“I just spoke to a reporter from The Knot, so hopefully, this amps up sales even further,” I tell him.

“I was watching you do your thing with her,” he admits. “You looked awesome. Totally in your element.”

“You know, you two actually look like a real couple,” Carmen observes.

He slips an arm around me. “What do you mean?”

“Like, happy. In love. In sync. It’s gross,” she says.

I don’t know how to respond to that. After years of being the single girl, it’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that I’m now the girl who looks so obviously happy with her boyfriend. Er, fiancé. Fake Husband. Whatever he is.

“Go talk to that guy over there,” Raj tells Carmen, subtly tilting his head toward my parents’ friend’s son at the other end of the bar. “He’s been checking you out.”

She swivels to steal a glance at him, then swivels back to us. “He’s cute. Bye.”

“I’m really happy we did this,” Raj says.

“Me, too,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.

The party spins on. It seems like a colossal waste of time to sit and eat dinner, so we don’t bother. Instead, Raj and I cut the chocolate cake we chose together, and I carry a hefty slice on a plate as I make the rounds to say hi to more guests. I say yes to all three people who offer to get me a drink. I slip out of my pumps, hitch up my skirt, and scamper onto the dance floor to shimmy and bounce with Raj to “Kiss” by Prince, also known as the greatest love jam of all time. My heart feels like the fizzy overflow of a bubbling champagne bottle.

I close my eyes and work my hands over my head as I dance; I let the music move me. I can’t remember the last time I fully let loose like this. Now that there’s nothing left on my to-do list and nothing left to plan and scheme and strategize for, I’m finally free. I dance until it feels like my skin sweats glitter.

It’s after midnight when the last of the guests trickle out. I think Sophie and Liv might still be around somewhere—and I know I saw Carmen leave with my parents’ friend’s son—but I’m too blissed-out to keep track of their whereabouts. I’m lying on the cool, hard surface of the dance floor with my head cradled on Raj’s stomach. I can feel his breath slowly returning to its normal pace after eight straight hours of dancing and celebrating and getting married. Fake married. Whatever. It was a lot for me, and I’ve had six months to prepare. I can’t imagine what a whirlwind this has felt like for him. His fingers interlace with mine in a lazy handhold.

Across the room, I can hear the sharp click of heels. It takes all my strength to lift up my head and see who it is. Sharon is approaching with an envelope in her hand.