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༺♥༻
It starts like most of their moments do—laughter crackling between them, half-drunken dares and easy touches that almost mean something. They’re walking shoulder-to-shoulder down the Vegas strip, bathed in pink light and neon buzz, their hands occasionally brushing like they don’t want to admit how many times it’s happened on purpose.
Lottie’s heels click along the pavement, and Natalie’s boots scuff beside them. Somewhere down the strip, someone’s playing a saxophone off-key and the lights from a drive-thru chapel are blinking like a heartbeat. Lottie’s cheeks are pink from champagne and desert wind, and Nat’s still a little breathless from the ride here—Shauna had insisted they all pile into one car, and Jackie kept yelling out the window about “getting blessed by sin.”
They’re a few hours past dinner, a couple drinks past tipsy, and definitely on the other side of reasonable.
Lottie bumps her shoulder into Natalie’s, grinning like a secret.
“Let’s get married,” she says.
Natalie laughs without thinking. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Lottie turns to her, still grinning, but there’s something sharp in her eyes, something teasing and wild and just a little bit too hopeful. “C’mon. When else are we gonna do something completely insane and romantic?”
Nat doesn’t answer immediately. She just looks at her—really looks at her. Her eyeliner’s smudged, there’s glitter dusted along her collarbone, and her hair’s a little frizzy from the dry heat, but she looks… radiant. She always does when she’s caught in a moment, glowing from the inside out.
And really—why not?
They’re in Vegas. They’re with their friends. Lottie’s grinning at her like she hung the moon. And friends marry friends all the time in Vegas, no big deal, right? It’s just a fun getaway vacation with her friends to celebrate the end of the semester. Nothing serious. Nothing real.
Just… Lottie’s hand brushing hers. Lottie’s laugh, bright and reckless in the neon haze.
Natalie feels her heart pound against her ribs like it’s trying to break free.
“Yeah, sure,” she says, grinning back before she can think better of it. “Let’s get married.”
There’s a half-second of silence. Then—
Van gasps like someone proposed in a movie. “You’re joking.”
Tai immediately yells, “NO BALLS!” with the loud confidence of someone who’s been mixing tequila and Red Bull for four hours.
Jackie practically shrieks, “DO IT!” like she’s still on a soccer field and someone just broke the defense line.
Shauna, ever the most prepared chaos gremlin, is already pulling out her phone. “Okay, but actually, there’s a chapel like five minutes away. It’s open ‘til 4 a.m., and you can pick out your own theme. I’m talking Elvis, vampire, Star Trek—”
Lottie leans in close, eyes wide and shining. “We could get married by a vampire Elvis.”
Natalie blinks. “I’m not saying no.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Van says, catching up to them with a grin and arms full of souvenir yard drinks. “Are we seriously doing this? Like—married-married?”
Lottie doesn’t even hesitate. “Are you chickening out?” she throws back, tilting her head toward Natalie, eyebrows raised.
Natalie swallows, eyes narrowing just slightly in the way they do when she’s about to commit to something stupid.
“Never,” she says.
From there, it’s all chaos.
Tai flags down a stretch limo that’s been idling near the corner. It’s hot pink with silver flames on the side and smells vaguely of glitter glue and bad decisions.
They pile in, still laughing, half-screaming, Jackie climbing over everyone’s legs to DJ the aux and Shauna shaking her phone in triumph. “Elvis is booked, but there’s a chapel called ‘The Love Tunnel’ and it’s got mood lighting and fog machines. I booked it. They said we can bring our own rings.”
“I have five Ring Pops,” Van says solemnly. “They’re watermelon flavored.”
Misty is already there when they arrive, suspiciously sober and somehow in possession of an official-looking document. “I brought the paperwork,” she says, like she knew this would happen.
Lottie’s in a glittery silver slip dress and a veil she definitely stole from the hotel gift shop. Natalie ends up in a white feather boa, an oversized blazer that might belong to Van, and someone else’s heels.
Tai uses liquid eyeliner to draw a crooked little heart on Lottie’s cheek. “For the wedding photos,” she explains.
Jackie insists on curling Natalie’s hair in the limo with a tiny portable wand she keeps in her purse. “This is the only time you two are ever gonna get married,” she says seriously. “You’re gonna look hot.”
