FAKE LOVE | JJK FF [COMPLETED]

Chapter Three

"For you I could pretend
like I was happy
when I was sad."

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It's amazing how time passes by quickly when you know there's something you have to do and you don't want to. It's like time itself is trying to screw you over, pushing you faster towards the reason of your discomfort.

Just like now.

The past few days had been chaotic, a complete icy water bucket on my life, as I was forced to leave my atelier and my responsibilities towards my collection to chase after my mother and Mrs. Jeon due to wedding preparations.

I was a sliver away from going insane.

I never thought that going against Jungkook and saying yes that night, a week ago, would turn my life upside down like this. At least, I didn't think it would happen this so fast. But thinking in retrospect, knowing my father, I should have known.

He didn't do anything halfway.

That's why I groaned in agony when I realized it was already nine in the morning, which meant I was late for the torturing session of the day. Today we would be choosing the invitations, trying out buffets and finding me a wedding dress.

With the life I had, and the father I had, I never thought I would be choosing my wedding gown with a sincere smile on my face, jumping around in joy for the upcoming date. I wasn't naive enough to believe that.

But I didn't think I would be so cranky and pissed neither.

Setting down the pins I was using to mark the adjustments that needed to be done in the dress in front of me, I collected my phone and rushed out of my door, barely telling the secretary I had hired because of the wedding, that I would be out for the day – again – and I didn't know if I would make it back – again.

Speeding the car as much as I could without breaking any speed-limit laws, because all I didn't need now was a freaking ticket, I rushed to where I should meet my mother and Mrs. Jeon. Obviously, I was late, but none of them commented on it, just giving me a warm smile.

Firstly, invitations.

My mother and my soon to be mother-in-law looked through the catalog of options, separating the ones they liked and barely giving a second glance to the ones they rejected.

They discussed colors, text alignment and fonts with the woman in executive clothes and a polite smile that waited patiently for their verdict. I only stared at the almost identical models they had selected, trying very hard to find the so-called differences they were mumbling about.

I found none.

They all seemed the same to me.

A written proof of a loveless and careless marriage, one that none of the parts involved really wanted.

What did the color really mattered?

I stayed quiet and let the women decide what they wanted, after all, they seemed way more excited about this than me. I was hating every second of it, sure, but I wouldn't deliberately end their fun.

When they finally agreed on the final layout, they turned to me and asked me if I liked it. I smiled and said it was perfect. Thanks to years of learning how to subtly lie and please someone when what I really wanted was to run away from there, they smiled in return and went back to talking to the smiling woman on the other side of the counter.

Ten minutes later, we were finally out of there, the polluted air on the sidewalk seeming so much better for my lungs and my sanity, giving me a false sense of freedom.