The Desperate Search

The email confirmed what I already knew: I was going to hell.

Not for any of the fun reasons. For googling "professional wedding date hire" at 2 AM on a Tuesday, which felt approximately seventeen times more pathetic than any actual sin I'd committed in my twenty-eight years of chaotic existence.

The website was tasteful. Discreet. Elegant companionship for social occasions. Like I was hiring a sommelier instead of paying someone to pretend they found me dateable.

I closed the laptop.

Opened it again.

Closed it.

My ex-boyfriend was marrying my brother in two weeks. I was the best man. I had told everyone, and I mean everyone, including my parents, my aunt who still asked about my "roommate situation," and the barista at my regular coffee shop who definitely did not need to know, that I was bringing my boyfriend.

I did not have a boyfriend.

I had a sad apartment, a dying succulent I'd named Gerald (may he rest in peace soon), and the kind of emotional avoidance issues that made my therapist sigh a lot.

I opened the laptop and filled out the inquiry form before I could talk myself out of it.

Name: Noah Matsuda Event type: Wedding Date: September 22-24 Special circumstances: My ex-boyfriend is marrying my brother and I'm the best man. I told my entire family I have a boyfriend. I do not have a boyfriend. Please help.

I hit submit and immediately wanted to throw my laptop out the window.

This was fine. This was a completely normal thing that well-adjusted adults did. I was handling it great.

The hyperventilating was a style choice.

Thirty minutes later, I was still awake, staring at my ceiling and cataloging all the ways this weekend was going to destroy me.

It had been two years since Ben left. Two years since I'd come home to half-empty closets and a note that said, roughly, "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore, please don't contact me."

No explanation. No closure. Just gone.

And then, six months later, the Christmas dinner from hell. Ben, seated across from me at my parents' table, my brother Daniel's hand in his.

We wanted you to hear it from us.

It just happened.

We never meant to hurt you.

I'd smiled. Said congratulations. Excused myself to the bathroom where I'd had a quiet breakdown and texted my friend Mia fifteen crying emojis.

Two years of holidays. Two years of "isn't it wonderful they found each other." Two years of performing I'm fine, I'm so happy for them, no really I'm over it until I almost believed it myself.

Almost.

And now the wedding. The best man speech. The whole family gathered to celebrate the love of my ex and my brother, and me standing there pretending I didn't want to scream.

Which brought me back to my original problem: the boyfriend who didn't exist.

I'd invented him in May. Family barbecue. Mom had asked, for the fourteenth time, if I was seeing anyone.

"Actually, yes," I'd heard myself say. "It's still new, but... yeah. His name is..."

I'd panicked. Blanked on every male name I'd ever known.

"Tyler."

Tyler. Where the hell had that come from?

"Tyler!" Mom had lit up like I'd announced I was receiving a Nobel Prize. "When do we get to meet him?"

"Soon. Maybe. He's... busy."

"Bring him to the wedding!"

"Maybe!"

"Noah, you have to bring him to the wedding."

"I'll ask!"

I'd been saying "I'll ask" for four months. The wedding was in two weeks. And my imaginary boyfriend Tyler was still, tragically, imaginary.

Hence the 2 AM googling. Hence the tasteful website. Hence my dignity circling the drain.

The response came the next morning.

Dear Noah,

Thank you for your inquiry with Plus One Professionals. Based on your availability and requirements, we'd like to schedule an initial consultation. Please select a time that works for you.

We've matched you with one of our premier companions who specializes in high-pressure family events. His name is Tyler.

I stared at the screen.

You have got to be kidding me.

His name was actually Tyler.

The universe was either helping me or playing the cruelest joke imaginable.

I booked the consultation for Thursday at 3 PM, closed my laptop with more force than necessary, and went to work pretending I hadn't just hired a fake boyfriend.

The thing about avoiding your problems is that they never actually go away. They just wait, patiently, for the most inconvenient moment to resurface.

Mine chose that moment to be Wednesday at 11 AM, in the form of a video call from my mother.

"Noah!" She beamed at me through the screen. "I was just finalizing the seating chart with Daniel and Ben. Tyler's sitting at the head table with you, obviously."

"Obviously," I repeated weakly.

"Ben was asking about him. I think he's curious."

Of course Ben was curious. Ben probably wanted to make sure I'd moved on so he could feel less guilty about the whole destroyed-my-life situation.

"What did you tell him?"

"That Tyler is wonderful and you're very happy." Mom's expression softened. "You are happy, aren't you, sweetie?"

The lie came so easily now. "Yeah, Mom. I really am."

"Good." She sniffed. "You deserve it. After everything."

After everything being the family euphemism for "that time your brother stole your boyfriend and we all had to pretend it was normal."

"Thanks, Mom."

"See you at the rehearsal dinner! Kiss Tyler for me!"

She hung up before I could respond.

I put my head down on my desk and contemplated my life choices.

Thursday at 2:45 PM, I was sitting in a coffee shop downtown, leg bouncing, hands wrapped around a latte I wasn't drinking, trying not to look like I was waiting to meet a professional escort.