The chapel itself is insane—a tiny white box with neon hearts in the windows and a rotating disco ball hanging above the makeshift altar. Fog machines hiss. Someone’s already queued up Bruno Mars – Marry You on a beat-up speaker.
Lottie takes Natalie’s hands. Her own are warm, steady despite the fact that she’s still a little tipsy. “We don’t have to,” she says, voice softer now, realer. “We can just run.”
But Natalie—her chest hurts a little, and not in a bad way.
“Don’t chicken out on me now,” she says, grinning.
Lottie’s eyes widen like she hadn’t expected that. “Okay,” she breathes.
They stand beneath a neon sign shaped like a heart pierced by lightning. Misty officiates, somehow, with a dead-serious voice and a lot of unnecessary Latin.
Tai starts crying when they exchange Ring Pops. Van hands her a napkin.
Shauna records the whole thing on her phone. Jackie shouts “You may now kiss the bride!” even though no one prompted her.
They kiss.
It’s a little messy, a little too fast, like they weren’t sure who would move first—but Lottie tastes like cherry lip gloss and cheap champagne, and Natalie forgets how to breathe halfway through.
The room erupts. The karaoke track plays. The fog machine kicks in so aggressively that Van trips into the altar and knocks over a flower arrangement.
And Natalie—God. She feels dizzy. And not from the alcohol.
It’s the way Lottie is holding her hand even after the music ends. It’s the way their friends are dancing in the aisle. It’s the way, in the blur of the moment, something real happened.
And there’s no undoing it now.
༺♥༻
Natalie wakes up with cotton mouth, glitter on her neck, and a ring pop stuck to her cheek.
She groans, flopping back against the pillow. The room is way too bright. Somewhere, a faucet is dripping. Her phone buzzes on the nightstand like it has a personal vendetta against her.
Her first thought is: I’m never drinking again.
Her second is: Why the hell is there a veil on the lamp?
She sits up slowly, head pounding like someone’s playing drums inside her skull. There’s a silver dress crumpled at the foot of the bed. A feather boa draped over the TV. A bouquet of plastic roses wedged between two pizza boxes.
Oh. Oh no.
She turns—and there’s Lottie, fast asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up on top of the covers, her makeup smudged and one hand still wearing the sticky remains of a watermelon ring pop.
They’re still wearing their wedding clothes.
Natalie stares. Her heart does a strange little flip. Then her phone buzzes again—this time with a notification that makes her stomach drop.
Shauna: YOU GUYS WENT VIRAL.
She opens Instagram. There it is.
A blurry, glitter-drenched photo of her and Lottie kissing under a neon heart, champagne in hand, captioned:
@JackTaylor: she said “i do” and i said, HOLY SHIT #vegaswedding #sapphicsins #scatorcciomatthewswedding
There are hundreds of comments. Thousands of likes. A repost from Misty with a different angle and the tag #eternallove.
And then she sees the text messages. Not hers—Lottie’s phone is buzzing somewhere near the mini fridge.
Natalie crawls across the bed, squints at the screen, and reads:
MOM: Call now.
MOM: Your father just sent me a screenshot from FACEBOOK.
MOM: Why does it say you’re MARRIED.
Natalie freezes. Looks back at Lottie. Then back at the messages.
Oh no .
Shauna barges into the suite without knocking, sunglasses on and holding two iced coffees. “Rise and shine, brides,” she chirps. “Your parents are flying in.”
Natalie chokes. “What?”
“They saw the posts. Misty tagged everyone. Including Lottie’s aunt. You know, the one with the horse farm.”
Jackie follows her in, holding a pair of heels like they’re evidence. “This is the most iconic thing you two have ever done,” she says. “Also Lottie’s mom is terrifying, so good luck.”
Van and Tai appear next, arm in arm, both looking like hungover raccoons. Tai holds up her phone. “She wasn’t kidding. Mrs. Matthews texted me. Me.”
Natalie looks back at Lottie, who’s just beginning to stir.
She mumbles something, eyes fluttering open. “Nat?”
“Morning, wife,” Natalie says, flatly.
Lottie blinks.
Then sits bolt upright.
“What did we do?” she whispers.
