Fiancé For Hire

Sorting through the mail, my fingers closed around the thick, glossy envelope that screamed wedding invitation. I passed it to my roommate,

Darla 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." Darla 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, Jennie, this one's for you."

I jumped back and let it drop to the floor with a thwack. Darla 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 Latesha Bogart. Anyone but Latesha Bogart." I was waiting for a dove to fly out of the envelope next, the way she did things.

Darla poured herself another cup of coffee and doused it with creamer.

"What's wrong with Latesha Bogart?"

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."

"Latesha Bogart. 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, Latesha Bogart 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." Darla 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?"

Darla shrugged. "So don't go."

"She'll think my life is so miserable I'm ashamed to show up."

Darla 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, Darla 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 single, right? Not having to shave every day is one of them." I went right for my stash of emergency chocolate in the cupboard by the fridge, then settled for a cookie when I

realized the chocolate was long gone. I looked for the shopping list stuck on the fridge so I could add chocolate. But chocolate was already on the list. I grabbed the last cookie and then jotted cookies on the list.