“I don’t want to take up too much of your time because it’s, like, your special day, obviously, but I’d love if you could record a quick fifteen-second video welcoming The Knot followers to your wedding that we can post on social,” she says, handing me her phone. It’s already unlocked and open to Instagram.

“Oh, amazing, let’s go find the best lighting and a quieter space,” I say, turning away from the dance floor.

We head out to the patio; I strategically stand a few inches away from the illuminated heated lamp to give my face a warm glow. I press record and coo into the phone, “Hello to everyone at The Knot! This is Eliza Roth, cofounder of Brooklyn Jewels. Thanks so much for celebrating my wedding with me!” I press a kiss into my fingertips and blow it out toward the camera, flashing my diamond ring in the process. I would imagine that every bride feels at least a little bit like a celebrity on her wedding day, but recording a video to go out to a bridal magazine’s two million Instagram followers really hits that feeling home.

“Faaaab, thank you,” Jen says, tucking her phone away in her purse. “I’ll email the rest of my questions later, and you can answer them tomorrow, like we discussed.”

We’ve gone through this—she’s going to send over a basic set of questions about my dress, my venue, my ceremony, and my relationship, plus an added series of questions about my ring and Brooklyn Jewels. Her job will be to string my answers together into a flattering profile designed to inspire brides-to-be.

I turn up a megawatt smile and lean over to hug Jen goodbye.

“I can’t wait to see the story,” I tell her, giving her a dramatic air kiss.

Jen disappears into the crowd. I make a beeline for Raj, who’s nursing a drink alongside Carmen.

“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.”