And that’s when Shauna says, casually:
“They land in, like… three hours? Oh, and they booked a villa outside the city. They wanna take us on a ‘congratulatory trip.’ You’re not getting divorced, apparently.”
Natalie wants to scream. She wants to crawl back into the sheets and disappear.
But then Lottie grabs her hand—groggy, still processing, but calm—and says, “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
And somehow, Natalie’s heart still skips a beat.
Even now.
༺♥༻
The villa is ridiculous.
Like, there are columns. A koi pond. A woman at the door offering them champagne before they even take off their sunglasses. Lottie’s parents rented the whole place “to give the newlyweds some space,” which is rich, considering they also invited four of their own friends, a private chef, and a harpist for vibes.
Natalie doesn’t know where to look or sit or put her hands. Her hangover is a living thing, clinging to her spine, but she’s trying really hard not to show it—especially not in front of Lottie’s mom, who greeted her with a double cheek kiss and then said, “So. You’re the one who married my daughter in a chapel next to a vape shop.”
Natalie’s sure she blacked out for at least thirty seconds after that.
“Isn’t this amazing?” Lottie says now, fake-married and freshly showered, twirling around their shared guest room in a linen dress she definitely didn’t pack. “We have a bidet.”
“I don’t know how to use a bidet,” Natalie mutters. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the hotel-branded itinerary like it might save her. “‘Breakfast at 9:00 AM, garden tour at 10, lunch with the Rodriguezes at 12:30…’ Who the hell are the Rodriguezes?”
“My parents’ couple friends. They own, like, five vineyards. And a falcon.”
“Of course they do.”
Lottie sits next to her. Close. Too close.
“I can back out,” Natalie says abruptly. “You can say we got it annulled already. Tell them it was a mistake, a joke, or whatever.”
Lottie goes quiet. Then, softly, “I don’t want to.”
Natalie glances over, heart crawling into her throat.
“I mean,” Lottie adds quickly, all practiced ease, “what’s the rush? We just—let it ride, right? We’re good liars. One week, some matching sundresses, a few Instagram stories with captions like ‘honeymoon bliss’—my parents will be too busy to notice.”
Natalie stares at her. “You want to fake a marriage for a week.”
“I want to fake our marriage for a week.”
That should not make her heart do the thing it’s doing. She thinks about last night’s kiss—how warm Lottie’s hand felt in hers. How real it suddenly felt under all the glitter and noise. How scary that was.
“This is insane,” Natalie whispers, but she’s already nodding. Already smiling, a little. “What do we tell them about how we fell in love?”
“Oh, easy,” Lottie says, tugging her down onto the bed with a mischievous grin. “We lie.”
༺♥༻
That afternoon, they sit hand-in-hand across from the Rodriguezes, who bring up falconry within minutes.
Natalie eats imported strawberries and tries not to fidget, tries not to yank her hand away every time it feels too real.
And then Lottie starts talking.
It’s supposed to be a game, a bit. Sell the love story. Laugh it off later. But when Mrs. Rodriguez leans forward and asks, all sweet and conspiratorial, “How did you know she was the one?”—Lottie barely hesitates.
“She’s… fearless,” Lottie says, glancing at Natalie like she’s memorizing her. “Not in a reckless way. She’s just—brave. Even when she thinks she’s not. And she’s funny. Like, stupid funny. She can make me laugh when nothing else works.”
Natalie freezes.
“She notices things,” Lottie goes on, her voice gentler now. “Like… if someone’s feeling off, or if there’s a weird bird outside, or if I’m lying about being okay. She never lets me get away with it.” She smiles, a little lopsided. “And she’s good. Like, actually good. She pretends she’s not, but she is.”
Natalie stares at her, heart slamming against her ribs so hard it hurts.
“She’s it for me,” Lottie finishes simply.
She’s making it all up. Natalie knows that. But the problem is—it sounds real.
Worse: she wants it to be.
She catches Shauna watching her from the other end of the patio, sunglasses on, sipping a mimosa.
And for a second, Natalie wonders if she can tell. If they all can.
Because this isn’t just a joke anymore.
And pretending is starting to feel a lot like falling.
༺♥༻
It’s late.
