Simone checked her phone for the fourth time in two minutes, but she saw nothing on the screen. There was no reply, no location ping, and not even a read receipt from the man she paid three hundred dollars to show up and smile for a weekend.
He bailed! He actually bailed on me!
She backed against a concrete pillar near the arrivals gate, her frantic eyes sweeping across the crowded terminal. Tall, dark, mid-thirties, with carry-on luggage; that was the exact description her contact had texted her, and that was all she had. She had been so relieved to secure a quick fix that she never thought to request a photo.
Around her, the busy terminal churned with rolling bags, noisy family reunions, and a screaming toddler by the luggage carousel. Her own relatives were already gathered at the venue. Danielle had sent two separate messages asking when she landed, even though Simone lived in Atlanta and had never booked a plane ticket. The lie was getting out of hand, and she could not stop it now.
Then she spotted him.
He was tall and dark, with a duffel slung over one shoulder and a rolling suitcase behind him. The man moved through the dense crowd with an easy confidence that made strangers clear a path for him. He looked to be in his mid-thirties; Simone could not verify every detail from this distance, but her time was gone and he fit the bill.
Simone pushed away from the pillar, cut across the tiled floor, and blocked his path at the exit doors.
“Hey.” She squared her shoulders and kept her voice firm. “I know this sounds crazy, but you need to hear me out before you walk away.”
He halted immediately and swept his gaze over her, his dark eyes taking in her flushed face and tense stance before the corner of his lips twitched. “Okay.”
“I need a fake boyfriend for the weekend,” she said plainly. “It’s my cousin’s wedding. We have one rehearsal dinner, one ceremony, and one Sunday brunch, and after that we’re finished. I’ll pay for all your food, cover every incidental expense, and give you cash at the end. You just have to learn my name, take my hand whenever my aunt looks over, and never contradict my story about how we met.”
“How did we meet?”
“At a rooftop bar in Midtown six months ago. You mistook me for a marketing consultant.”
“Am I?”
“Are you what?”
“A marketing consultant.”
Simone blinked at him. “You can pretend to be whatever you want, because that’s the whole point.” She blew out a sharp breath. “Here are the ground rules; they are simple. We share no real personal information, and we keep physical contact strictly natural. You call me Simone, and I call you... what do I call you?”
“Marcus.”
“Marcus.” She locked the name into memory. “You call me Simone. We act warm, we stay convincing, and on Sunday afternoon we go our separate ways. Are you in or not?”
Marcus tilted his head, regarding her with quiet amusement. “Sure.”
Simone had prepared herself for hard bargaining; his instant agreement left her completely off balance. “That’s it? Just sure?”
“Your terms were clear.” He gripped the handle of his bag. “Let’s go, then.”
They headed toward the outer doors together, Simone hurrying her steps to match his long stride while she reviewed the tight schedule. The rehearsal dinner started at seven o’clock, which left her forty minutes to pull this off.
“About this wedding,” Marcus noted in a casual tone. “Your cousin is marrying into the Hayes family?”
Simone gave him an uneasy sideways look. “Did I tell you Isaiah Hayes was the groom?”
“You just mentioned Hayes.” He kept his gaze forward, looking totally relaxed. “Is it a big family?”
Simone hesitated, unsettled by how easily that specific name rolled off his tongue. “Why do you ask?”
Marcus offered a faint, knowing grin and pushed the glass door open for her.The rideshare pulled into traffic, and Simone exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour.
“Okay,” she said, turning to face him. “My mother is Evelyn. She smiles at everything she disapproves of, so watch for the smile. My cousin Lorraine is the one running the wedding like a military operation. She has a clipboard and she is not afraid to use it.”
“And your role in all this?”
“The one who shows up late and makes questionable decisions.” She said it lightly, but Marcus merely studied her face, taking in the warning.
“Does Evelyn disapprove of the questionable decisions or just the lateness?”
“Both. All of it.” Simone glanced out the window. “She’s been waiting for me to get it together since I was twenty-two; I’m thirty-one now, so you can do the math.”
