Okay, so maybe volunteering to be Rory's fake boyfriend for a wedding wasn't the best idea. But something about Rory threw Milo completely off-kilter. Milo was used to guys who wanted to fuck, not talk. Sure, over the years, there'd been a few who'd tried for something more, dates or cuddling or romance, but Milo had been quick to kick them to the curb.

After Ryan, Milo had sworn to himself that he was done with anything beyond sex. Caring about someone, loving someone, wanting anything more than just something physical meant getting hurt. Milo had had enough pain to last a lifetime. That's why his rules were in place—just sex, no staying the night, and definitely no dates.

And yet, here he was, pretending to be Rory's boyfriend at a wedding.

It was just pretend, though, Milo told himself. He was doing Rory a favor.

He glanced at Rory, who was practically clinging to his arm, and he'd gone a little pale.

"Are you okay?" Milo said in a low voice, as they approached the building. "We don't have to do this—"

"No," Rory said, his voice constricted, holding Milo's arm even tighter. "It's not that. It's—I get—I get really anxious around my family."

Milo had seen Rory nervous before—the first night he'd come back to Milo's apartment, and even the second night, too, to a lesser degree—but it was nothing like this. Rory had always still been Rory, hesitant but eager, a little unsure but willing.

This Rory looked like he was trying not to gag.

"Well, thank god there's an open bar, then," Milo said, and Rory let out a small, nervous laugh.

"Rory—" A woman who could only be Rory's mother had just spotted them and was bustling down the walkway. Rory was a younger, male carbon copy of her, and she had that distinct, almost hawkish maternal aura. "I've been calling you."

"Sorry," Rory said. He seemed to have wilted with the approach of his mother, like a house plant shoved out into the noonday sun.

Rory's mother's head snapped to Milo and she gave him a quick up-and-down look.

"And who are you?" his mother said, looking at Milo.

"This is Milo," Rory said weakly. "He's my—he's my—"

"Milo Ventura," Milo said, extending his hand. "Rory's new boyfriend. It's my fault he didn't tell you sooner. I wanted to keep things quiet—I was getting out of a terribly complicated relationship with a senator, and I just wasn't in a place to go public, as I'm sure you can understand. But I'm delighted to be here, Mrs. Fisher."

"Belinda, please," she said, taking Milo's hand. She looked surprised, though not nearly as shell-shocked as Rory, who was mouthing silently like a guppy out of water. "It's… lovely to meet you, Milo. Do you… also go to Bellamy?"

"I do," Milo said, flashing his most charming smile. "And Rory and I went to high school together."

At this, Rory's mother looked strangely reassured.

"Oh, well, lovely," she said, her smile turning from polite to genuine. "What was your last name again?"

"Ventura—"

"You didn't meet him, Mom," Rory said. He'd turned bright red, and Milo found his embarrassment endearing. "He was a senior when I was a sophomore. We should—um, probably go in—"

"Right," his mother said, as if she'd just remembered they were at a wedding. "I'll see you soon, sweetheart. Lovely to meet you, Milo."

She swept past them to greet more guests as Rory and Milo went inside.

"You all right?" Milo said. The entryway to the building was empty, and as soon as the door shut behind them, Rory sagged like he was deflating.

"Yeah," Rory said. "That went… better than I expected." He took a deep breath, and then suddenly Milo's Rory reappeared—

Milo stopped that thought immediately and reworded it. The Rory he recognized reappeared. Rory reminded Milo a bit of a golden retriever—he seemed to bound from one emotion to the next, never lingering too much on the previous moment.

"A senator?" Rory said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Milo said, widening his eyes.

"How am I going to keep track of all these stories?" Rory asked.

"Don't bother," Milo said, waving a hand airily. "I'll take care of it." Milo glanced around the empty room. "By the way, shouldn't there be… people here?"

"We're a bit early," Rory said, a little apologetically. "I'm not in the wedding itself but my mom wanted me to come and—I'm sorry, this is probably so awkward for you—fuck, I shouldn't have—"

Rory was backpedaling again, and although it was a little adorable, Milo stopped him.

"Rory," Milo said firmly, turning to him. "It's fine." He brought his hand to Rory chin, drawing Rory's face up to meet his, and pressed a quick kiss to Rory's lips.

