I say, knowing I won’t be able to figure something out in time.
By noon, I’ve filmed three segments I’ll never post, eaten a sleeve of Oreos (off-camera, of course), and googled “how to fake a boyfriend” fourteen times. The results don’t help. Other people’s fake boyfriend problems involve high school reunions and nosy aunts, not destination weddings where your ex will be with his tantric sex partner under the tropical sun.
I’m two glasses into a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc when Mom calls.
“Poppy, darling. Violet told me the wonderful news—you’re seeing someone!”
Of course, she did.
“It’s new, Mom. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“But you’re bringing him to the wedding, right? Violet said you were bringing him.” There’s an edge in her voice. Catherine Gable doesn’t do subtle. “It would be so nice for you to have someone. Especially with Preston there. You know, I always thought you two were perfect together, but these things happen, and Violet says this new man is lovely—”
“Mom, I’m in the middle of filming—”
“Of course, I don’t want to interrupt your little internet thing.” A pause. When she speaks again, her voice has softened. “I justwant you to be happy, Poppy. I know I don’t always say it right. But when things fall apart...” She trails off, and I know she’s not talking about me anymore. “Well. It matters to have someone in your corner.”
It’s the closest she’s come to acknowledging the fallout over Dad and his disappearance from our lives.
“I know, Mom.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you. I just wanted to say how proud I am of my daughters. Both of you are so successful. Violet saving lives, and you with your... um... internet presence.”
The pause before “internet presence” says everything.
She hangs up. I pour another glass.
By 10 PM, I’ve hate-scrolled through Preston’s Glowstagram (he’s grown a beard, which looks stupid), Serenity’s Glowstagram (she’s teaching a workshop on “conscious uncoupling”), and Violet’s feed (her engagement photos look like a J.Crew ad).
By midnight, I’ve finished the bottle.
By 2 AM, I’ve made choices I’ll regret.
What was that app called? Spell-something or another.
Then it hits me: Spellbound Dates. I’d seen it in my Glow feed—even more so since I became single again. Turns out that targeted ads seem to know my pain. I hadn’t downloaded it. Honestly, I never thought I would need a dating service. But here I am, thinking maybe the algorithm knows how to help.
And what better algorithm could there be than a vetted, very exclusive, dating service app, right? It’s the kind of service that doesn’t call itself an escort service. But it is—just with better branding.
So I pull out my phone and download the app.
“Professional companionship for any occasion,” the app declares. “Fully customizable arrangements. Discretion guaranteed.”
I’m drunk enough that “discretion guaranteed” sounds appealing instead of suspicious. But even now, my brain does what it does: strategize. This isn’t desperation. It’s problem-solving. I’ve built a career on optics, on curating experiences, on knowing what story to tell.
I open my notes app.
Objective: Convince family the relationship is real.
Audience: Critical mother, overachieving sister, smug ex
Duration: 4 days, close quarters
Success metrics: No one suspects. Dignity intact.
Goal set, now all I have to do is fill out Spellbound’s intake form—which feels super long and super intrusive. Event type: wedding. Duration: four days. Location: Bahamas, probably. Relationship backstory needed: yes. Physical affection required: minimal. We’ll need to look comfortable together, but I’m not paying for anything that crosses lines.
Special requirements: Looking for someone who can navigate complex family dynamics. Event involves extended time with immediate family, ex-fiancé, and his new partner. Must be comfortable with media presence (847K followers, may need to post). Must maintain a believable relationship narrative under scrutiny. Cultural sophistication preferred—event is in the Bahamas, wine knowledge helpful. Should seem successful but not flashy (needs to be believable we met through friends). Most important: a good actor who can project real affection without making it weird.
