He Planned a Fake Wedding to Find Me After Seven Years

§PROLOGUE

It took a terminal diagnosis for me to finally light the candle Beckett Rhodes gave me seven years ago.

Beneath the melted wax, a note emerged.

Nina, if you come to me, we're on.

It was a line of dialogue seven years too late.

I stared at it for a long time, then picked up my phone.

He’d messaged me just last week.

He said he was getting married, and asked how much I was planning to give for a wedding gift.

On a morbid impulse, I wired him $9,999.99.

He replied instantly: [?]

Well, the damage was done. I typed back.

[Is the wedding still on? If so, could I come?]

§01

Beckett Rhodes didn’t reply.

A second later, my phone rang.

"You’ve certainly got expensive taste in parting gifts."

His voice was a low sneer, laced with the same old arrogance.

"Give that much, and how am I supposed to pay you back when it's your turn?"

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. This was the call I had rehearsed and deleted a thousand times in my head.

Now it was real.

"You don't have to," I managed, my voice thin. "I'm not getting married."

I never planned on it before. Now, it was an impossibility.

"Oh, is that so."

The amusement in his voice was unmistakable. He sounded pleased.

"We're old classmates, Nina. A gift is too formal. Just show up."

A notification popped up. The wire transfer had been reversed.

My heart sank a little.

He never needed the money. He never needed anything.

The sum that represented the last vestiges of my life's savings was probably pocket change to him.

"You're coming tomorrow, Nina. I’ve sent you the address to the Hawthorne."

"You'll probably get lost. Forget it, I'll pick you up."

He was rambling, a monologue to himself on the other end.

"Nina? Are you even listening to me?"

I was drifting, half-expecting to feel the phantom poke of a teenage boy's finger on my forehead.

I snapped back to reality. "You don't have to get me. I wouldn't want to trouble you."

Silence stretched on the other end of the line.

"Tch. It was just an offer," he said, each word clipped and sharp. "I'm not that free."

The line went dead.

I took a deep breath, realizing I'd been holding it the entire time.

I pulled up the address he'd sent. The Hawthorne Hotel. One of the most famous landmarks in Portland.

After seven years, I'd assumed a world of distance separated us. Turns out, it was just a few miles of city traffic.

I looked again at the note from the candle, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

§02

The next day, I packed a small overnight bag.

Before I left, I hesitated, then placed "The August Tide" candle inside, nestled between a sweater and my toiletries.

The wax had solidified again, a deep, inscrutable blue where a chaotic, ugly pattern had once been.

After our final high school exams, during the Senior Week bonfire on the beach, Beckett Rhodes had given out graduation gifts to the entire class.

He came from money, and the sound of excited screams echoed down the beach as people opened their presents.

I decided to slip away before he got to me.

I couldn’t let myself get used to nice things. It only made the inevitable withdrawal more painful.

I had only taken a few steps when a voice cut through the noise.

"Where do you think you're going, Conway?"

Beckett’s brows were knitted together. He dumped the remaining gifts into his friend's arms.

He strode over, his voice low and vaguely threatening.

"Everyone gets one this time. Still don't want it?"

His voice wasn't loud, but I glanced around nervously. No one was paying attention.

"I just helped you with a few calculus problems," I whispered. "You don't owe me anything."

Helping him was its own reward. I never wanted anything in return.

"We'll forget about last time. This isn't anything expensive."

He seemed almost awkward as he pulled something from his pocket.

One of his friends slung an arm over Beckett’s shoulder.

"What's the secret meeting about? Whoa, what is that ugly thing? A freebie they threw in with the real gifts?"

Beckett jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

"Get lost. *You* look like a freebie."

After shooing his friend away, Beckett seemed to deflate.

He pressed the object firmly into my hand.

"I made it in this stupid pottery class I took. It's yours. Don't you dare throw it away."

I wouldn’t. Something he made with his own hands, as strange and lumpy as it was, was something I would treasure forever.

§03

When I arrived at the Hawthorne, Beckett was waiting outside, leaning against a black car that probably cost more than my entire education.

The moment I stepped out of the cab, our eyes met.

I was completely unprepared. The carefully rehearsed congratulations caught in my throat.

"Con... congratulations. I wish you a happy marriage."

He stared at me, his face unreadable.

My anxiety spiked. I hadn't worn a full face of makeup in ages. Was my eyeliner crooked? Was a false lash peeling off?

The diagnosis had wrecked me. It took a thick layer of foundation to hide the gray, hollowed-out look of my face.

After a long moment, Beckett finally spoke.

"So it is you, Nina."

He pursed his lips, looking anything but pleased.

"Follow me."

He hadn't even recognized me at first.

My face flushed with humiliation. I followed him silently into the grand lobby.

"The venue isn't even decorated," he said, stopping abruptly. "Are you in a hurry? More than the groom?"

It was only then that I noticed. He was in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled.

But there was no red flower pinned to his lapel. No boutonnière.

"Then why did you ask me to come so early?"

For a second, Beckett’s expression went blank.

He looked away. "Because... I need your help with something."

"Of course. What can I do?"

"I need you to be a bridesmaid," he said, his gaze intense. "We're one short. Are you willing?"

Even though I knew it was impossible between us, a fine, sharp pain pricked at my heart.

A bridesmaid would have a better view than a regular guest.

I composed myself, forcing a smile.

"Of course. It would be my honor."

§04

Beckett led me to a hotel room.

Before I went in, I hesitated. "You know, I live in the city. You didn't have to spend money on a room."

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "You wire nine thousand dollars without a second thought, but now you're worried about the cost of one night in a hotel?"

"This place belongs to my family. It's free. Relax."

He followed me into the room. I dropped my small bag by the door.

He didn't leave. He just stood there, watching me.

His eyes fell to my bag, where the corner of the lumpy, hand-wrapped candle was visible.

He moved towards it, his movements slow, deliberate. He knelt and gently pulled it out.

He turned the strange object over in his hands, his expression unreadable.

"Seven years, Nina," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You kept it for seven years and never lit it."

He looked up at me, his eyes boring into mine.

"Why now? What changed?"

§05

I couldn't breathe. His question hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

"I... I just felt like it," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "It's just a candle."

"No, it's not," he said, rising to his full height, the candle still in his hand. He was closer now, cornering me against the wall. "Nothing with us has ever been 'just' anything."

"I'm tired," I deflected, pushing past him and needing space. "It was a long ride."

His expression hardened, but he stepped back. "Fine. Get some rest. The bride... needs your help tomorrow."

The next morning, he led me to a bridal shop. A sea of white dresses stretched before me.

"Which style do you think looks best? Pick one."

My soul seemed to snap back into my body.

I pointed at myself. "Huh? Me?"

"You're both women," Beckett said quickly. "You can help me choose, and I'll send her the photos. She's very busy."

I looked at Beckett, my silence a heavy weight in the air.

Every part of preparing for a wedding was sacred.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that."

Beckett's face tightened.

"Beckett, what happened to you?" I asked, the disappointment raw in my voice.

I decided to leave. "You should find someone else to be your bridesmaid."

My time was too precious to waste on a tarnished memory.

I hadn't reached the door when he caught up, his hand closing around my arm.

"Nina, does the fact that I'm marrying someone else not bother you at all?"

I looked back at him, my heart stuttering. His fingertips were trembling.

§06

"Why did you send me the money? Why are you being so polite?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

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