Milo wasn't normally affectionate like this—with anyone, really—but he figured if he was going to pretend to be Rory's boyfriend, he might as well do a good job.

That's all it was. It had nothing to do with wanting to be the one to comfort Rory, to be the one to put a smile back on his face—

Jesus Christ, Milo thought.

When he pulled back, Rory looked grateful and a little dazed.

"S-sorry," Rory said with a crooked smile. "I'm just a little—"

"Nervous," Milo finished. "I can tell. Let's go, shall we?"

Rory led the way through the main building. It was warm and humid inside the main room, the trees pressing up against the high glass ceiling, vines draping down, lush and languid. Rory pushed through a massive set of heavy glass doors to the courtyard, which was shady and delightfully cool. Here, some of the wedding party was clustered, along with a few stray early guests.

"Rory!" a high voice shrieked, and Rory was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of royal blue taffeta as one of the bridesmaids drew him into a hug. "You're here!"

The bridesmaid peeled herself away, and Milo found himself faced with another female Rory clone. She was peering at Milo like he was some sort of unusual sea specimen.

"Who are you?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Ellen, this is Milo," Rory said. "He's—we're—"

"I'm the boyfriend," Milo said. "It's new. You'll have to excuse me—I'm still a little jet-lagged. Just got back from a modeling shoot in Paris." Rory shot Milo a rather terrified, questioning look.

"Wait—boyfriend?" Ellen said, cocking her head. "Oh my god, that's so cute—Rory—why didn't you tell me?"

Then suddenly Milo was being hugged by Ellen as well, all the air disappearing from his lungs. She bounced back and grabbed Rory by the hand.

"We'll talk later," Ellen said, smiling at Milo. "But right now I have to steal your boyfriend away."

Milo watched Rory be towed across the courtyard to assist in final preparations. The space was beautiful, with paths winding through trees, and somewhere a fountain burbled happily. Milo had actually been here before—when he'd finished his undergrad degree, the humanities college had used the courtyard for one of many graduation receptions held that weekend.

"I’m sorry, are you with the wedding party?" a voice said, and Milo turned to see a woman with a clipboard and permanent stress lines on her face looking at him, confused.

"I'm Rory's plus one," Milo said. She frowned at her clipboard.

"You're… Georgina?" she said doubtfully.

"Milo," he corrected. "Rory's husband."

"Hm," she said, unconvinced, pursing her lips. "I didn't get any corrections to the list—"

"Yes, well, it all happened rather quickly," Milo said. "Drive-thru chapel in Vegas. I don't remember much, but I'm told the Elvis impersonator who officiated did a wonderful job."

She squinted at him for a moment like she was trying to decide whether or not to kick him out, and finally Milo saw the faintest gleam of amusement in her eyes.

"All right then, Milo," she said, like she didn't quite believe that was his name. She scribbled something on her clipboard. "Well, there's champagne available at that table over there while you wait."

"Excellent," Milo said, flashing a smile as he breezed over towards the small bar that had been set up under the soft drape of a wisteria vine in the corner.

He was handed a champagne flute by a caterer with a wide customer-service smile plastered on his face. Milo leaned against the rough stone of one of the courtyard's retaining walls, in the gold-green shade of a tree, and in the sunlight, the golden champagne bubbles sparkled as they climbed up the inside of the glass.

Milo pulled out his phone and took a picture of himself holding up the champagne, surrounded by a bright spray of flowers, and texted it to Kit.

>>MILO: Guess where I am?

Kit responded quickly.

>>KIT: wtf you look like you're at a wedding

Milo snuck a discreet picture of the courtyard and sent it as well.

>>KIT: ????????

Phone in one hand, champagne in the other, Milo texted back one-handed.

>>MILO: Rory needed a plus one to his sister's wedding.

Milo couldn't help grinning down at his phone. The whole thing was ridiculous—completely absurd—and yet, Milo realized, he was enjoying himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed.

>>KIT: omg what??? is Rory that guy you told me about?

>>KIT: are you sure YOU aren’t getting married to HIM?

>>MILO: Fuck you.

