“Oh, but you don’t need to do that. I’m going to City Hall first thing on Monday morning anyway to change my name. I’ll take it. You’ve been so unbelievably helpful already, you don’t need to do one more thing,” I tell her.

“Really, it’s no trouble at all,” she says.

“I would love to hand-deliver it,” I insist.

She shrugs and stands. “Sure thing. It needs to be submitted within five days of the wedding to count, just so you know.”

“Got it,” I say. “Monday morning.”

She walks away. Raj sits up. “You’re changing your name?” he asks, looking confused.

“I just said that to get her off our case,” I explain. “Just so we’re all clear here, you know I’m not going to sign or submit this marriage certificate, right? This wedding was just for show.”

“Yeah, I know,” Raj says, nodding. “We’re going to take this relationship one step at a time. If we wind up hating each other, we can always pretend to get a divorce, or whatever.”

“Ugh, I need some time off before I plan my next fraudulent life event,” I say, rolling my eyes.

At some point during the night, his bow tie and the top few buttons of his shirt have come undone. He looks sexy and relaxed, and I’m struck again by how lucky I am to have him in my life. I scoot closer to him and nuzzle into a kiss. But the spell is broken when I hear my name echoing through the room.

“Eliza! Liza, Liza, look, Liza, come here!” Sophie shouts, barging in.

She doubles over to catch her breath. “I ran here from the kitchen,” she says, panting. “I was eating your cake, sorry.”

“What is it?” I ask.

She straightens up and holds both of our phones aloft. “You need to see this,” she says. “Sales.”

I scramble toward the closest empty dinner table as quickly as a person in a delicate gown can scramble. She takes the seat next to mine. Raj jumps up and hovers behind us.

“I’ve been monitoring e-commerce all night,” Sophie explains, scrolling through a list of recent sales on her phone. “Sales are zooming up like I’ve never seen before.”

“How much did we sell tonight?” I ask.

“Sixty thousand dollars’ worth,” she says, leaning back in satisfaction.

“Sixty?” I ask. My jaw drops. I turn back to look at Raj. “Sixty?” I repeat.

“And there’s more,” Sophie says. “Carmen gave me your phone when she left. It’s hot, by the way. Like, literally warm to the touch. I think it’s genuinely overheating from all the traffic to your Instagram.”

“Is that safe?” I ask.

“No idea, but the app keeps freezing from all the action. Our account jumped up by eight thousand followers,” she says, showing me the new number on my screen.