Chapter 4

ELYSIA

“I am so sorry I couldn’t come with you yesterday,” Rhonda said for what felt like the hundredth time since stepping into my apartment. She perched on the armrest of my couch, her curly hair bouncing as she tilted her head apologetically.

“It’s okay, Ro. At least you brought me some goodies from your aunt,” I replied, holding up the colorful bag she had handed me earlier.

“Yeah, she actually packed more snacks than clothes,” Rhonda said, grinning mischievously. “I made sure to steal enough to make up for not being there.”

I chuckled at her dramatic emphasis. Rhonda was nothing if not consistent in her love for food.

“So,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “how did last night go? Did you enjoy yourself? Even though you didn’t meet someone suitable?”

“Who told you I didn’t meet someone suitable?” I said with a sly smile.

Her eyes widened like saucers, and she practically leapt from her seat to sit beside me. “Wait—what? Start spilling!” she demanded, shaking my arm like a kid eager for candy.

I smirked, letting her squirm in anticipation for a few seconds. “I’ll tell you his name. But every other detail will remain a surprise until the day of the wedding,” I teased.

Rhonda’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “No way! You can’t just drop crumbs like that! I need the full tea. Ṣé ọmọbìnrin yìí, ṣé ò ń fi àṣírí pamọ́ fún mi ni?” she whined, switching to Yoruba as she often did when exasperated. (You this girl, are you keeping secrets from me?)

I burst out laughing at her indignation. “Okay, okay! Here’s the gist. So, I was at the bar last night, trying to figure out how to salvage the whole fake-boyfriend plan after you bailed on me. I ordered a non-alcoholic drink—”

“Obviously,” she interjected, grinning. "You can't drink to save your life."

I rolled my eyes. “As I was saying, I ordered my drink, and apparently, it caught someone’s attention. He came over to talk to me. We chatted for a while, and somehow, he figured out that I was up to something by being at the bar alone. I ended up telling him about Matt, Noémie, and the wedding drama.”

“And?” she prompted, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“And… he agreed to be my fake boyfriend,” I finished.

Rhonda gasped, clutching my arm. “You’re serious? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I confirmed, smiling at the memory.

“Okay, but how hot is he? How old is he? What does he do?” She fired off the questions in rapid succession, her curiosity palpable.

I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “He’s so hot, Ro,” I admitted, grinning despite myself.

Rhonda narrowed her eyes. “And the rest?”

“Well,” I said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint off my jeans to avoid her gaze, “you’ll have to wait. We’re meeting for lunch today, and no, you may not come or stalk me.”

“Stalk? Me?” she said, looking theatrically offended. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I know you,” I replied, arching an eyebrow.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But you owe me updates.”

“Maybe,” I teased, grabbing my phone to check the time. It was 1:45 PM, and my stomach was already fluttering with nervous anticipation.

A text notification popped up.

Rhysand: It’s Rhysand, in case you haven’t saved my contact. So where are we meeting today?

I smiled at his directness.

Me: I saved your contact information, Rhysand. Meet me at Alora Café at 2:30. It’s casual but cozy. Do you know it?

His reply came almost immediately.

Rhysand: I know it. See you there.

I glanced at the clock again and decided it was time to get ready. “Alright, Ro, you’ve got to go. I have a lunch date with a certain someone.”

Rhonda groaned dramatically. “Fine, but I’m expecting every detail later. Don’t skimp on anything!”

“Sure, sure,” I said, ushering her toward the door.

---

The Alora Café was bustling with its usual lunchtime crowd when I arrived at 2:25 PM. I chose a small corner table by the window, the perfect spot to people-watch while waiting. The warm scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the soft hum of chatter created a cozy atmosphere.

A few minutes later, the bell above the door jingled, and my heart skipped a beat as Rhysand walked in.

He spotted me immediately, his tall frame and confident stride turning a few heads as he made his way over. Dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked effortlessly put together.

“Elysia,” he greeted, his deep voice sending a small thrill down my spine.

“Rhysand,” I replied, standing to shake his hand.

He smirked, his grip firm yet gentle. “You don’t need to be so formal. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”

I laughed, motioning for him to sit. “True. But I’m still adjusting to the idea of having a boyfriend—even a fake one.”

"I will make sure to get you used to the idea." He smiled.

We ordered coffee and pastries and ate quietly.

"So what do we need to know about each other to make it all believable in the presence of the guests?"Rhysand asked.

I took a sip of my coffee." Well, my birthday, yours too, allergies, stuffs that makes us really look like couples."

"Okay, no problem. But first, you need a makeover." Rhysand said. "A makeover, what for?" I asked.

"To be the shining gem at the wedding, other than the bride and let everyone know your boyfriend is taking good care of you." he replied grinning.

Rhysand’s grin was mischievous, his blue eyes gleaming with a challenge. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “I don’t need a makeover. I’m perfectly fine the way I am.”

“You’re more than fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone that made my pulse quicken. “But if we want people to believe this story, they need to see the new, radiant, taken Elysia. We’ll turn some heads—and leave your ex speechless.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to gauge if he was serious. His confident smirk said it all. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

He chuckled, leaning closer. “I do. But mostly because I can already imagine the look on your ex’s face. Trust me, this makeover is part of the strategy.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. But nothing too crazy, okay?”

“No promises,” Rhysand teased, sitting back with a satisfied expression. “We’ll start tomorrow. I know a stylist who’ll do wonders.”

Rhonda was going to lose her mind when she heard about this. I'm sure she will want to come along.

“So,” I said, steering the conversation back to our plan, “what’s your birthday?”

“December 18th,” he replied. “Yours?”

“April 7th. Any allergies?”

“None,” Rhysand said. “You?”

“Peanuts. Death in a shell.”

He chuckled. “Got it. No peanuts near you.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, covering favorite foods, places we’d traveled to, and random tidbits about our lives. By the time we finished our coffee, I felt surprisingly comfortable around him—like we’d known each other much longer.

“This might just work,” I said as we stood to leave.

Rhysand opened the door for me, his hand resting lightly on my lower back. “It will. Trust me, Elysia.”

As we stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, I had a feeling that our little fake relationship was about to get far more complicated—and far more interesting—than either of us had planned.