☾︎✿︎☽︎
Zoey’s eyes flew open. In a panic, she shoved Abby off her, sending him tumbling face first to the floor with a yelp.
"Owwww…." he groaned, his voice muffled.
Fortunately for them—and Zoey’s dignity—the high back of the couch was turned toward the door. The odds of anyone walking in on a truly traumatizing scene were blessedly low.
Zoey peeked over the couch to find Gigi standing in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Gigi! I wasn’t expecting you,” Zoey said, striving for casual and missing by a mile.
“Clearly,” Gigi said, slowly recovering from her shock. “I’ve been knocking on your door for the past five minutes with no answer, but it seems you were… busy.”
Zoey’s face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not what it looks like—"
"It looks like you two were making out." Gigi cut her off flatly.
Zoey sputtered. "Whaaaaat? No!" She waved her hand. "Abby was just.... doing push-ups."
Gigi arched an eyebrow. "Doing push-ups?"
"Mhmm," Zoey replied, giving her a tight-lipped smile.
"On the couch?”
“Yep.”
“On top of you?”
“We… do a lot of unconventional fitness routines together.”
Gigi stared, her expression utterly deadpan. “Hey, Abel. You okay down there?”
“Other than my bruised pride and possibly a cracked rib, I’m just peachy,” Abby answered, his face still planted on the rug.
“See? He’s fine…” Zoey muttered weakly.
“And how did he fall off the couch mid… push-up?”
“He’s… remarkably clumsy.”
“Right…” Gigi drew the word out, her tone dripping with disbelief. "Anyways, I'll be waiting in the car while you two.... sort yourselves." Gigi turned to leave before muttering, "Thank God, the back of the couch covered whatever those two were doing."
The door clicked shut behind her. Abby finally rolled on his back, rubbing his jaw.
"Well, that happened," He said, running a hand through his hair.
Zoey groaned as she fell back on the couch, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my God, just kill me now."
Abby chuckled, finding the situation funny. "On the bright side, at least she’s got ‘push-ups’ to speculate about.”
Zoey grabbed a cushion and hurled it at him. It hit him square in the face with a soft thump.
“Ow! Hey!” He snatched the cushion and tossed it back. “I’m the victim here!”
“Putting you and ‘victim’ in the same sentence is like giving a trigger-happy hillbilly a machine gun and trusting the vibes,” Zoey retorted.
Abby shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I can be an innocent victim of circumstance.”
“Name one time you’ve ever been ‘innocent.’”
A slow, mischievous smirk spread across his face. “Right before we were about to get frea—ow! Damn it, Zo! That’s assault!”
Zoey simply rolled her eyes. "Tough cookies, country boy. I'm going to get changed."
“Fine. I’ll just… lie here and contemplate my life choices.”
“You do you, boo boo,” Zoey called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bedroom.
Abby groaned. “Boo boo? Really?”
Zoey leaned back out of the doorway just to stick her tongue out at him.
“Real mature,” he replied, his voice flat.
☾︎✿︎☽︎
The bell above the door chimed, a sound of delicate crystal that shattered the heavy silence from Gigi’s car. Zoey followed her inside, enveloped by the scent of expensive linen, gardenia, and latent tension.
The boutique was a sun-drenched sanctuary of minimalist elegance. Racks of exquisite gowns stood like silent spectators, and three full-length mirrors reflected the anxiety Zoey was trying to swallow.
“Welcome,” The voice was warm, familiar, and carried a subtle edge of amusement. A dark tanned woman emerged from behind a sheer silk curtain, her gaze sweeping past Gigi and landing directly on Zoey. A genuine, knowing smile softened her sharp features. “Zoey? It’s that you?”
“Hi, Tati,” Zoey said, her own smile feeling more natural than she expected. “It's been so long.”
Tati moved forward, pulling her into a welcoming embrace. She was slender, almost bird-like, but her grip was surprisingly strong.
"Too long, indeed," Tati echoed, her gaze appraising Zoey from head to toe. "You look just as youthful as I remember."
“Me? I should be saying that to you.” Zoey laughed.
