Otherwise Engaged: A Fake Engagement Romance

My Spanx were killing me. So was being stuck in this ballroom decorated with Swarovski chandeliers and pretty lies. But all I had to do was put in a brief appearance. Shake a few hands, smile at a few faces, and then I could duck out.

Elegant notes from the string quartet floated in the background as I leaned against the bar, clutching a glass of 2007 Gaja Barbaresco in one hand while scanning the crowd. Movers and shakers, the big-deal kingmakers—and the strivers clawing their way to the top. At a glance, I’d spotted a handful of CEOs, the mayor, countless socialites, three senators, and my twin sister, Quinn, with her fiancé, Adam. None of the options were appealing.

Attending these events was squarely at the bottom of my list, right next to having laser hair removal on my bikini line and getting a root canal. Well, I’d never had a root canal, but I assumed it was about as pleasant as these ostentatious parties.

Unfortunately, my mother cared more about keeping up appearances than about my feelings. Or at least, that was the only explanation I could think of as to why she continually guilt-tripped me into attending.

Her new husband, Charles Horvath, had thrown this charity fundraiser tonight to support endangered sea turtles. He was a big oil magnate, and I assumed this event was intended to create the illusion that he cared about the environment—even though I was fairly certain that wasn’t the case. When I remarked that I could support the cause equally well by giving a donation from the comfort of my own home, my mother had looked at me like I’d suggested we go slaughter the turtles en masse.

If I wanted to remain in her good graces, my presence wasn’t optional. But I couldn’t explain why, as a fully grown adult, I cared so much about what she thought. I didn’t want her life. I knew firsthand it wasn’t nearly as nice as it looked from the outside.

“Thayer!” a voice called out from behind me. My grip on the crystal goblet tightened and every muscle in my body tensed. I’d been spotted, and not by someone I wanted to see. I took a gulp of wine that my mother’s finishing school would have frowned upon while Matilda ‘Millie’ Pruitt barreled toward me like a heatseeking missile locked onto a target.

She gave me an air kiss on each cheek, wrapping me in an embrace with her spindle-thin arms, while I made a half-hearted attempt to do the same. Releasing me, she held me out at arm’s length, giving me a once-over with laser-like precision. I’d had less invasive X-rays.

“Have you lost weight?” Millie asked. “You have, haven’t you? You look amazing. So much better.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I should. Still, it was easier to go along with the pretend niceties than get dragged down into the weeds of what she truly meant.

“Love the dress. It’s almost like we’re twins.” She gestured to the both of us in semi-formal black lace dresses. My Badgley Mischka hit at mid-thigh, with long sleeves and a plunging back. Millie’s Valentino was a sleeveless boatneck that ended just above the knee. The styles differed, but the material was still too similar for my comfort. I’d have chosen differently had I known. Millie wasn’t exactly someone I tried to emulate.

“Right.” In reality, the only thing we had in common was thinly veiled contempt for one another. If Millie could have straight-up assumed my life, thereby eliminating my existence, I’m sure she would have at least seriously considered it.

Quinn trailed up from behind Millie, a vision in a pale yellow chiffon cocktail dress that I couldn’t have pulled off in a million years. My sense of dread multiplied tenfold, churning in my belly. One-on-one, my sister was perfectly pleasant. With Millie, the two formed the ultimate passive-aggressive duo.

“There’s my beautiful sister.” Quinn repeated the same fake air-kiss routine, enveloping me in a vanilla-sugar-scented hug.

It was an interesting compliment, given that we were identical twins. And especially given that she was arguably the prettier one of us two. Other people seemed to agree, though they’d never openly admit it. Her features had always seemed softer to me, more feminine, with fuller lips and bigger eyes. Not to mention, she hadn’t broken her nose playing softball senior year like I had, creating a small bump on the bridge that our mother had not-so-subtly encouraged me to have surgically repaired.

The slight discrepancy between our appearances mirrored the differences in our personalities; she was known for being warm and effusive while I was, well, not. There was probably something to be said about the underlying theme of her dressed like an angel tonight while I was wearing black.

“You look great,” I told her.

Quinn scoffed, waving a perfectly manicured hand. “Hardly. I look ragged.” My sister couldn’t accept a compliment to save her life. It went way beyond humility and well into false modesty territory.

“Where’s Adam?” Millie asked, craning her neck.

“He had to duck out to take an important call with an investor. Not optional, unfortunately.” Quinn tacked on the last sentence a little too quickly; I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince us or herself. “What are you doing hanging out at the bar all by yourself, Thay?”

“I was just getting a refill before coming to find you.” False, but now I could get credit for pretending. It’s not that Quinn and I had a bad relationship, at least not one-on-one, but it was strained when we were within the suffocating confines of this gilded cage.

