The Consolation Prize

Chapter One

Oliver Waite was every girl's dreams. So when Monica brought him home to their parents, Monique knew it was an endgame for her. She used to have a little crush on him when she would watch him compete in quiz bowls or the sport he was in—lawn tennis, the determination strongly set in his green eyes.

Monica and Oliver were lucky to have each other. They were the 'it' couple in their high school. While Monica and Monique took law together, Oliver was on his way of becoming a business tycoon. He was a technology geek. He used to modify Monica's cell that it would be identical to his just so that they could have a special connection with each other.

"Good luck for your big day, sis," Monique said as she wrapped her arms around Monica. Her heart was breaking a little because they wouldn't go and do things together. Even if Monica and Oliver were together, Monica always gave time so they could hang out with each other. But being married was different with still being in a relationship. They would even hold pranks in their classes sometimes when they didn't share the same classes in college. Those were memorable days.

"Thank you, Monique."

"You'll be the most beautiful woman tomorrow. And Oliver will cry as you walk down the aisle," she said, her chest tightening. Monica would have babies and Monique would probably be left alone, watching television series in her condominium unit. She was the only best friend she had and her support. She had always clung to her and had become dependent to almost everything. And Oliver whisking her away, she would be alone and that was what scared her.

"Nonsense," Monica waved off playfully, "you look like me so we'll be the most beautiful women tomorrow." A blush spread across Monique's cheeks. They embraced each other one last time and Monique felt the rush of air conditioner nipping her skin. It was cold as she balanced herself on her heels. She was still trying to get used to the heels Monica forced her to wear.

She decided not to go to the bar. It would be pointless and Monique wasn't a big fan for small talks. She hated being asked with how she was and where she lived. It might be a conversation starter but she wanted to talk about the universe and Game of Thrones, of how George R. R. Martin wrote a brilliant series, of how he was able to create character developments into a lot of characters, of how Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made Sherlock the way he was. She liked talking about philosophy and religion.

She slowly took a step forward and took another until she fell to her knees. Her cheeks warmed to a bright crimson when she felt someone staring at her. She felt someone's presence towering over her and when she looked up, she sheepishly smiled. He had bright blue eyes and dirty slick blonde hair that was neatly gelled, a dimple marring his cheek for his lips had turned up into a grin. His hand was stuck out, clearly offering a hand to help her up.

She timidly accepted his help, his palm warm against her cold and shaky one. Embarrassment tugged at her heartstrings. "I'm such a klutz, am I not?" she asked as she let out an awkward laugh.

"Is it your first time wearing those heels?" the gentleman asked instead of giving a reply, a smile still tattooed on his mouth.

Monique nodded in shame. "I'm not a big fan," she answered. "My sister Monica is."

"Isn't she the bride-to-be? I've met her before. Your sister was lovely." There was mirth in his blue eyes. Monique concluded this man certainly had a crush on her twin sister. Even Monica and Monique looked alike, people could vastly distinguish the two of them. Their personalities were at different spectrums. Whenever they walked together in a public place, Monique noticed people's stares were always on Monica. She was confident on her skin, strutting like the world did owe her a favour. While she, on the other hand, walked sloppily as if she never learned how to walk before.