“What can I say? Black don’t crack, and Asian don’t raisin. I’m the best of both.” Tati replied with a wink, her laughter light and easy.
They both chuckled, the shared history a warm, familiar blanket.
“I’m still convinced you sold your soul for your youth, though.”
Tati rolled her eyes fondly, leading her over to a plush velvet couch. “Flattery will get you nowhere, dear.”
Gigi cleared her throat, the sound sharp as a blade on marble. Tati’s expression didn’t so much fall as it settled into something cooler, more formal. Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes. “Oh… you’re here?” Tati said, her tone now carrying a thin layer of frost.
Gigi's expression remained steely, but she gave a polite nod. "Good to see you, Tati."
Tati’s smile widened, the effort visible. "Likewise, darling."
Zoey's eyes shifted between both woman staring down at each other, feeling uneasy about the tension between them.
“I’m assuming you’re here for the final touches on your dress?” Tati asked, her voice a study in forced neutrality.
“Not today. I brought my new maid of honour for her dress fitting,” Gigi said, moving to stand behind Zoey. Her hands descended on Zoey’s shoulders, a claim staked. “I was hoping you’d be kind enough to lend her your dress.”
Tati’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted a fraction. “So, she’s my replacement.”
Zoey felt her entire body tense at the word. Replacement.
Gigi’s grip on Zoey’s shoulders tightened, a silent warning. “It’s a simple favour, Tati,” she insisted, her tone hardening. “Besides, you’ve always had a soft spot for Z. Wouldn’t you rather she wear your dress than some random stranger?”
Tati’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before her professional mask slid back into place. “The dress is ready. Let’s get you started.”
She guided them toward a raised platform. A gorgeous garment bag hung in pride of place. “It’s a custom Seraphina,” Tati said, her fingers brushing the bag’s zipper with a hint of possessiveness. “Made it myself. I had… such plans for it.”
Gigi’s laugh was a bright, polished veneer. “And we’re so grateful you’re letting us use it, Tati. You’re a total lifesaver,” She hooked her arm through Zoey’s, the gesture proprietary. “My girl here needs something perfect, and this is just that.”
“Of course,” Tati said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she looked at Gigi. She turned back to Zoey, her voice dropping into a more intimate register. “I'm not sure if it's your style but I hope you like it.” With a soft whirr, she unzipped the bag.
The dress was stunning. A sophisticated sheath in crushed oyster silk, with delicate cap sleeves and a classic neckline. It was elegant, timeless, and utterly Tati.
"It's gorgeous Tati." Zoey smiled.
“Go on, try it on,” Gigi urged, nudging Zoey toward the curtained alcove.
Tati nodded, helping Zoey step into it carefully. Slowly, every inch of fabric slid into place until Zoey was dressed in Tati’s gown, standing in front of the mirrors.
Zoey was speechless, her mouth hanging open. She reached up and traced the neckline, fingers grazing the silk as she turned around.
"Oh wow," she breathed.
Gigi clasped her hands. “Oh, it’s perfect! See? I told you it would be.”
Zoey turned in the triple mirrors. The reflection was elegant, beautiful even, but the she felt like a stranger wearing another woman’s skin.
Tati appeared behind her, a pincushion strapped to her wrist. “The balance is just off through the torso and hip,” she murmured, her hands gently adjusting the fabric at Zoey’s hips. Her voice was so low only Zoey could hear. “We’ll ease it. Make it feel like it’s yours.”
The unexpected kindness was a salve. “Thank you, Tati.”
Tati simply gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. “Anytime, Z. Last thing we want is you feeling like a prop for the aesthetics.” She shot a pointed glance at Gigi, who was now examining her cuticles with detached interest.
Tati rolled her eyes before turning back to Zoey. “Let me go grab my kit so we can take your final measurements,” she gave Zoey’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and glided away, leaving them alone.
Zoey’s gaze returned to the mirror. She looked stunning, despite the slight disproportion. After all she had a great body. Not too slender, but not to curvy. A decently sized bust and slightly wide hips that made her ass look big. But it felt… wrong.
