The Neighbor Next Door - Cassandra Dee Page 0,33

New York City is an expensive place, and we could definitely cut down on the rent we pay by combining households. However, he thinks we should live separately until after the wedding, like we’re old-fashioned people from the 1930’s. I don’t get it, but I’m trying to respect his decision.

Then again, I do like living alone, come to think of it. I’m in this crappy studio because I didn’t want roommates. I did the living with strangers thing in college, and I never want to do it again because it was terrible. My freshman year of college, I had the worst roommate. She was inconsiderate and rude, to the point of having sex with her boyfriend while I was in the room. I was too intimidated to stand up to her, so I started wearing headphones to bed. The roommates I had for the next three years were no better, from their lack of hygiene to their utter lack of respect for my privacy.

But living with Galen will be different. He’ll be my husband, and not just some random person I share a space with. Plus, it’s not like he’ll be having sex with other women while I try to sleep. He would never cheat on me. Galen loves me and I love him too. I’m a one guy kind of girl, and Galen is my guy.

When my plate is empty, I return it to the small kitchen area. I’m lucky to have a tiny oven in here, right next to my very small fridge. All of the counter space is taken up by my microwave. The kitchen opens into the combination living room/bedroom. My twin sized bed is hidden behind a colorful sheet that looks a bit like a tie-dyed shower curtain.

Galen refuses to stay over at my place because of how cramped and tiny everything is, and I try not to take offense because his apartment is much bigger. But he lives with a bunch of other models so it’s not exactly spacious either. I don’t understand it. Galen makes good money walking the catwalk, so he could easily afford to move out. Why he stays in that model apartment is beyond me.

I turn off the TV. It’s not like I’m actually watching it, and the silence overwhelms my studio. I open the window for some city white noise, and the cool air helps liven up my apartment. It gets stuffy given the tiny square footage.

My phone sits abandoned on my coffee table, next to my mug. I pick up both and open Instagram again. Most of the pages I follow are fashion or work-related. Even my own page is filled with designs and style inspiration. Maybe it’s tooting my own horn, but I have over a thousand followers. Of course, once Galen followed me, I saw a huge jump. I’m not complaining because it looks good for a designer to have a lot of followers, even if right now, I don’t have any actual goods to sell.

I scroll past a photo of Galen. But then I do a double-take and stop before scrolling back up. My eyes bug out.

“What the hell?” I say aloud to no one in particular. “What is this?”

In the photo, Galen is down on one knee, except I’m not the woman next to him. What the hell? Is this a joke?

It must be a photoshoot. Sometimes, Galen posts sneak peeks of shoots he has done, and this is probably one of them. I squint at the photo and smile hesitantly. My fiancé is so attractive! How did I get this lucky?

But then I take a quick look the girl in the photoshoot and my heart stops. Only her profile is showing, but the face looks familiar. Too familiar, in fact, because it’s my best friend, Paula.

My coffee mug falls to the ground, shattering and leaving a puddle of coffee on the floor.

Paula is not a model. She’s pretty, yes, but in a normal way. Not in a fashion-magazine type of way.

My heart is racing and sweat breaks out on my brow. This must be a joke or a misunderstanding. Galen’s playing an April Fool’s prank on me. That’s it!

Only, it’s not April first. It’s the middle of May.

Sweating cold bullets, I glance at the caption on the photo.

“Can’t wait to make this beautiful woman my wife,” it says. The hashtags include “#bae” and “#love_of_my_life.”

Oh my god, I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening. Galen is engaged to me. Why is he