Page 2 of Fake Crown

It’s not really my fault, though. His girlfriend constantly posts envy-inducing photos of Brent’s finely tuned physique. He’s catnip, and I’m the cat.

Like Monica, a tiny part of me might be wishing Brent would suddenly find himself single too. His girlfriend appears completely and utterly gone over him, so I can’t see a breakup happening anytime soon.

I scan her accounts and the hashtags she uses. Weird. Silence today, and she’s normally posted something by now. Not a single word or photo. I click through to his accounts, and I don’t find anything there either. He rarely posts.

Maybe they’ve both returned home for the weekend too? Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday in Bellerive, and my parents and sister are away on work-related travel. In hindsight, I should have said yes to any of the offers I got before now. A part of me held out hope Julia, my sister, might surprise me by turning up on my doorstep. She did that my first year at Northern University when she was still working in California. After she took over as the king’s secretary, her free time became almost non-existent.

Instead of dwelling on what a boring long weekend I might have ahead of me, I click on the group chat Monica sent to me. With my thumb, I scroll to the newest posts. Lots of people hosting parties, looking for Thanksgiving dinner dates, a few requests for someone to come home with them and pretend to be their significant other. The various claims made in those posts make me laugh, and by the time I reach the apartment I share with Destiny and Nadiya, I’m feeling lighter.

The silence of our second-floor apartment closes in around me, and I collapse into the couch to check all my other group chats. Everyone is wishing everyone else a happy long weekend, chatting about the ways they’re returning home, and who they’re bringing with them.

Maybe I should have gone home anyway. An empty house in Bellerive would at least have a better view from the window and warmer weather outside.

My phone chimes in my hand with a text from Monica.

Check the group chat I sent you. A sweet weekend away.

Opening the chat, I scroll to the post from a BF with a Captain America avatar. Inside I release an ugh before I read the post.

Weekend wedding in Bermuda. Flight leaves at 10 pm. Back Monday at noon. Looking for my +1. Those with drama need not apply. Pay own flight. Hotel is all inclusive.

Instead of texting Monica back, I hit call and press the phone to my ear. She’ll be in the car with her boyfriend, but I’m not replying to this post. The guy sounds like an idiot.

“Do it,” Monica says when she answers.

“Two initials and a Captain America avatar? He’s going to be the worst. A sleazy, misogynistic jerk.”

Monica cackles over the phone. “You’re judging that hard over initials and an avatar?”

“‘Those with drama need not apply,’” I say. “He might as well scrawl ‘I’ve got issues’ at the end of his post.”

“Oh, I see what it’s like,” Monica says. “You’re all talk.”

“What?” I sit up straighter on the couch.

“In class you were all ‘I seek adventure’ and ‘my extravert-loving heart,’ but when an opportunity drops in your lap, you’re not taking it?” She tsks. “Something better than a trip to Bermuda come up?”

“I have to pay for my flight.”

“That’s a bonus—you can leave early if he really is a sleazy jerk.” She hums over the phone. “Never mind. Someone else replied. I gotta go. Devon doesn’t like it when I talk on the phone when he’s driving. He wants his tunes cranked.”

“Have a good weekend,” I say again before hanging up.

I click into the chat and stare at the exchange of messages. Shared hotel room, but separate beds.

They’re still hashing out details.

I’ll come.

I send the response before I can second-guess myself.

The bubbles pop up under my response.

DM’d you.

In my private messages, I find a picture of flight details and a link to purchase. Other girl was wasting my time. If you’re serious, book this and screenshot as a reply.

Once I’m on the airline page, I grab the credit card that my parents still pay out of my wallet. There have to be some perks to being abandoned on a long weekend. I don’t allow my brain to engage as I type in all my details and press on the pay now button. While the payment processes, a brief shot of panic spikes in me. This guy could be anyone, and not in a good way.