Backup Twin (Love Out Loud #2)

1. Cherise

Chapter one

Cherise

The car ride had the tense, loaded silence of two women pretending this wasn’t about to be a disaster.

Grace drove with one hand on the wheel and her music low. Some romantic playlist that was either meant to be soothing or her passive-aggressive way of emotionally manipulating me into being chill. Newsflash: I wasn’t.

Grace Martin, my sister from another mister.

My bestie since forever. The kind of woman who cried during commercials and kept emergency bobby pins in her purse for strangers.

Grace was the kind of friend who brought you soup when you were sick, gave you a shoulder to cry on for your heartbreaks, and believed the universe had a plan… even when it absolutely did not.

She was marrying Logan Fox.

Yes, that Logan Fox. Grammy winner. Sex symbol. Her celebrity crush since forever, Logan Fox.

In Hawaii. Because duh.

But for all her effortless charm, Grace had one fatal flaw:

She was a people pleaser.

Which was why I was currently riding shotgun in her car, internally rage-twerking over the fact that her bridal party included someone we both knew I wanted to throat-punch with a stiletto.

“Remind me again why she’s going to be standing next to you in matching chiffon pretending what happened didn’t happen?” I asked, not even trying to hide my tone.

Grace sighed, her hands tightening on the wheel. “Cherise, that was ten years ago.”

“And?”

“She’s still been in my life a long time.”

“So has high-fructose corn syrup. Doesn’t mean you serve it at your wedding.”

Grace gave me a tight-lipped glance at the red light. “She kind of… invited herself.”

I quirked a brow. “Hold up. You let her invite herself to be a bridesmaid?”

“She cornered me at brunch, there were mimosas involved, I panicked!”

I stared at her. “You’re telling me Savage-annah RSVP’d for the bridal party like it was a spa package and you just went with it?”

“She started crying! Then she hugged me and said it would mean the world. What was I supposed to do?”

“Say no! You are not handing out plus-ones to toxicity!”

She sighed again. “I didn’t think you’d still care this much. We all used to be friends, and she never admitted that she did it. For all we know she may actually be innocent.”

“Yeah, well, we used to believe in Santa too, but some betrayals you don’t grow out of. Also, she didn’t admit to it because she is fucking evil. Trust me…she did it.”

“Please. Just behave. For me.”

I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. “I always behave,” I muttered.

Grace scoffed.

I turned fully in my seat towards her, brows up. “You want me to sit there smiling, sipping bubbly, while Savage-annah floats in with her poreless skin and perfect life and act like we’re sister wives in a J.Crew catalog?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “Exactly that. And her name is Savannah, we are not nick-naming her Savage-annah.”

“Oh, you don’t like that one? I thought it was fitting.”

I leaned back, ticking them off on my fingers. “But I’ve got options. How about Petty LaBelle? Miss Midlife Crisis? Vibe Snatcher Supreme? Oh! Botox Barbie!”

“Cherise!”

I folded my arms. “You know I don’t do civil without a warm-up.”

“You promised.”

“My best behavior or my event-appropriate behavior?”

She gave me a deadpan glare.

“Fine. I’ll be good,” I said. “But if she so much as breathes the word yacht, I’m popping a mimosa bottle at her ponytail.”

Grace grinned and reached to turn the volume up just a notch. “Let’s just survive this appointment, okay? Then we’ll eat carbs and talk shit.”

"Now that I could work with."

***

The boutique smelled of flower petals, money, and the exact kind of champagne that gives you a headache after two glasses. Chandeliers glittered overhead, and a pristine arch of cream-and-blush gowns stood at attention across the room.

“Damn,” I muttered as we walked in. “Even the curtains in here look like they get Botox.”

Grace clutched her binder of neatly printed inspiration photos. “Be nice.”

Before I could reply, a bubbly voice rang out, “There she is!”

Tessa, Grace’s cousin, practically tackled her in a hug, grinning as if she hadn’t just rolled out of a minivan covered in Goldfish crumbs.

Her messy blonde bun defied gravity, and she wore a sweatshirt that said, “Tired Moms Club Founding Member.” The baby weight?

Not a thing, apparently. I hated how much I loved her.

Behind her was Layla. Grace’s future sister-in-law and everyone’s favorite courtroom assassin.

She wore sharp black slacks, a white crop top under a linen blazer, and already had her champagne flute.

Her sleek ponytail didn’t move as she walked, sunglasses perched on her head, and the kind of calm that said she won arguments before they started.

She gave us a casual wave as if she hadn’t just billed $600 an hour before coming here.

Grace was beaming. “You guys have no idea how much it means that you’re all here.”

We hugged each other one by one, including Grace’s mom, who came in seconds later carrying a tote and an essence that smelled of lavender and unconditional love.