The villa’s gone quiet except for the sound of distant water—some fountain burbling gently outside like a rich person’s idea of ambiance. Natalie’s sitting alone on the patio, barefoot, hoodie zipped to her chin even though it’s warm out. She’s nursing the last of a drink she didn’t finish and trying to ignore the voice in her head that keeps repeating Lottie’s words from earlier like a broken tape recorder.
She’s it for me.
Lottie said it so easily. So softly. And it’s stupid, because it was for show, right? Just playing house. Just something to tell the Rodriguezes.
So why did she sound like she meant it?
Natalie’s mid-overthinking spiral when someone clears their throat behind her.
“Mind if I join you?”
It’s Lottie’s dad.
Natalie sits up straighter. “Sure,” she says, trying not to sound startled.
He lowers himself into the seat beside her, crosses one leg over the other like a man who’s interrogated more than one boyfriend in his time. Natalie suddenly wishes she was wearing literally anything else.
“I wanted to talk,” he says, kind but measured. “Get to know the woman who married my daughter.”
Natalie resists the urge to throw herself into the koi pond.
“She, uh, told me a lot about you,” she offers.
He nods, smiles like he’s heard that line before. “Let’s start easy. What do you do?”
“I—uh. I freelance right now. Photography.”
He nods again, like he’s filing that away.
“And how did you two meet?”
Natalie swallows. “College. She ran over my foot with a bike.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. There was blood.”
He laughs, genuinely. “Sounds like her.”
Natalie smiles. It’s automatic. Familiar.
There’s a beat of silence, then he shifts forward.
“She’s always been a little… hard to read. Even when she was a kid. But I can tell she likes you. You make her softer.” He pauses. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just—she looks happy.”
Natalie’s throat tightens.
He studies her for a second, then: “But are you happy?”
It’s not accusatory. Not suspicious. Just curious. Gentle. But it still makes her stomach twist into a knot.
“I am,” she lies, because what else is she supposed to say?
He nods like he accepts it—but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. Doubt, maybe. Or just the quiet knowing that comes from raising someone like Lottie.
“You seem like someone who’s been through a lot,” he says. “So I’ll just say this: don’t hurt her.”
Natalie exhales, too fast. “I’m trying really hard not to.”
It slips out before she can stop it.
His brows lift a little—but before he can press further, a door opens behind them.
Lottie.
She steps outside in an oversized t-shirt, hair damp from a shower, blinking sleepily until her eyes find Natalie.
“There you are,” she says, warm and casual and completely unaware that Natalie is about three seconds away from losing it. “You coming to bed?”
Natalie nods and stands, brushing past her almost too quickly.
She doesn’t look back to see if Lottie’s dad is still watching her.
༺♥༻
Their room is dim and golden when they get back—quiet in that strange, padded way expensive rooms always are. Natalie shuts the door behind her too softly, like she’s trying not to wake something up.
Lottie flops onto the bed, all loose limbs and content sighs, and doesn’t notice the way Natalie lingers by the door, hoodie still zipped like armor.
“You good?” Lottie asks, rolling onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “You disappeared for a sec.”
Natalie nods, then shrugs, then doesn’t say anything at all.
Lottie watches her for a beat, then pats the space beside her. “C’mere.”
And Natalie does, eventually. She climbs in, lays on top of the blanket like she’s just passing through. Her arm brushes Lottie’s, and it sparks something stupid in her chest.
Lottie glances at her, smiling faintly. “My mom thinks you’re cool, by the way. Which is a miracle. She hates everyone I date.”
Natalie’s throat goes tight. “Cool.”
“You okay?”
She hesitates.
And then: “Your dad talked to me.”
Lottie raises her eyebrows, eyes sharp now. “What’d he say?”
Natalie stares at the ceiling. “Asked what I do. How we met. If I’m happy.”
“And what’d you say?”
Another pause. Natalie’s voice is low when it comes: “I said I’m trying really hard not to hurt you.”
The room stills.
Lottie shifts, just slightly, like she’s trying to see her better. “Nat…”
Natalie sits up, suddenly, tension winding through her like barbed wire. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Lottie blinks. “What?”
“This fake marriage. Vegas. Your parents. I don’t—I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean anything.”
Lottie’s quiet.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Natalie says, voice breaking just a little. “I don’t even know what this is. You look at me like—like it’s real. Like we’re real. And I don’t know how to do that.”