“And bringing someone she’s never heard of to a family wedding, that lands where, exactly?”
“Somewhere between relief and suspicion.” She smoothed her dress over her knee. “She’ll be thrilled I finally have someone, then immediately start looking for what’s wrong with you.”
“What should she find?”
Simone almost smiled. “Nothing she can prove...”
Marcus asked about Isaiah next. He wanted to know how long Simone had known the groom, and whether the families had history together. His questions were specific in a way that made her pause twice, but he moved on before she could pin anything down. He offered his own details in small, clean portions: he traveled for work, he preferred cities over suburbs, and he had one sister he rarely saw. Each answer arrived fully formed, but they gave nothing away.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it, and three messages from Danielle stacked up on the screen. Where are you, Simone?! The punctuation grew frantic with each line, and her hand shook slightly as she scrolled through the notifications.
Marcus reached over, pressing two steady fingers against the back of her knuckles.
She forgot the screen completely.
The warmth of his skin caught her off guard. She pulled her hand back slowly, reminding herself: three hundred dollars and a clean exit by Sunday.
He spoke up then about the absurd nature of formal weddings. He observed that modern ceremonies had turned into pure theater, staged entirely for distant relatives who barely cared about the marriage. It was dry, sharp, and brutally accurate.
She laughed out loud. It was not her rehearsed work laugh, but a loud, sudden burst that slipped past her guard. She pressed her fingers to her mouth a second too late.
Marcus watched her, his dark eyes narrowing with intense curiosity.
She looked away first.
The GPS interrupted the quiet car. In fifteen minutes, you will arrive at your destination.
Marcus stiffened. The easy posture he had kept since the airport vanished completely; his jaw tightened, and his gaze locked onto the roadside scenery.
Simone watched him in silence.The GPS chimed with a flat electronic voice. “You have arrived at your destination.”
Marcus went completely still. His jaw locked tight, and the warm expression on his face vanished in an instant.
Simone watched the sudden change take hold of him. Just seconds ago, he was making her laugh in the back seat of the car, but now he seemed like a total stranger sitting beside her.
“First-date jitters?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful.
Marcus did not answer her question; his eyes stayed fixed out the window, staring ahead at the stone entrance pillars wrapped in decorative white ribbons under the evening sky.
Simone felt a surge of pure dread.
She reached over and placed her fingers over the back of his hand. It was the affectionate gesture they had agreed to show her family, but now she needed the reassurance for herself. She wanted him to turn around and act like the partner she had just spent forty minutes preparing with.
Marcus pulled his hand back.
The movement was tiny, scarcely half an inch, but she caught it immediately. He checked himself at once; he turned his hand over and gripped her fingers with slow, forced care, as if lifting an enormous weight off the seat.
“Marcus,” she said, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. “Talk to me. What is wrong?”
He remained silent for a second, stroking his thumb once over her knuckles before he finally answered. “Nothing. We just need to get through these doors.”
“You look like you’re heading into an ambush,” she pressed, looking straight at him. “Are you going to back out now?”
“I said I would play the part,” he replied flatly. “I keep my word, Simone. Don’t worry about me.”
The car passed through the tall stone gates. The sprawling colonial house blazed with lights, valets hurrying between luxury cars - Lorraine’s military operation in full effect.
Simone studied Marcus’s hard profile.
The friendly mood from earlier had vanished completely, leaving his face hard and distant. He was clearly reacting to something deeper than an intimidating wedding party.
Simone realized she knew nothing about him. She’d been so focused on avoiding her mother’s disappointment that she’d brought a complete stranger into her family home.
Why did you agree so quickly?
The rideshare pulled up to the front entrance and stopped smoothly. A valet appeared outside the driver’s window, waiting for the passengers to step out.
Marcus let go of her hand, straightened his dark jacket, and gazed steadily at the front steps. His face was completely composed again, hiding whatever thoughts were running through his mind.
Simone took her purse. Her cover story was still in place, but the ground beneath her felt dangerously unstable.