So, she’s my replacement.
Tati’s words echoed in Zoey’s head, cold and clear. This dress was supposed to be for Tati. Tati was the maid of honour meant to be the maid of honour. Not Zoey.
“Do you not like the dress?”
“Huh?” Zoey’s head whipped towards Gigi.
“You were staring in the mirror with that frown you wear when you want to like something but actually don’t,” Gigi noted, a master of cataloguing Zoey’s tells.
“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Zoey said, frantically waving her hands.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s just…” Zoey trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor, conflicted. She took a steadying breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? For a whole year?”
Gigi let out a sharp, exasperated groan and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Seriously, Z? Now of all times?”
“I’m not trying to be accusatory. I just… I thought I’d be the first person you’d tell about your engagement. The first you’d ask to stand up with you. But you kept it from me for a whole year.”
Gigi’s eyes hardened, her defensiveness solidifying into a wall. “I was going to. But someone was bitching and moaning about her parents finding out she’s a university drop out and got all depressed about it. What was I supposed to do?”
Gigi’s words came as a slap to the face. Zoey felt her chest tightening. “I would have wanted to know. I would have been happy for you,” she said, her voice small but firm.
“Fine.” Gigi threw her hands up. “You’re right. I should have told you sooner. Happy?”
Zoey nodded, a sliver of hope piercing through. “You shouldn’t have kept it a secret, Gigi. I’m your best friend.”
Gigi scoffed. “Don’t guilt trip me now.”
“I’m not guilt-tripping. I’m just saying how it is.”
“Well, I told you I was engaged eventually, didn’t I?” Gigi snapped, her volume rising. “I even sent you the fucking save-the-date with a personal note when you ignored my call!”
Zoey flinched at the harshness, taking a half-step back.
Gigi sighed, the sound ragged, but her eyes held no apology. “I was just looking out for you, Z. I didn’t want to rub it in your face that my life was getting better while yours was falling apart. I was sparring you.”
The logic was so twisted, so perfectly weaponized, it stole the air from Zoey’s lungs. Her pain? An excuse and a weapon. Her silence? A burdensome chore that robbed Gigi of her moment.
“That’s… that’s not for you to decide, Gigi,” Zoey managed, the words feeling feeble against the onslaught.
Gigi just looked at her, a cold, unyielding silence filling the space between them. The unsaid words hung heavier than any shouted accusation.
The sharp click-clack of approaching footsteps cut through the thick air.
“Alright,” Tati announced, her voice a cool, clear blade severing the tension. She held a measuring tape like a sceptre. “Let’s get you out of this and get your measurements.”
☾︎✿︎☽︎
“A year?!” Rumi exploded, leaning into her screen. “She’s been engaged for a whole year and didn’t event tell you?!”
Zoey winced slightly avoiding hers and Mira's stunned looks as she finished braiding her hair into a makeshift headband. “I mean…” she said, her voice trailing off. “Maybe she was trying to be considerate.”
"And you believed that?" Mira’s voice was sharp with disbelief.
Zoey sighed, looking exhausted. "She has no reason to lie. Given the mental state I was in, I think I would have spiralled harder and that would have ruined things for her.”
Mira scoffed. “Right, because the bitch who told you—and I quote—‘you got yourself into this mess, so grow up and own your shit instead of playing the victim’ was suddenly overflowing with consideration and empathy. Spare me.”
"Mira!"
"What? It's the truth!"
"There's a difference between truth and cruelty," Zoey shot back, her cheeks flushing.
"Gigi seems to be an expert in that department," Mira muttered under her breath.
"Okay, okay. Let's not fight," Rumi quickly interjected, her voice calm but firm. "Z, even if she was being considerate why wait so long? Inviting you is one thing but asking you to be her maid of honour when the wedding is—what—weeks away when everything is already planned? Not gonna lie that feels shady as hell."
"And it certainly doesn't help her case that you’re basically filling in the spot she gave her soon to be sister-in-law with you, who I’m assuming would rather eat glass than put up with her," Mira added dryly.
