My fiancé cheated on me with my best friend, but I got back at him … by sleeping with his twin brothers!
I scroll through Instagram as last night’s dinner heats up in the microwave. A perk of living alone is that I can make food once or twice and be set for the whole week.
Sometimes, I get sick of the same food every day, but it saves money. Besides, living alone in NYC is expensive. I can’t be spending ridiculous amounts on food when most of my paycheck goes to rent.
The ring on my finger catches the light and I squint at the small diamond before sighing heavily. A heavy weight descends on my shoulders and my entire body wilts a bit.
This is ridiculous. I should feel lucky to be with my fiancé, Galen. We met at a fashion show, and it was a dream come true. I couldn’t believe he looked my way because I’m a curvy girl with unruly hair and more than a few extra pounds, while Galen is literally a male model with six pack abs, cheekbones that could cut steel, and a long, lanky stride that commands the runway. The friends I was with that day are far more attractive than I am, yet somehow, I’m the one who caught Galen’s attention. It was a miracle.
My shoulders slump again. A picture of the two of us stares at me from the side of my fridge and I stare at it morosely. It was taken at the top of the Empire State Building, where Galen took me on one of our first dates. We look so ridiculous together, with him being tall and thin, and me short and curvaceous. He’s almost twice my height come to think of it. Maybe that’s why I’m uneasy about our relationship. There’s something off about us, and maybe it’s our height difference.
I scold myself. I shouldn’t be so shallow. It’s not our height. It’s something else, although what that something is remains a mystery to me.
The microwave beeps and I pull out my leftover chicken and rice. As I head for the couch in my small studio apartment, I force myself to be grateful for my fiancé. He’s one of the best things in my life right now. So why am I feeling so weird about the relationship lately?
After all, once we’re married, I’ll be able to leave this humble apartment and move somewhere bigger and fancier. My job at Coquetterie, a clothing store, doesn’t pay a ton, but Galen makes enough as a male model to support us. That’s saying something because being a male model isn’t like being a female model. The ladies can rake in seven figures per year, but a lot of the guys have to scrimp and make-do. So the fact that my fiancé is highly sought after in his industry is a good sign.
Then again, I hope Galen doesn’t expect me to quit my job. I love fashion, so working at Coquetterie is a great opportunity. I’d rather be a designer than a salesperson, but this is the first step towards making that dream come true. Everyone has to pay their dues to make it to the top, and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.
Surely, Galen wouldn’t make me quit. He’s not like that, right? I’ll have to take time off when we eventually decide to have kids, but we’re not in any hurry to do that. For now, we’re enjoying just being together and exploring the city. We’ll want to settle into married life before any other major life changes.
I toss my phone on the table while I eat. Some random show on Netflix is playing in the background, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too distracted by my misgivings about Galen.
After all, he’s a great guy so why am I ruminating like this? We have a good time when we’re together. He’s a bit vain, but that’s to be expected from a male model. Most ladies would give their right arms to be with him, and instead, I’m feeling glum.
Plus, all my friends swooned when we first met my fiancé at a fashion show. They were shocked when he seemed interested in me, and even more shocked when we hit it off right away. After all, the two of us are like night and day. He loves staying out, partying with friends, and indulging in the occasional joint. On the other hand, I’m very straight-laced. I love going to bed early and spending quality time with Netflix and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. Yet, I’m always amazed at how easy it is to talk to Galen and there’s rarely a lull in our conversations.
I take a sip of coffee from my favorite mug. My best friend, Paula, got it for me for graduation. It has one of my dress designs on it, and is one of my most prized possessions. I always use it for my evening coffee.
I probably shouldn’t use coffee to relax, but it’s my favorite drink after a long day at work. Somehow, caffeine has the opposite effect on me than everyone else. Plus, I need it after a long day on my feet. I love Coquetterie, but some of the women who shop there suck. They can be really mean, especially since I don’t look like them. They’re mostly stick thin, with an attitude to go with it.
That’s part of why I want to be a designer. None of the clothes at Coquetterie are made for curvy girls like me. The jeans don’t fit over my wide hips. Shirts are stretched to the limit over my chest. The clothes at my store only fit sticks with flat chests and no butts, and that’s definitely not me.
My designs are much more inclusive. They look good on traditionally thin models, but they also fit curvy girls. They’re meant to be for everyone, which might be why I’ve struggled to get my fashion career off the ground. Most of the big designers look down on clothes designed for curvy girls, like they’re too good for them. It smacks of snobbery and elitism, but I’m merely a small cog in this giant industry.
I sigh again. Maybe Galen can help me once we’re married. I’ve asked him in the past to make a call to his contacts, but he always brushed me off. All I want is for him to show my designs to one of his connections. He says that’s not how it works, but I know that’s not true. A big part of the fashion industry is about who you know, and not just what you know.
I’m sure Galen is just hesitant because it might have been awkward. If we broke up and I was designing clothes, we’d have to see each other all the time, and it would be embarrassing. I understand why he wouldn’t want that.
But now, we’re engaged. It’s supposed to mean that we’ll never break up, so we can become a fashion power couple. I can even start designing men’s clothes that Galen can model. It’ll be perfect!
