The zipper was stuck again.
I twisted in front of the mirror, tugging at the back of my dress with a mix of frustration and resignation. The thing was ancient — probably the last semi-decent piece I owned since David took the better half of my self-worth and left me with bills and fake apologies.
"Seriously?" I muttered under my breath, yanking harder.
Bridget, my best friend and semi-official fairy godmother, stepped into the room holding two steaming mugs of instant coffee. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, and she gave me that look — the one that screamed you are not wearing that tonight.
"Oh no, Alice. That dress died five years ago. You're not going to your ex's engagement party looking like someone he already forgot."
I sighed, still staring at my reflection. "It's either this or a hoodie with coffee stains and tears. Not metaphorical tears — actual rips."
Bridget set down the mugs and crossed her arms. "Well, lucky for you, I planned ahead." She pulled a dress bag from behind the door like a magician revealing her final trick.
"Bridge..."
"Shh," she said, unzipping the bag to reveal a sleek, satin wine-colored dress. "Borrowed, not stolen. Slightly out of your budget but 100% on me. Consider it my investment in Operation Make David Regret Everything."
I stared at the dress, then at her, then at the dress again. "You're crazy."
"I know," she smirked. "Now put it on."
—
The venue was dripping in gold and ego. Glittering lights hung like stars from the ceiling, and everyone looked like they had something to prove.
I walked in, head held high, trying to pretend like my knees weren't shaking in heels that were a size too small. I wasn't sure if I was there to prove something to David, to Jane, or just to myself. Maybe all three.
Then I saw them.
David's arm was around Jane's waist, his hand resting a little too proudly on her hip. She looked smug. He looked like a man who'd won a prize he didn't deserve.
But I didn't stop. I didn't flinch.
I turned to grab a drink, and that's when I ran right into someone. Literally.
"Oh, sorry—"
"Alice?"
The voice was deep, familiar, and slightly amused. I looked up.
Jaxson Carter.
He was taller than I remembered. Broader, too. Like someone had carved him out of sharp lines and soft edges. His black suit fit a little too perfectly, and his dark brown eyes still held that quiet warmth they had back in school.
"Wow," I said without meaning to. "You look... different."
He chuckled. "You don't. I mean, you do. You look—good. Really good."
I tried to laugh, but it came out awkward. "What are you doing here?"
"Family stuff," he said vaguely, glancing past me. "But I'm glad I ran into you."
We ended up talking in a quiet corner while the rest of the party faded into background noise. I hadn't seen Jaxson in years, not since high school when he was the quiet kid in the back of class with kind eyes and zero interest in drama. He'd grown into someone else entirely.
And then he said it.
"I need you to marry me."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He leaned in a little, voice low. "It's a contract. One year. My aunt isn't doing well, and her biggest wish is to see me settle down. I've been putting it off for years, but now... time's running out. And when I saw you tonight... it just clicked."
"Clicked? You want me to marry you?" I was half-laughing, half-terrified.
"Think of it as a business deal," he said. "No strings. Just a little pretending for a while. I'll take care of the expenses. You'll have security, peace, maybe even enough to finally start that boutique you always dreamed of. And I'll finally stop getting lectures about dying alone."
He handed me a card — his number scribbled in the corner, along with the words: Think about it. Just a year.
I didn't sleep that night.
And a week later, I found myself sitting on a cream-colored couch across from his aunt — Martha — who looked far too healthy for someone supposedly ill, but her eyes softened when she saw me.
"I remember you," she said, smiling. "You used to wear sunflower clips in your hair."
I nodded, too nervous to speak.
Jaxson watched me carefully from across the room. When I finally agreed — pen in hand, contract in front of me — I told myself it was survival. Nothing more.
The wedding was quiet. No guests except Martha, and a few of Jaxson's friends. Bridget stood beside me, whispering encouragement between each breath.
The dress I wore wasn't new. It was borrowed from a friend of Martha's, but it fit like it had been made for me.
I barely looked at Jaxson during the ceremony, and when the officiant said, "You may kiss the bride," I froze.
Jaxson leaned in, gentle, respectful.
The kiss was... fine. Not electric. Not terrible. Just fine.
I felt nothing.
But I saw how his eyes lingered a second too long afterward. How his hand held mine with a little more intention.
And later that night, when I stood in the quiet hallway of his house — my house now, apparently — I wondered if maybe that kiss was just a beginning.
I didn't feel anything for Jaxson.
But I had a feeling... I would.