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"I will leave you here." She nods curtly. "I have a meeting with the happy couple."

A lengthy pause. She doesn't make eye contact. 

"Will that be all, Shay?"

She lingers, as if noticing my hesitation, and I wonder what else she can see. The drugstore makeup I slapdashed on my face in the taxi on the way over. The price tag poking out of my chichi jumpsuit, which I plan to return next week. The fact that, unlike my boyfriend, I'm not a "very important person."

I'm a big fat fraud.

*  *  *

The villa appears to be empty so I leave my bags in the bedroom and tour myself around. Everything about the place just screams money, like the bespoke furniture, ivory-white furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows, which give every room an uninterrupted view of the Pacific. On the ground floor there's a huge kitchen, living room, bedroom with an en suite, and an indoor-outdoor terrace with an infinity pool. Upstairs is the wellness space, which includes yoga mats, meditation pillows, a jacuzzi, and a surprisingly tasteful Buddha statue. The room leads out to an expansive rooftop deck with cushy lounge seating and—

I clock the hammock in the corner. 

It's Caleb. He's passed out cold.

This morning he's wearing a neon-green tank top, Bermuda shorts, and Birkenstocks, and his hair, which is several inches longer than mine, is wet and pulled into a tight bun. You'd never know just by looking at him that he works in finance and has a sizable trust fund. That he was born and raised in high East Coast society. His legal name is Caleb Malcolm Prescott III. 

"Shay?"

Caleb's eyes flutter open. Game face on, I join him in the hammock. 

"Babe, you should have called me. I would have met you in the lobby." He grins lazily as he wraps his arm around me. "It's nice here, huh?"

I turn away from Caleb to take in the view. It's a gorgeous April morning, already a balmy eighty degrees, and there isn't a cloud in the sky. A single gust of wind whips off the water. It is nice. It's by far the nicest place I've ever been, that I'll likely ever go, and the thought makes my stomach churn even harder.

I'm only here because of Caleb. He's the best man in this weekend's production, and I—to quote the bride—am the "gold-digging whore" who snagged him.

"I missed you," he says. 

"It's only been two days."

"And they've been the longest two days of my life."

Caleb kisses me then. Passionately. We go two or more days without seeing each other all the time, but he's romantic and prone to public displays of affection, sending flowers and saying things that make my eyes roll. By his count, we've been together for just over three months, although I tally it a little differently. He rolls me onto my back as we lock lips, and, reluctantly, I let him. I'm above average height for a South Asian woman, and still I feel tiny pressed up against him. When things start to heat up, I gently push him off.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

"Still sleeping, I imagine. We had a big one last night."

Hand in hand, we walk downstairs to the bedroom. Caleb squints at the unmade king. I'm worried he's going to suggest sex, but instead he asks me if I'd like to get breakfast.

"Sure. Let me use the bathroom first—"

As I start walking toward the en suite, Caleb darts in front of me and blocks my path.

"The maid hasn't come yet," he says quickly. 

"So? I just have to pee."

He twists his neck around, eyes tracking the bathroom through the open door. "Oh. OK."

He swivels back. Is he sweating?

"Sorry about the mess."

After Caleb lets me by, I lock the door behind me. Except for the wet towels in the gigantic bathtub, the bathroom is spotless. It's also larger than my shitty rental in LA. After I use the toilet, I inspect the miniature bottles lined up on the vanity, rub some of the body butter on my knees and elbows. It has the same scent as the lobby.