I smile ruefully. I’m still not a hundred percent sure my fiancé’s on board with this plan, but we’ll figure it out. A girl like me doesn’t get a guy like Galen often, so there’s no way I’m letting him go.
I take another bite of my dinner. It’s the same thing I had last night and for lunch again today. This is one of those times that I’m bored of the food, but I’m going to eat it anyway. When you’re super broke, you don’t waste anything.
I should learn how to meal prep. I could make chicken on Monday and then have five different chicken dishes for the week. That will be especially helpful when Galen and I move in together and we have two full-time schedules to juggle. Not that he eats much. He is a model, after all.
But it’s also annoying that Galen wants to wait until we’re married to live together. I suggested we move into one apartment as soon as he proposed, just to save money, but he balked at the idea. It’s strange because New York City is an expensive place, and we could definitely cut down on the rent we pay by combining households. However, he thinks we should live separately until after the wedding, like we’re old-fashioned people from the 1930’s. I don’t get it, but I’m trying to respect his decision.
Then again, I do like living alone, come to think of it. I’m in this crappy studio because I didn’t want roommates. I did the living with strangers thing in college, and I never want to do it again because it was terrible. My freshman year of college, I had the worst roommate. She was inconsiderate and rude, to the point of having sex with her boyfriend while I was in the room. I was too intimidated to stand up to her, so I started wearing headphones to bed. The roommates I had for the next three years were no better, from their lack of hygiene to their utter lack of respect for my privacy.
But living with Galen will be different. He’ll be my husband, and not just some random person I share a space with. Plus, it’s not like he’ll be having sex with other women while I try to sleep. He would never cheat on me. Galen loves me and I love him too. I’m a one guy kind of girl, and Galen is my guy.
When my plate is empty, I return it to the small kitchen area. I’m lucky to have a tiny oven in here, right next to my very small fridge. All of the counter space is taken up by my microwave. The kitchen opens into the combination living room/bedroom. My twin sized bed is hidden behind a colorful sheet that looks a bit like a tie-dyed shower curtain.
Galen refuses to stay over at my place because of how cramped and tiny everything is, and I try not to take offense because his apartment is much bigger. But he lives with a bunch of other models so it’s not exactly spacious either. I don’t understand it. Galen makes good money walking the catwalk, so he could easily afford to move out. Why he stays in that model apartment is beyond me.
I turn off the TV. It’s not like I’m actually watching it, and the silence overwhelms my studio. I open the window for some city white noise, and the cool air helps liven up my apartment. It gets stuffy given the tiny square footage.
My phone sits abandoned on my coffee table, next to my mug. I pick up both and open Instagram again. Most of the pages I follow are fashion or work-related. Even my own page is filled with designs and style inspiration. Maybe it’s tooting my own horn, but I have over a thousand followers. Of course, once Galen followed me, I saw a huge jump. I’m not complaining because it looks good for a designer to have a lot of followers, even if right now, I don’t have any actual goods to sell.
I scroll past a photo of Galen. But then I do a double-take and stop before scrolling back up. My eyes bug out.
“What the hell?” I say aloud to no one in particular. “What is this?”
In the photo, Galen is down on one knee, except I’m not the woman next to him. What the hell? Is this a joke?
It must be a photoshoot. Sometimes, Galen posts sneak peeks of shoots he has done, and this is probably one of them. I squint at the photo and smile hesitantly. My fiancé is so attractive! How did I get this lucky?
But then I take a quick look the girl in the photoshoot and my heart stops. Only her profile is showing, but the face looks familiar. Too familiar, in fact, because it’s my best friend, Paula.
My coffee mug falls to the ground, shattering and leaving a puddle of coffee on the floor.
Paula is not a model. She’s pretty, yes, but in a normal way. Not in a fashion-magazine type of way.
My heart is racing and sweat breaks out on my brow. This must be a joke or a misunderstanding. Galen’s playing an April Fool’s prank on me. That’s it!
Only, it’s not April first. It’s the middle of May.
Sweating cold bullets, I glance at the caption on the photo.
“Can’t wait to make this beautiful woman my wife,” it says. The hashtags include “#bae” and “#love_of_my_life.”
Oh my god, I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening. Galen is engaged to me. Why is he posting on Instagram about proposing to Paula?
Vomit swirls in my stomach and a sour taste rises in the back of my throat. Galen never even posted a photo of us when we got engaged. He said it was because he could lose modelling jobs or some other vague excuse.
That obviously wasn’t the truth. Plus, I notice a familiar-looking arch of flowers, and swallow hard again. This photo was taken on the rooftop of Lombardi’s, a restaurant in Little Italy near where Galen lives. He took me there on our first date. It was our place, or so I thought.
Comments flood the feed, congratulating the happy couple. They say things along the lines of “Beautiful couple!” and “Congratulations on your big announcement!” Anger courses through me. I look at the diamond on my finger. Does it even mean anything?
I jump up from the couch, grab my purse, and head for the door. I need to get to the bottom of this. This is such a sick joke, and nausea makes me heady, but there’s no time to waste.
After all, this is a huge misunderstanding. And if it isn’t, I’ll have to kill Galen and my so-called friend, Paula.
To be continued …
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