Companion. They preferred companion.

I'd googled him. Tyler Kang. The website had a minimal profile, headshot, basic bio, five-star reviews. "Tyler helped make my sister's wedding bearable," one said. "Professional, charming, and genuinely kind." Another: "I forgot he wasn't my actual boyfriend by hour two."

In the photo, he looked... nice. Handsome but approachable. The kind of guy you'd bring home to your parents.

Which was literally the point.

The door opened. I looked up.

My brain stalled out completely.

The photo had not prepared me.

He was tall, taller than me by several inches, with the kind of face that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. Black hair, perfectly styled. He scanned the room before landing on me with a small, professional smile.

He was wearing a simple button-down and dark jeans. It should have looked ordinary. It did not look ordinary.

"Noah?" He approached the table, hand extended. "I'm Tyler."

I shook his hand. His grip was firm. Warm. His smile was easier up close, almost amused.

"You found me," I managed.

"You're the only person here who looks like they're waiting for test results. Figured it was a safe bet."

Great. Excellent. Off to a wonderful start.

He sat across from me, folding his hands on the table. "So. Your ex is marrying your brother."

"Yep."

"And you're the best man."

"Yep."

"And you told your entire family you have a boyfriend named Tyler."

"In my defense, I panicked."

"No defense needed." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I've heard worse."

"Have you?"

"One client hired me to pretend we'd been engaged for three years because she didn't want to admit she'd made up a fiancé to get her grandmother to stop setting her up on dates. The grandmother was dying. Very slowly."

I blinked. "Okay. That is worse."

"See? You're ahead of the curve."

The knot in my stomach unwound. Just a little. Just enough.

"So," Tyler said, pulling out a tablet. "Let's talk details. The more I know, the better I can sell it."

He asked questions. Lots of questions. How long had we been "dating" (five months, if anyone asked). How had we met (I hadn't figured this out yet). What did I do for work (marketing manager). What were my hobbies (spiraling and avoiding my emotions, but we'd workshop that).

He took notes. He nodded along. He didn't flinch when I explained the Ben situation in more detail, the sudden ending, the lack of closure, the family gatherings that felt like emotional landmines.

"That's rough," he said, and it didn't sound like empty sympathy. "Two years of that. You must be exhausted."

I was. I was so tired of pretending.

"The goal here," I said, "is to get through the weekend without any of them realizing Tyler doesn't exist. And without me having a breakdown. Ideally."

"We can do that." He put down the tablet. Looked at me properly. "I should tell you, I'm good at my job. Really good. By the end of this weekend, they'll believe we're together. But the most important thing is that you believe it too."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a terrible liar."

I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it. He wasn't wrong.

"Your face shows everything. Which means we have to make this real enough that you're not lying. You're just... performing a version of the truth."

"A version of the truth," I repeated. "That's very philosophical."

"I minored in theater. It's basically the same thing."

He smiled. A real one this time, dimple appearing on his left cheek.

My pulse tripped over itself.

No.

Absolutely not.

I was hiring this man to pretend to date me. Developing actual feelings would be the most on-brand disaster I could possibly create, and I refused.

"Okay," I said, pushing down whatever that stomach thing was. "Let's do this. Let's create a version of the truth."

Tyler pulled out a contract. "First, some ground rules."

We went through the paperwork. The rates were painful but not impossible, I'd been saving for a new car, but sanity was more important than a vehicle at this point. The boundaries were clearly outlined: physical affection as needed for the act (hand-holding, casual touches, brief kisses if necessary), no explicit content, professional distance maintained at all times.

"No personal questions about my real life," Tyler said. "No contacting me outside of event-related planning. And when the event is over, so is the arrangement. Clean break."

"Clean break," I echoed. "Got it."

He extended his hand again. "Then we have a deal, boyfriend."

I shook it. His hand was still warm. Still firm.

I was so, so screwed.

I walked home in a daze.

I had a fake boyfriend. A real fake boyfriend. One who was somehow named Tyler, which was either fate or the universe having a laugh at my expense.

One who looked like that.

One who was going to hold my hand and call me pet names and convince my family we were in love, all for the low price of my entire savings account and my remaining dignity.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

I was going to survive this wedding, and then I was going to move to a small island somewhere and never see any of these people again.

My phone buzzed. A text from Tyler.

Looking forward to meeting the family. Don't panic. We've got this.

Another buzz.

Also, you should know, your face really does show everything. You looked at me like you'd seen a ghost when I walked in. Might want to practice a more casual greeting before we meet your ex.

I groaned.

Working on it, I typed back.

We've got six weeks. Plenty of time.

Six weeks. Six weeks to learn how to pretend I wasn't attracted to my fake boyfriend, wasn't terrified of facing Ben, and wasn't one poorly-timed family comment away from losing it entirely.

Piece of cake.

I went home, watered Gerald (still dying), and made a list of all the ways this plan could go horribly wrong.

I ran out of paper.