Zoey’s shoulders slumped slightly, feeling the weight of her words. She had already wrestled with that feeling back at Tati’s boutique but hearing it out loud from her friends made it fresh again. "I know, it's all super messy."
"Messy doesn't even begin to cover it," Mira snorted. "That's a PhD level of self-centred that needs to be studied.”
"Maybe she was overwhelmed," Zoey shrugged helplessly. "I mean the wedding is drawing close. Plus Caleb’s family haven’t exactly been making it easy for her.”
"Gee. I wonder why," Mira remarked, her sarcasm so thick it could almost dent a Mercedes Benz and that earned an unimpressed glare from Zoey.
"Look, I appreciate the support,” Zoey rubbed the bridge of her nose. “but right now I need a distraction, not inquisition."
Rumi's expression softened. "Z, you know we're just looking out for you."
“Wish I could say the same about Gigi,” Mira added.
“Okay!” Zoey said, forcing a brighter tone, standing up and stepping back to give them a full view. She gave a slow twirl, showing off the strapless denim dress that hugged her body. The cropped yellow cardigan and matching lace-up heels completed the look – polished but casual.
“So?” she asked, striking a playful pose. “Does this say, ‘effortless brunch chic,’ or ‘trying way too hard to look like I’m not trying’?”
“Both,” Mira replied, deadpan.
“Hey!” Zoey shot a glare through the screen, hands flying to her hips.
Rumi shook her head. “Ignore her, Z. You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Rumi,” Zoey said, flashing a smug look at Mira, who answered with a dramatic eye roll. “Anyway, I gotta go. Abby’s already waiting for me in the living room. Send thoughts and prayers. And possible sorrows.”
“For you or for him?” Mira arched an eyebrow.
“Probably both,” Zoey paused, thinking about it. “Definitely both. Fighting!”
She raised a determined fist in front of the screen.
“Fighting!” Rumi and Mira echoed, lifting their own fists in unison.
Zoey gave them one last nod, then ended the call. After the screen went black, Zoey checked herself in the mirror one last time before exiting the bedroom.
Abby was sprawled on the couch, eyes fixed on his phone, completely engrossed in his game. He didn’t look up until Zoey cleared her throat.
His gaze lifted, then slowly traveled from her heels to her face. He paused. His eyes widened, and a slow, appreciative smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Daaaaamn, mami. Who are you and what have you done with Zoey Kim?”
“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks warmed.
He stood, circling her with exaggerated admiration. “Seriously. You look hot.”
The flush deepened. “You’re just trying to fluster me on purpose.”
“Is it working?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Zoey huffed, the attempt at annoyance only making her look more flustered. “That’s classified.”
His smirk grew as he continued his inspection, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric at her hip. “It’s a far cry from those frumpy, old-lady turtle print sweatpants you love.”
“Hey! Those are comfortable.” Zoey retorted, stomping her foot.
“Comfortable?” Abby raised an incredulous eyebrow. “They’re the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.”
“They’re vintage.”
“They’re hideous.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way her brow furrowed.
“Oh, look who’s talking—Mr. ‘I Dress Like Max Tennyson From Ben 10,’” she shot back, gesturing at his short-sleeved mint green shirt plastered with large pink hibiscus prints.
Abby placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, this shirt is a statement.”
“We’re going to brunch, Abby. Not a vacation in the Bahamas.”
“Exactly why it’s perfect. Light, airy, screams ‘I’m relaxed and fun.’” He struck a pose.
“It screams ‘tacky,’” she quipped, poking his shoulder. “But at least we’re matching.” She reached up and lightly flicked the yellow beanie on his head.
His eyes lit up. “We match? Is this your subtle way of asking me to prom?”
“Aaaaand you ruined it,” Zoey sighed, though a smile threatened to break through.
“Couldn’t resist,” he said, grinning unapologetically. “You set ’em up, I knock ’em down.”
Shaking her head, she turned toward the door, but he stepped smoothly into her path and offered his arm.
“So,” he said, his voice dropping into a playfully formal tone. “You ready to put our award-winning fake-dating act to the test?”
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