Rachel didn’t plan it.

Well—okay, she kind of did.

“Come with me,” she said, pacing Monica’s apartment, phone pressed to her ear. “I need a plus-one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “To a wedding?” “Yes. And before you ask—no, it’s not a big deal. Just… moral support. And maybe,” she added casually, “to make Ross a tiny bit jealous.”

That should’ve been your cue to say no. But you didn’t.

The wedding was elegant—too elegant. Twinkling lights, champagne flutes, soft music, and Ross Geller standing across the room in a suit, laughing a little too loudly with someone Rachel didn’t recognize.

Rachel’s hand immediately slid into yours. A little too tight.

“Smile,” she whispered. “We look great.” And you did. She looked stunning—white dress, hair perfect, that familiar mix of confidence and vulnerability in her eyes.

People assumed you were together. They smiled. Complimented. Congratulated. Rachel leaned into it. Laughing louder. Touching your arm. Pulling you onto the dance floor.

“This is fun, right?” she asked, spinning slightly.