Fiancée for Hire (GirlxGirl)

1 | It All Started With A Ristretto

I am looking at my reflection, and I no longer recognize the girl staring back at me.

Tears fall down her cheeks in pools of black mascara. Her eyes, once all too familiar, now holding something entirely new. Secrets that weigh down her features and line them with fatigue. She stares back at me pleadingly. She tries to hold onto time like a breath in her chest.

Because everything about the girl staring back at me is a lie.

And perhaps the biggest lie of all is the engagement ring that sits on her finger. My finger.

Only it doesn't mark love. It doesn't mark a new forever. It's a crystal given to mark a business deal. Something noncommittal and unfeeling. It catches the light, and a series of memories flash to mind before I can stop them.

The day the ring was slipped onto my finger.

The day that everything had fallen together.

And the day everything had fallen apart.

Now the ring mocks me. Promises. Lies. The day that the ring had been placed onto my finger was the day that I had been reborn. Bound to a life built on a foundation of lies for six months.
But now, I was out of time.

6 MONTHS EARLIER

I stand up against the counter, elbows rested on the countertop and cheeks cupped in my hands. The sun splits through the winter clouds and pours in from outside, spilling in through the windows and painting the cafe golden. Music that should've been drowning out the lively chatter of people did nothing but fill the eerie silence, floating lazily from the jukebox.

"You're looking lively, Aspen," a voice whispered in my ear, a smile audible in its warmth of tone.

I turned my head and couldn't help but smile back at the pair of hazel eyes that met mine. Violet. My best friend since the moment I'd taken my first shift at The White Swan Café two years ago, when she'd spilt hot coffee all down my apron. Her hair was a tangle of curls, a deep dark red. Muted and so close to brown, and always falling across her face when she'd frantically attend our customers.

"I'm about as lively as this place is," I scoffed, gesturing towards the empty tables, a handful of people scattered through the cafe.

"Oh, that bad then."

"I swear, we're a dead business after the breakfast rush."

Violet sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter alongside me, laying her head on my shoulder.

Just then the door swung open, a gust of winter air swirling into the café in its wake. A man entered. He was slight and dark-haired, with a narrow face and flushed cheeks. His panic brought chaos to the silence. Violet nudged me humorously as he approached.

He had been a regular for as long as I could remember, and quite possibly the reason why The White Swan Café was still in business. Every morning he entered the café in a frenzied sweat, at exactly 11am each morning, ordering the same ristretto coffee.

"Good morning Christopher! The usual?" Violet called to him as he darted to the counter.

"Please."

There was a pause as he collected himself in deep shuddering breaths, wiping the sweat from his forehead, despite the bitter cold from outside.

"How's your morning been?" I said, filling the silence as Violet fluttered around the kitchen.

"Stressful," he sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "So, so, stressful."