“You think I’m pretending?” Lottie says, quietly.
Natalie doesn’t answer.
And that says everything.
Lottie sits up beside her, voice soft but steady. “I didn’t say those things today because I had to, Nat.”
“I know.” Natalie breathes out. “That’s what makes it worse.”
They sit in silence.
And it’s all there, suddenly—so close it hurts. Everything unspoken hanging between them, a thread pulled too tight.
“I’m scared,” Natalie admits, finally.
Lottie’s voice is barely a whisper. “Me too.”
They don’t kiss.
They just sit there, next to each other, backs touching, the city lights outside flickering like a promise.
But something’s changed.
Because now they both know—this isn’t pretend anymore.
༺♥༻
Natalie finds Jackie by the pool the next morning, already dressed, sunglasses on, iced coffee in hand like she’s been up for hours. The sun’s still climbing, golden and too bright, and the water sparkles obnoxiously. Jackie doesn’t look surprised to see her.
“You look like shit,” she says casually, sipping her drink.
“Thanks.” Natalie sits beside her on a lounge chair, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I feel worse.”
Jackie hums. “You and Lottie fight?”
“No. Not really.” She pauses. “I just… broke the sound barrier panicking about feelings and then ran away.”
Jackie snorts. “Classic.”
Natalie stares at the pool. Her voice is small when she says, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“What? Like, be in love?”
Natalie winces. “It’s not—”
“Okay,” Jackie cuts in, holding up a hand. “Let’s rewind. You got fake-married. Which is already the most you thing ever. But then you didn’t back out. You didn’t run. You didn’t even flinch when her mom’s friend started talking about family traditions and falcons or whatever the hell that was.”
“Falconry,” Natalie mutters. “Rich people shit.”
“Exactly.” Jackie grins. “And then Lottie said all that stuff about you. In front of her parents. Which, by the way, was like—rom-com level confession material.”
Natalie doesn’t respond. She just hugs her knees tighter.
Jackie glances at her, tone softening. “Look. You don’t have to know how to do everything. But if you’re waiting until you’re not scared to love someone? You’ll be waiting forever.”
Natalie exhales shakily.
“You already love her,” Jackie says simply. “You’ve just been pretending it’s a joke so it won’t hurt as much if it’s real.”
Natalie looks at her then. Really looks. And Jackie’s not teasing. Not smug. Just… honest.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” Nat whispers.
“Start with the truth,” Jackie says. “She’s used to people lying to her. Don’t be one of them.”
Natalie nods, slowly.
And for the first time all week, she feels like she can breathe.
༺♥༻
Natalie finds her on the rooftop terrace.
Lottie’s leaning on the railing, sunglasses on, hair pulled up, bathrobe cinched tight. A mimosa sweats in her hand. She doesn’t turn when Natalie steps out—just says, “Did you sleep?”
Natalie shakes her head. “Not really.”
A beat. Lottie sips her drink. “Me neither.”
Natalie steps beside her, close but not touching. The air smells like citrus and chlorine. Below them, Vegas hums with early noise—traffic, life, too much too soon.
“I’m sorry,” Natalie says. Quiet. Honest. “I freaked out.”
“I know.”
Natalie looks at her, really looks—at the tight set of her mouth, the way her fingers grip the glass. How she’s still here, even after everything.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” Natalie says. “If you don’t.”
Lottie turns to her then. Slowly. “You mean it?”
Natalie nods. “I’m still scared. But I want to try. With you.”
Lottie studies her for a long second, like she’s weighing the risk.
Then she reaches out, lacing their fingers together, bringing them closer. The soft pressure of Lottie’s hand against hers fills her chest with warmth.
“I’ve been trying not to fall for you, too,” Lottie admits, voice barely above a whisper.
And that’s it. The last little push.
Natalie leans in, tentative, a little unsure. But Lottie doesn’t pull away. Her hand rests on the side of Natalie’s face, her thumb brushing gently over her cheekbone.
The kiss is slow, soft. A promise.
When they pull away, Lottie’s eyes are searching hers, her lips barely brushing as she breathes out, “I love you.”
Natalie’s heart stutters, then stumbles and catches up. She says it back before she can even think, quiet and raw, “I love you too.”
And for the first time, it’s not just a word.
It’s everything.
༺♥༻