>>KIT: I DEMAND DETAILS

Milo slid his phone back in his pocket, laughing to himself at Kit's response. Rory had disappeared, and now there were just a few abandoned guests milling around as the caterers dashed about putting finishing touches on the reception area.

And, because Milo was a masochist, he found himself thinking about what Ryan's wedding would be like.

It irritated him, Milo realized, to be here, at a lovely event with free champagne with a hot date, and to be thinking about someone who'd fucked him over. Milo had been better about not checking Ryan's social media accounts obsessively—Rory had certainly helped distract him. But still, again and again, Milo found himself picking at old wounds until he was raw and bleeding and frustrated.

Camilla had good taste, Milo begrudgingly admitted—it'd probably be lovely and beautiful and elegant, and everyone would talk about how in love the bride and groom were. He doubted he'd be invited. As far as the extended social circles of Linfield knew, he and Ryan were good friends—or at least, had been, but Milo hadn't spoken to Ryan since the engagement.

And Camilla had never been Milo's biggest fan, for obvious reasons.

* * *

Milo and Ryan had lived on the same floor in their dorm freshman year, and by the time orientation week was over, they were fucking. They'd hooked up regularly through all four years of undergrad, occasionally taking breaks when Ryan was seeing someone.

But they'd always ended up back in bed together.

For the first few years of… whatever that had been, Milo liked how casual it was. He was free to pursue other guys that caught his eye—and he frequently did. And, at the back of his mind, Milo had always known that it wouldn't be too long before Ryan showed up at his door again with bedroom eyes and the story of his latest breakup.

And Milo was always more than happy to console Ryan.

It was only when Milo began his MFA that things started to change. Suddenly, all around him, his friends and acquaintances were beginning to pair off, to mate for life. Milo had always laughed derisively at the news of the latest engagement, but in the back of his mind, something was shifting.

He'd brought up the idea of actually dating to Ryan a few times, and Ryan had always quickly changed the conversation. Ryan wasn't ready to commit. Ryan couldn't handle a relationship right now. Ryan needed to focus on his career. There were plenty of reasons why Ryan couldn't do anything serious.

It was okay, though, Milo had reasoned. He and Ryan had been at it for almost five years at that point. If Ryan needed more time, Milo was happy to wait for him. What was a few years, after all, compared to a whole lifetime? And in the meantime, there were plenty of guys who were more than eager to fall into bed with Milo.

It was okay.

Then came Camilla.

And suddenly, Ryan—commitment-phobic, workaholic, not-ready-for-something-serious Ryan—was engaged.

And after he'd gotten the news, Milo found himself on Kit's couch, shivering, his heart in glass-sharp pieces, as Kit and Jamie tried to assure him he was too good for Ryan.

But if he was so good, Milo thought darkly, why hadn't Ryan chosen him?

* * *

"Milo?"

Milo jumped, and he realized he'd been staring down at the neat stonework beneath his dress shoes, lost in thought.

He looked up to see Rory wearing a concerned expression.

"I'm so sorry that took so long—" Rory said. "Are you super bored? I tried to get away but—"

Milo realized Rory thought Milo was pissed at having been left alone, and Milo held up his empty glass.

"It's fine," Milo said, flashing a smile. "I found the champagne—believe me, this is exactly where I want to be."

Rory was still frowning, though.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" Rory asked.

"Nothing's wrong," Milo said, still with his most charming grin.

"That's not your real smile," Rory said, and Milo's expression faltered. "It's the smile you had when you were talking to my mom, or my sister—not when you're… like, actually happy."

Despite the mild day, Milo felt a cold prickle on his skin. Milo was used to Kit, who'd been his best friend for years, calling Milo out when he was faking an emotion or hiding something. But somehow Rory could read him like a book.

Milo shifted uncomfortably, Rory's blue eyes boring into him like a searchlight.

Fuck you, Rory Fisher, Milo thought. Fuck you for caring.

A hundred sarcastic, prickly responses were on the tip of Milo's tongue—anything to get Rory to stop looking at him like Rory could see into his soul—but he swallowed them back. Rory didn't deserve that cruelty for his kindness.

"Just thinking up more weird things to lie to your relatives about," Milo said lightly. He drained the rest of his champagne glass. That pain, that heartache, had stolen the last half of a year from him. He didn't need it to steal today too.