Chapter 3

"Why isn't the bride smiling?"

The makeup artist's hand hovered over my cheek, her brush coated in blush.

I said, "Just keep it natural, please."

In the mirror, I looked ethereal in my simple white lace gown. I had opted out of the tiara and the long train. Carter was next to me, changing into a grey suit. The collar was perfectly pressed.

He walked over, wrapped his arms around my waist, rested his chin on my head, and gave the camera a warm, picture-perfect smile.

The photographer smiled. "The groom is very photogenic."

Of course he was. He had practice.

During the break, an assistant casually mentioned while packing up a light stand, "Mr. Davis, do you want to try the same lighting style from your last shoot? I still have the angles saved."

Carter's face went stiff for a split second.

Just a split second.

Then he laughed it off. "You must have me confused with someone else. This is my first time here."

The assistant looked confused but was quickly pulled away by the photographer.

Carter turned to me, his expression as natural as if nothing had happened.

"Tired? Want some water?"

"I'm fine," I replied.

When he went to change into his next suit, I found the assistant.

"What kind of photos did he take here last time?"

The assistant hesitated for two seconds. "Maternity photos... I think it was for his sister? He said she was his sister. The girl had a pretty big bump already."

"Thank you," I said, walking back to the shooting area.

Carter was already changed. He was wearing the same grey suit—I recognized it now. He was wearing this exact suit in the ultrasound photo. Same brand, probably the exact same one.

"Come on, last set," he said, reaching his hand out to me.

I walked over and stood by his side.

The shutter clicked forty times. Every single time, his smile was mathematically precise.

On the drive home, Carter kept his right hand resting on my knee. The car stereo was playing a slow R&B track from my playlist.

He said, "This is a good song. Who recommended it?"

"I found it myself."

"Ah."

I noticed his fingers tapping on my knee three times, but the rhythm was faster than the song playing.

I recognized that beat from Audrey's chat logs—he had sent her a song once, and the intro had that exact tempo.

The music playing in his head wasn't the one coming from my car speakers.

That night, I washed off my makeup in the bathroom. In the mirror, my eyes looked a bit sunken, my cheekbones more prominent. In nine months of living in a fake relationship, I had lost six pounds.

My phone buzzed. Carter had posted a grid of nine wedding photos on Instagram. His caption read: "She said yes, and that’s all that matters."

The comment section exploded. Colleagues, friends, and distant relatives were all leaving congratulations.

His mother liked the post and commented: "Finally."

I finally understood what those seven letters meant. She wasn't waiting for me. She was waiting for someone who could play the part of the perfect wife so her son could fulfill his duty.

I put down my phone and opened Carter's old iPad.

I had found it three days ago in a toolbox in his trunk. His secondary iMessage account was logged in, and he had only one contact: Audrey.

Their Snapchat was filled with their daily life. Cooking together, shopping at local farmers' markets, eating bagels outside the clinic after her prenatal checkup, and a candid photo of her sleeping on his shoulder.

The latest post was from yesterday.

The same day as our wedding photoshoot. After we finished shooting in the afternoon, he had gone to Audrey's place in the evening. He had posted a picture of her hand resting on her pregnant belly.

The caption was: "Waiting for you. These words are enough to get me through a lifetime."

I closed the iPad.

I didn't take any screenshots. I didn't need any more evidence.

What I needed was the right moment.