“I haven’t seen your sister in ages,” Millie said to Quinn like I wasn’t standing right in front of them. She turned back to me and touched me on the arm, sizing me up once more. Looking for, I knew, signs of injectables, fillers, or nips and tucks. Bonus points for spotting roots or grey hair. But too bad for her, I had my balayage touched up and toned yesterday.

“What have you been up to, Thayer?” she asked.

Code for, why did you drop off the face of the planet? But nobody knew the answer to that, and nobody needed to.

“Oh, you know.” I waved airily. “I’ve been super busy with work.” Running the two boutique lingerie stores, Lace & Grace, that I co-owned with Quinn consumed most of my time.

It started off as a one- or two-year project after college, a breather between undergraduate and graduate school for me. Quinn managed our merchandising and marketing, while I oversaw the finances and business side. The plan was for Quinn to eventually take over all the responsibilities when I headed back to school to obtain my MBA, but somehow, I’d gotten sucked into staying much longer than I’d intended.

At this point, I could reconcile our books in my sleep. Part of me yearned to move on to a new challenge, but that was easier said than done when dealing with my steamroller of a sister.

“That’s all she does,” Quinn chimed in with a sing-song voice. “All work and no play, this one.” As my business partner, you’d think she would have seen this as a positive thing.

Millie made a faux sad face. “That doesn’t sound like fun. You should come out with us one night.”

To be clear, I had plenty of friends to go out with. I just chose not to subject them to this particular form of torture. In fact, I was meeting my best friend Lola for brunch tomorrow, if I ever escaped this lions’ den in one piece. And my friends didn’t sharpen their knives while my back was turned.

“Maybe when things calm down at work,” I said. “Things have been hectic lately with preparing our quarterly financial statements, not to mention tracking the budget for our new build-out.” Someone had to do it; the only thing Quinn was keeping track of these days was her list of wedding RSVPs.

“Aren’t you excited about your sister’s big news?” Millie beamed, revealing her slightly-too-big, whitest-white veneers. Her face was long and thin, which made the overall effect equine.

“So excited,” I said, trying to sound like it.

“I mean, look at that rock!” She grabbed Quinn’s left hand, proudly showing off the cushion-cut three-carat yellow diamond like it was her own. My sister at least had the decency to feign embarrassment at the attention.

I forced a smile. “I’m familiar.”

“And don’t fret about not having a date for the wedding.” Quinn withdrew her hand, tilting her head sympathetically. “I know the dating scene is rough these days. Not many good fish left in the sea.”

It wasn’t clear how Quinn would know about the dating scene when she’d barely ever dipped her toe into it. She was a serial monogamist who’d been on three first dates that resulted in three long-term boyfriends, the last of which was her fiancé, Adam. Unlike me, she’d never combed the dregs of Tinder, trying in vain to find a decent date. It was more than rough; it was a nuclear wasteland.

“Fortunately, there will be lots of eligible bachelors at the party,” Millie said. “Ocean Heights’ most desirable.”

Unlike Millie, who was perpetually trying to sink her talons into a well-to-do white collar business bro, I wasn’t interested in my own Adam 2.0. I had vibrators in my nightstand that were better company than that. Better conversation, too.

“Oh my gosh, yes,” Quinn cooed. She liked nothing more than playing matchmaker. “We have to set you up.”

“We totally do,” Millie agreed.

“That’s so sweet of you,” I said. “But I already have a date for the party.”

I’m not sure why I said it. Maybe it was their tone, laden with saccharine and superiority. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten dinner and hanger had assumed control of my brain. Or maybe it was that my own sister—my twin sister—was marrying my college boyfriend.

Adam and I dated for most of senior year in college. I was the one who ended things shortly before graduation for a myriad of reasons, including, but not limited to, the fact that he was kind of a jerk. While that was more than four years ago, the two of them “running into each other” at a Starbucks and ending up on a weekend-long first date was still weird. Getting engaged after two months? Weirder still.

Yet, the only one in my life who gave the situation the side-eye was Lola. Everyone else seemed to think it was perfectly fine.

Quinn’s ice-blue eyes widened. “A date?” The string quartet’s song ended just as she spoke, causing the two words to echo throughout the ballroom.

“You do?” Millie looked like she’d sniffed a carton of spoiled milk.

“Yes. I’ve been seeing someone,” I told them, lowering my voice. “It’s getting serious, actually.” Apparently, my lifelong drive to overachieve extended to self-sabotage.

“That’s great, Thay.” Quinn ducked her head, leaning in closer. Her eyes danced as she studied my face. “Who is it?”

Who knew? Certainly not me.

