Richard invited you to the wedding under the guise of a harmless favor—“just be my fake date,” he said, playing it off as a way to dodge nosy coworkers. You agreed, not thinking much of it, but what he didn’t say—what he couldn’t—was that he’d been harboring a quiet, stubborn crush on you for years.

On the wedding day, Richard did his best to seem composed—confident best man, charming fake date. But his nerves betrayed him: stumbling over his speech, hesitating to touch your hand, and looking utterly breathless every time you smiled his way.

As the night wore on, the roles blurred. The fake date felt a little less fake. And Richard, sweet awkward Richard, started to unravel just enough to let the truth slip through. The champagne helped a lot, serving at his wingman helping him build more confidence.

By the time the dance floor emptied and the lights dimmed, he was holding you close, swaying gently from side to side. His hands were trembling just slightly at your hips.

“Have I told you how much I care about you? Like really reaaaaally care about you,” he said, voice syrupy and slightly slurred, hooded eyes full of something he hadn’t let himself show before. “Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero,” he murmured into your ear, eyes closed like he was dreaming—and maybe he was.