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Grace’s mom said, pulling her into a hug and cupping her face. “You’re going to make the most stunning bride.”

“All the important people are here,” I said, scanning the room once more. No sign of her yet.

Thank God.

We settled into velvet chairs. The bridal consultant handed Grace a champagne flute and whisked her behind a curtain to start the dress parade.

***

The next forty-five minutes was a parade of fashion crimes.

Grace emerged from the dressing room in gown number one: a stiff, bedazzled monstrosity with shoulder poofs that made her look like a linebacker on prom night.

I choked on a strawberry from the snack tray.

“Nope,” Tessa thankfully said. “You look like you’re about to go to a Renaissance fair.”

Grace frowned. “I thought it was kinda classic.”

“You’re not trying to summon a dragon. Go change,” Tessa teased.

The next dress? A satin long-sleeve number so tight we could see her heartbeat.

Layla examined Grace. “You look… warm.”

“You mean sweaty?” I asked.

“No,” she said slowly. “Just… aggressively shiny.”

“Next,” I sang, waving Grace back inside.

Dress three had a neckline down to her belly button and a slit up to her hipbone.

Grace walked out, gripping the sides of the strapless gown with both hands, her shoulders locked in place.

“I can’t lift my arms in this,” she muttered. “One wrong move and the boutique staff’s getting dinner and a show.”

“You flash someone, and I’m charging a cover fee.” I laughed.

She groaned. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because ninety percent of wedding dresses are designed by people who apparently think sitting, peeing, and breathing are optional,” I said, popping a macaron into my mouth.

Then, the boutique door chimed.

And the temperature in the room dropped five degrees.

Savannah.

Her entrance could’ve been sponsored. Flawless blowout. Designer bag. A crisp white jumpsuit that screamed, “I book yacht dinners for fun.”

“Oh my God, sorry I’m late,” she said. “Gregory booked us a last-minute couples massage at the spa. I couldn’t say no, he’s just so thoughtful.”

I sipped my champagne, already annoyed.

Here we go.

Savannah floated in like she owned the place. “Grace! You look gorgeous already! Are we crying yet?”

“Hey, Savannah,” Grace said gently, hugging her before heading back into the dressing room.

Savannah gave Layla, Tessa, and Mrs. Martin air-kisses. They laughed and exchanged pleasantries, then Savannah turned to me with the fakest smile I’d ever seen.

“Cherise,” she said, as if my name was a bitter aftertaste. “So good to see you.”

You lying piece of shit. I can see right through your innocent facade.

I returned the smile. “Right back at you, Savage-annah,” I mumbled under my breath.

She blinked. “What?”

“I said… Savannah.”

“Oh,” she said. “You look… spirited.”

I looked her up and down. “You look expensive.”

Before the claws could come all the way out, the fitting room curtain rustled again.

Grace stepped back out.

And time stopped.

“Oh,” her mom whispered.

Layla leaned forward.

Savannah clapped softly. “Now that’s a statement.”

The dress was perfect. Simple and romantic with a slight off-the-shoulder neckline and lace that looked hand-sewn by Italian angels.

Her face said it all—eyes wide, lips parted in stunned silence.

Her mom smiled and put a hand to her chest.

Tessa blinked rapidly and fanned her face.

Layla’s jaw dropped. “Okay, wow. This is it. Everyone shut up! This is the moment.”

Savannah plastered on a smile.

I stared at Grace.

My lower lip quivered. Look at my girl.

“You walk down the aisle in that,” I said, leaning in, “and they’ll have to drag Logan off the floor.”

Grace looked at us in the mirror, eyes watery.

“I think… this is the one.”

We all nodded.

Even Savage-annah.

The bridal consultant asked, “Are you saying yes to the dress?”

Grace turned around, smiling ear to ear. “I’m saying yes to the dress!”

The room erupted into cheers and hugs. Grace’s mom was crying. Layla grinned behind her cup. Tessa wiped her eyes and muttered, “Ugh, I swore I wasn’t gonna cry today.”

Savannah whipped out her phone. “This is going on the wedding countdown group chat!”

Grace started walking back to the dressing room to change. She paused mid-step and gave me a sharp look over her shoulder.

Her eyes flicked from me to Savannah… then back again.

She mouthed: Behave.

I rolled my eyes but held up a peace sign. My version of a verbal contract.

We all sat back down, the consultant promising she’d bring more champagne in a sec.

Tessa flopped onto her velvet chair with a groan. “I am exhausted. Remind me again why I agreed to have five kids? I officially have more dependents than working brain cells. Miles and I are counting down to the destination wedding like it’s our second honeymoon.”

I gave her a side-eye. “If I hear moaning through the hotel walls, I’m switching rooms. I love you, but not enough to listen to that soundtrack.”