Page 115 of The Plus One Contract

The lies came easy today. Too easy.

Her mother was warm towards me, pulling me into some family photos, although I managed to dodge most of them, disappearing at the right moments, slipping into the crowd, because I didn’t want Sienna’s fake boyfriend ruining the memories they’d look back on someday.

I had a drink with her dad at the bar. We talked about football—his team, my team, how both of them were a goddamn disaster this season. It was simple. Easy. He laughed, clapped me on the back at one point, like he’d already decided I was alright.

I didn’t know why I was trying so hard with them.

Maybe it was some deep psychological bullshit about wanting to be accepted by a family one day. To know I could do it.

Or maybe it was just because they were hers.

We smiled. We played the part. We fooled them all.

We keep up the charade through dinner and dancing. Fake smiles, fake touches that feel a little too real. She stands beside me, and I rest my hand on her back. We laugh at jokes from people I barely know. Each time I catch her eye, a pang of guilt flares because we’re lying to these people. They’re good, decent folks, and we’re conning them for a weekend.

Then I remind myself,it’s only for now.Tomorrow, the wedding is over. We part ways. They’ll have their family photos and sweet memories. Sienna will eventually find someone else to fill this plus-one position permanently. Someone who’s not me.

I set down my drink, ignoring the churn in my stomach.

That’s how it goes, right? This ends soon. I’m a professional at walking away.

But tonight, with Sienna wearing that dress—hair soft, eyes bright, laughing freely—I feel the cost of it more than ever.

Tomorrow, I’ll vanish from their lives. I’ll vanish fromherlife.

Something in my chest knots tight at the thought, so I focus on the swirl of wedding guests instead. One more day. Just one. Then she’s free to find whoever she needs. And me? I’ll go back to my old routine, my mother, my endless deals, and no illusions about fate or forever. That’s how it has to be.

Forty-Three

One minute, Sienna was on the dance floor, surrounded by a swarm of sugar-high kids, laughing as they clung to her. The next, she was gone.

I scan the room, my eyes dragging over the tables, the dance floor, even the bar because knowing her, she’d sneak off for a drink and pretend she didn’t just get tackled by a bunch of toddlers on a wedding-fueled rampage.

Nothing.

A strange unease settles in my chest.

She was just here.

I weave through the crowd, checking the photo booth, the dessert table—because again, Sienna—and then finally step into the quieter hallway leading to the restrooms.

Still nothing.

What the hell?

I move further down the hall, past a row of closed doors, my gut tightening for reasons I don’t fully understand, and just as I’m about to turn back, a hand shoots out of nowhere and yanks me into a goddamn supply closet.

The door slams shut behind me.

“What the—”

A soft hand slaps over my mouth.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from beneath the door.

Sienna’s pressed against me, her palm firm over my lips, her chest heaving.

“Sienna,” I say, my voice muffled against her hand.

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