I Agreed to Be Her Fake Boyfriend for One Night and Now She’s My Wife

“Thank you for backing me up.”

“That’s what real boyfriends do.”

Her phone buzzed with a text from her father. “Your mother just told me everything. We need to discuss boundaries and honesty, but I’ll admit, it takes courage to grab a stranger and ask them to meet your parents. You inherited that from me.”

Sophia showed me the message.

“My dad made a joke. That’s his way of saying I’m forgiven.”

Over the next few months, we fell into a relationship that felt both new and familiar. We’d started with the pressure of a fake 3-month relationship, so the real one felt easier by comparison. No pretending, no games—just two people who’d met in the strangest way and decided to see where it went.

Her parents came to visit again 3 months after that first dinner. This time, there was no lying, no pretending, just an actual relationship with actual history.

At dinner, her father asked me: “So, Andrew, looking back, would you have done anything differently that first night?”

I thought about it.

“I probably should have asked more questions before agreeing to meet you. But no, I wouldn’t change anything. It worked out.”

“That it did,” he said, raising his glass.

Her mother asked Sophia the same question.

“Would you grab a stranger at a bar again if you could go back?”

Sophia looked at me and smiled.

“Only if I knew it would be him.”

6 months after we started dating, we moved in together. Her studio apartment was too small for both of us and all her plants, so we found a two-bedroom that fit us both.

My parents flew in to help us move and to meet Sophia. My mom pulled me aside while we were unpacking boxes.

“She’s wonderful. I like her.”

“I like her, too.”

“How did you two meet again? You were vague on the phone.”

I told her the truth. The whole story—from the kiss at the bar to the dinner with her parents to how it all became real.

My mom laughed so hard she cried.

“That’s the most ridiculous meet-cute I’ve ever heard. I know you’re going to have to tell that story at your wedding.”

“We’re not engaged yet, Mom.”

She gave me a look.

“Yet.”

She was right, of course. I knew within the first few weeks that Sophia was different, that this was different.

One year after the night at the bar, I took Sophia back to that same spot where she’d first kissed me. The bartender who’d been working that night was there again; I’d called ahead to arrange things.

“What are we doing here?” Sophia asked.

“Recreating our origin story. Except this time, I’m the one who’s going to surprise you.”

I got down on one knee right there in the bar. People turned to look. The bartender was recording on my phone, like I’d asked.

“Sophia, a year ago you grabbed me at this bar and made me pretend to be your boyfriend. You dragged me to dinner with your parents and made me lie about how we met and created this whole fake relationship out of nothing.”