber was in emerald silk that hugged her curves like it had been tailored for her. Thirteen was in black, simple but devastatingly elegant, the neckline dippinh just low enough to be distracting. Amber swallowed hard.
“You clean up well,” she muttered. Thirteen’s mouth twitched. “You too, Cutthroat.”
Amber looked away before she did something very stupid.
The rehearsal dinner was the first test.
Amber’s parents were there, all polished smiles and sharp eyes, the kind that catalogued everything about you the second you walked in the door. Evelyn looked radiant, of course. With her perfect dress and her perfect fiancé at her side. She hugged Amber warmly, then turned to Thirteen with polite curiosity.
“So, this must be the girlfriend,” Evelyn said. Amber froze.
Thirteen didn’t. She extended her hand. “Hi, Remy Hadley. It’s nice to meet you.”
Remy. Hearing it out loud like that — it felt like something private had just been handed to her, like a gift she wasn’t ready to open.
Her parents were surprisingly… pleasant. Skeptical, sure, but not openly disapproving or anything.
Her father asked Remy about medicine; she answered calmly. Evidently competent, but not arrogant. Her mother complimented her dress. Remy didn’t flinch under the weight of judgment Amber had been dodging her whole life.
Evelyn smiled a little too knowingly, but for once, Amber didn’t feel like she was losing a contest.
Later that night, Amber and Remy shared a hotel room because Amber had panicked about booking and there was only one left.
Amber sat on the edge, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, trying to ignore the sound of Remy brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
When Remy came out, hair damp, wearing an oversized t-shirt, Amber’s brain short-circuited for a second. That shirt was hers.
“What?” Remy asked, amused. “Nothing,” amber said quickly. “Just. Don’t hog the blanket.”
“You’re bossy even off the clock.”
Amber buried herself in the pillows to avoid answering.
The wedding itself was exhausting.
Amber smiled until her cheeks ached. She dodged questions about her career, about her plans for the future. Remy stayed by her side, steady and quiet, like an anchor she hadn’t realized she needed.
At one point, Amber’s mother leaned over during dinner and said, almost approvingly, “She seems good for you.” Amber nearly choked on her champagne.
After the cake, after the dancing, after the speeches where Evelyn was praised as the golden child yet again, Amber slipped outside for air. Remy followed a few minutes later, shoes clicking softly against the stone patio.
Amber lit a cigarette she’d sworn she quit, staring at the night sky. “They’re never going to see me the way they see her.”
Remy didn’t argue. “Does it matter?”
Amber snapped her head around, slightly offended. “Of course it matters.”
“Maybe not as much as you think.”
Amber wanted to believe her. She wanted a lot of things she didn’t have words for.