Page 1

CHAPTER 1

The Magnolia Grand Hotel in downtown Charlotte is exactly what you'd expect from old Southern money with its gleaming marble floors, crystal chandeliers dripping from high ceilings, and enough floral arrangements to make a botanical garden jealous. I adjust the wrap of my cobalt blue dress, smoothing the fabric over my hips. The color pops against my skin, and the cut flatters my size eighteen curves rather than trying to hide them. I learned to embrace my body instead of trying to disappear in black shapeless shifts.

My phone buzzes in my clutch. I check it discreetly, finding four new texts from the Naughty Girls.

Emily: Tell us about the wedding! Rich people drama?? Is it like the Kardashians?

Christine: Is the venue as ridiculous as it looks online?

Maya: Forget the venue, scope out the groomsmen! Wedding hookups are practically a professional requirement.

Jessica: Don't forget our emergency code if you need an out: "My dog swallowed my grandmother's dentures."

I smile despite my nerves. The Naughty Girls Book Club has become my lifeline over the past year. What's not to love? We’re a group of women united by our love of spicy romance novels and our weekly virtual meetings. As chapter president, I'm technically supposed to keep us on track discussing literary themes, but we usually end up analyzing the latest Daddy Dom hero's red flags while ordering more Pinot.

Me: Just arrived. Will update later. Professional mode: ACTIVATED.

With my game face on, I approach the reception desk. "I'm here for the Kent-Dayton wedding," I tell her. "Jackie Lawrence. I'm Catherine's maid of honor."

The lie slides off my tongue as smooth as honey on warm toast. I don’t like to think about it as lying… more like acting. I’m being paid to play a role. In reality, Catherine Kent and I met exactly eighteen days ago when she hired me to pretend to be her lifelong best friend after her actual best friend, Megan, confessed to having feelings for Catherine's fiancé, Greg. The wedding was six weeks away, invitations sent, plans finalized, and suddenly the bride had no maid of honor and a potential scandal brewing.

Enter me: professional bridesmaid, problem-solver extraordinaire, and now, apparently, Catherine's "bestie since freshman year at UNC."

"Of course, Ms. Lawrence. The rehearsal dinner is in the Azalea Ballroom at six. The bride is in the Magnolia Suite, fifth floor. She's been asking for you."

"Thank you." I flash my most confident smile and head for the elevators, mentally reviewing Catherine's dossier.

Catherine Kent: 28, works in fundraising for the Charlotte Symphony, loves French cuisine, hates cilantro, is allergic to cats, met Greg at a charity auction three years ago, vacations exclusively in the Hamptons or Lake Como. Her father owns half of Charlotte's financial district. Her mother is on the board of nine different charities.

I've memorized her life story, her friend group dynamics, and enough personal anecdotes to fake my way through casual conversations. It's what I get paid to do. To slide seamlessly into wedding parties, handling disasters and difficult relatives while the bride gets her perfect day. Usually, I'm just "Jackie, the bride's friend from college" or "Jackie, who works with the groom." This is the first time I've been hired to impersonate someone's best friend completely.

Double my usual fee, but triple the stress.

The elevator doors open, and I follow the signs to the Magnolia Suite. Before I can knock, the door flies open, revealing Catherine. She’s petite, blonde, and perfect, wearing a silk robe, eyes wide with panic.

"Jackie! Thank God!" She pulls me inside. "Everyone's arriving and I'm freaking out because what if Megan shows up? She knows people in Greg's family and she could totally crash and?—"

"Breathe," I say, setting down my overnight bag and taking her by the shoulders. "Megan is not going to crash your wedding. Security has her photo. And if she somehow sneaks in, I will personally escort her out. In very high heels." I lift one foot, showcasing my four-inch blue suede pumps. "These babies double as weapons."

Catherine's laugh is shaky but genuine. "You're the best. Seriously. I don't know how I got so lucky finding you."

"That's what best friends are for," I give her a reassuring smile. "Now, show me your rehearsal dinner outfit so I can properly gush over it."

For the next hour, I'm in full professional mode: helping Catherine with her makeup, listening to last-minute wedding jitters, and reviewing the weekend schedule. I'm good at this part; the gentle guidance, the calming presence, the ability to make someone feel like the center of the universe. It's why my business has grown from a desperate side hustle to fully booked success in just three years.

"Oh!" Catherine suddenly exclaims, pausing in the middle of explaining table arrangements. "I almost forgot to warn you about Matt."

"Matt?" The name isn't in my notes. A cousin? Drunk uncle? Vengeful ex?

"Greg's older brother. The best man." She wrinkles her nose. "He's... intense. Kind of broody. Greg worships him, but they've been distant lately. Matt's rarely in town. He chases storms for that weather channel."

"WeatherFront?" I ask, remembering a segment I'd seen about hurricane hunters.

"That's it! He's their star meteorologist or something. Former military. Super smart but..." She trails off, looking uncomfortable. "He asks a lot of questions. Very protective of Greg. Just... be prepared. We weren’t sure he was going to make it, but he’s here. Which of course threw off everything. But, Greg’s first cousin didn’t want to be a groomsman anyway and was talked into it to replace Matt and luckily they are about the right size…"

Warning bells chime in my head. Protective older brothers with investigative tendencies are the natural predators offakebest friends.

"Does he know about the Megan situation?" I ask carefully.