“I don’t want to say yet. It’s still new. Might jinx it.” I bit my bottom lip. With any luck, my evasiveness would create intrigue rather than suspicion. I knew I was backing myself into a corner, but I couldn’t stomach another pitying look, consoling comment, or pushy matchmaker attempt in response to my perma-single status.

“It’s new, but it’s serious.” Millie frowned, gesturing with her half-full martini. “And it’s a secret.”

My stomach flip-flopped. As the biggest gossip in town, she took pride in always being in the loop. Hell, she wanted to be the loop. Millie’s mouth set in a thin line, clearly irked she hadn’t heard about this before. Now she would be going straight into hardcore recon mode, digging for dirt. Millie could be relentless about things like this. I needed to manage her somehow, but people-ing wasn’t my strong suit.

“It’s not a secret. We just haven’t done the whole meet the friends and family thing.” Could they see my heart pounding beneath my dress? Hopefully not, but Millie did have freakishly good vision.

Quinn nudged me with her elbow. “Come on, tell me. I need to know who finally made the cut.”

“Soon.” Soon? Why did I say that? As if the hole wasn’t deep enough, I kept on digging. Maybe I could hide in it later when this came back to haunt me.

“Give me a hint, at least. Do I know him?” Quinn furrowed her brow as if she was mulling over the possibilities.

“You might…” I said, trying to keep the details vague. If I said no, she’d ask why I couldn’t at least tell her his name. If I said yes, well, that was even more problematic.

Adam swaggered up and threw an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, planting a kiss on her cheek. She giggled, batting her eyelashes and leaning into him.

“Hi, sweet cheeks. Millie, nice to see you.” He glanced over at me, giving me a finger pistol. “Hey, sis.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. At six feet tall with sandy-blonde hair and a cleft in his chin, Adam looked every bit like Quinn’s dream man. His bespoke grey suit and swanky property-development career were the icing on the cake. The only problem was, he was obnoxious. For instance, our relationship was anything but sibling-like given our history, but he enjoyed annoying me with weird, passive-aggressive comments.

“Thayer has a date to your wedding,” Millie announced.

“Oh, really?” Adam raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of his red wine. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Heat flared up my cheeks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Hello, darlings.” My mother appeared out of nowhere, as she tended to do, in a cloud of judgment and Chanel No.5. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek, blonde chignon, complimented by an understated, royal blue dress that showed off her lithe, former-ballerina frame. She placed an icy hand on my shoulder, gigantic emerald engagement ring from husband number four sparkling in the dim light. “I see you four are off in the corner all alone. What could possibly be more pressing than socializing with our lovely guests?”

Quinn turned to her. “Thayer was telling us she has a date to our wedding.”

My mother looked as shocked as Quinn had. If her forehead hadn’t been recently Botoxed, she might have even raised her eyebrows.

“Really. Well, that’s good to hear.” She offered me a forced smile, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Who is it?”

The million-dollar question.

I swallowed. “I was just—”

Quinn cut me off. “She’s playing coy with us.” She stuck out her bottom lip, forming a glossy peach pout. “Won’t cough up a name.”

“It’s still new,” I said. “You’ll meet him when I’m ready.” They all knew I was notoriously private. Or “emotionally unavailable,” as they liked to say. More like an expert in self-preservation, which was necessary when you traveled in these circles. Either way, hopefully this would put an end to their prying.

“Ah.” My mother nodded regally. “Well, the wedding is still three months away, dear. Are you sure you’ll still be seeing him by then?” I suppressed a flinch at the verbal dagger. My past relationships may have been short-lived, but I was always the one who cut them loose.

“Positive.” Coffin, meet final nail.

“It’s new but moving fast, Alexandra,” Millie added, butting in. “Maybe there will be more wedding bells soon.” Her tone was aspartame—sweet on top, bitter aftertaste beneath.

I nodded. “Maybe so.”

In reality, I didn’t see wedding bells in my future ever, and certainly not any time soon. Marriage was an antiquated tradition that, in heterosexual relationships, benefitted the man more than the woman. Studies even said as much. On average, wives still did something like 1.9 times as much housework as their husbands, even if they both worked full time. That was a total rip-off; any man who freeloaded like that deserved to be downgraded from husband to was-band, stat.

Plus, my mother’s marital track record only reinforced what I already knew: promises of till death do us part meant nothing in the bitter end—and the end was always bitter.

“Excellent.” My mother’s expression was pleased, if uncertain. “I can’t wait to meet him. I do hope I can have the chance prior to the engagement dinner. You know, to ensure that he’s a suitable choice.”

“Of course. I’m sure we can make that happen.” I took a sip of my wine, wishing it were cyanide instead.