The boutique in Bukit Bintang smelled of jasmine-scented candles and freshly steamed fabrics.
Emily stood in front of a full-length mirror, holding up an ivory lace dress to her frame, trying to picture herself in it — not for real, but for performance. For a wedding that wasn't hers. Not truly.
The sales assistant, a soft-spoken woman in a hijab named Alia, smiled as she pinned a folded piece of batik to the mannequin beside her. "This one is handmade — from Kelantan. Many brides like to mix traditional patterns with modern cuts these days."
Emily nodded, fingers grazing the intricate golden threadwork. "It's beautiful."
She turned to check her reflection again. The neckline was modest, the lace delicate but not overwhelming. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, simple and neat. She looked like someone else's idea of a bride.
The doorbell chimed.
"Emily?"
The voice was deeper than expected. She turned.
Lucas stood in the entrance, dressed in a slate-gray shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. A lawyer off-duty, but still polished to the bone.
"You're early," she said, a bit flustered.
"I thought I'd stop by. Ryan said you'd be here." He looked around, taking in the racks of white dresses and glittering accessories with faint amusement. "I've never been inside one of these before."
Emily half-smiled. "Neither had I. It's more overwhelming than I thought."
He walked toward the mirror, pausing a few feet behind her. "You look... like you belong here."
She blinked. "That's unexpected."
"I meant it as a compliment."
She turned slightly to face him. "I thought you didn't believe any of this was real."
Lucas's gaze was steady. "I believe you're thorough. And capable of pulling off a performance. That doesn't mean I believe in the story."
Emily's shoulders stiffened. "So you came here to supervise the acting?"
"I came because Ryan didn't show up on time." He glanced at his watch. "And he's usually late when something's wrong."
Emily hesitated. "Maybe traffic?"
"Maybe."
They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of a steamer the only sound.
Lucas shifted, then gestured toward the fitting room curtain. "Do you want a second opinion on the dress?"
Emily narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to comment on lace density or satin trims, are you?"
He almost — almost — smiled. "Not unless I want to embarrass myself."
"Then no." She laughed, but it faded quickly. "But... thank you. For showing up."
He nodded. "Ryan means a lot to me. I protect what matters."
She didn't respond, just adjusted the hem again, avoiding his gaze.
Then Ryan arrived — breathless, slightly damp with sweat, hair wind-blown.
"Sorry! Sorry — LRT breakdown, I had to walk from Pavilion."
Emily's expression softened. "You alright?"
"Yeah," he said quickly, but his eyes flicked toward Lucas. "Didn't expect you here."
"Neither did I," Lucas replied evenly. "But you made it."
There was a moment of unspoken tension. Emily felt it, though she wasn't sure what passed between the brothers in that glance.
"Shall we try another one?" she asked, turning back to the rack. "Maybe something less… bridal?"
"You're trying on a wedding dress," Ryan said, mock-serious. "Go big or go home."
They tried two more gowns — one with delicate beadwork, another with a dramatic train. Ryan played the part of the fussing fiancé well: making exaggerated gasps, throwing in fake critiques like "Too shiny" or "You look like a cupcake." Emily laughed despite herself, letting the silliness melt the tension in her chest.
But occasionally, she caught him looking at her in the mirror — not with a grin, but with something softer, more uncertain. And once, just once, she thought she saw something like… regret.
As they exited the boutique, arms full of swatches and appointment cards, Lucas said his goodbyes first.
"Thank you for including me," he said, nodding to both. "Good luck choosing."
He didn't say much else — just disappeared into the parking lot, already back to being unreadable.
That evening, Emily replayed the day in her head.
Lucas had been... surprisingly gentle.
And Ryan?
There was something off. Something in his voice when he said he'd walked from Pavilion. Something behind the smile when he joked about fabric.
She didn't know what. But she had the strange, growing feeling:
This fake wedding was beginning to feel more real for him.
And dangerously complicated for all of them.