Chapter Text
Can you believe this? Sansa had captioned the screenshot she sent to her friends.
Tinder isn't a thing Sansa does all the time – she and Myranda had set up an account for her two years ago after she and Harry split and she uses it occasionally. Sometimes it's nice looking at guys and even flirting with a few of them, though she's never had the nerve to go through with any meetups (she has left more than one guy on read after even the slightest hint they wanted to take things into the real world).
But this is new, or at least she's never seen it before.
His photo had made her pause in her bored swiping (curled up on her couch, blanket wrapped around her like an old woman, heating pad on her lower back, six different snacks on the coffee table that she had sampled and ultimately decided weren't doing it for her or her uterus). Most men on this app take terrible photos, or choose terrible photos, and honestly, this one is no different. At least he's cropped out whoever he's in the photo with, most guys don't even bother to do that. He's not smiling, holding a beer in one hand, with his other arm around the cropped out person that is clearly a woman.
He is pretty, though.
She's gotta say, the man bun, the beard, the flannel shirt, the cheap beer – none of it should be doing anything for her. Maybe it's her hormones all out of whack, but for some reason, she paused on his photo.
It wasn't his photo, though, that made her screenshot the profile and send it in a group text to her friends. Can you believe this?
Jon, 29, it starts. Good, fine. Well within her acceptable age range. But the rest of it...
Looking for a date to a wedding. I'm not kidding. Must pretend to be my girlfriend. Some PDA required (holding hands, etc), but feel free to punch me in the face if you're ever uncomfortable. Or just tell me and I'll stop.
**Warnings**
-the bride is my ex and the groom is my half brother
-I am desperate not to show up alone to my ex's wedding
-my dad is a dick and he WILL try to hit on you
-I'm terrible in large groups, extrovert with good social skills preferred
-this will be a full weekend and it's unclear if I can get a room with two beds this last minute
-did I mention the wedding is the third weekend in May?
-I will buy you a new dress for the occasion. You actually won't have to pay for anything, though now that I type this it sounds like I'm looking for an escort and I think that's illegal?
Sansa stares at the profile for too long. Why has she not swiped left?
The first text from one of her friends comes in, followed quickly by more, her phone buzzing almost constantly.
Omg do it
He's hot!
Ok you HAVE to go to this wedding, it sounds like something straight off of Maury
Yes! Go and then live tweet it for the rest of us
Am I the only one that thinks this sounds like a trap? Like she'll actually end up in someone's basement?
Shhh Mya, you're ruining all the fun
Free dress! Hot boy!
I literally NEED to know how the ex & half brother happened. I might die if I don't
Does he have more photos? That one's too blurry
By “blurry”, Randa means she can't see if he's fit or not
Sansa switches back to Tinder and sees that he does, in fact, have another photo. It's definitely not the shirtless selfie Myranda is looking for, but it makes something in Sansa's chest flutter. Against her better judgment, she screenshots that, too, and sends it.
Ok, so you've definitely swiped right on him then?
Of course she has, when has Sansa ever been able to resist a cute dog? I've literally watched her stop mid convo to cross the street and pet a strangers dog. It's honestly rude
Was it a match???
PLEASE FIND OUT HOW THE EX AND THE HALF BROTHER ENDED UP TOGETHER
Sansa's heart is pounding in her chest, because she hasn't swiped on him, either way. And now, for some reason, she thinks if she swipes right and they aren't a match, she'll actually feel shitty about it. But she gathers what little courage she has, bolstered by the glass of wine she had with her snack sampling, and swipes right.
They're a match.
Fuck! Is all she can think. She sends a silent, panicked fuck!! right to the heavens as she hits the chat button. She doesn't have to send a message. She could leave it up to him to message her. But...
::that's a really cute dog, what's its name?
Good. She can pretend she was only interested in the dog and that'll be it.
Why did she swipe right?
Alright.
Look.
She swiped right on this Jon and she was even so bold as to send him a message and he has the audacity to not respond?
Her panic last night had slowly eased, giving way to relief when he didn't respond and then, at some point, annoyance. He swiped right on her first! And now he's too good to message her back?
Maybe he already found a date, she tries to reason, but she won't lie and say that her ego isn't a bit bruised when she wakes up the next morning and still doesn't have any response from him. She's also a bit embarrassed because her group chat keeps asking for updates and she has to tell them that there aren't any.
It's three days later, when she's practically forgotten about the whole thing, that her phone buzzes with a message. There's a notification on her Tinder app and it sends something like anticipation shooting through her stomach.
::his name is Ghost. Sorry it took me so long to respond, I was drunk when I made this profile.
Sansa frowns at her phone and tries to decide what to say. In all honesty, she just got home from work and she had a pretty shit day and all she wants to do is sit on the couch with a bag of cheesy puffs and watch Bake Off. She's not really in the mood to flirt.
:: and you just remembered it now?
She winces at her response because it's sort of bitchy, which she didn't really intend. She is definitely not on her A game right now.
:: to be honest, I saw the notifications for it but I was too scared to open it and see how much of an ass I made of myself
That gets a laugh out of her.
::verdict?
::highly embarrassing. I should not be allowed to use my phone while drunk and sad. I'm really selling myself, huh?
Sansa finds herself smiling as she drifts over to her couch and sits.
::if it helps, Ghost is too adorable for words and tips the scales a bit back in your favor
::I knew getting a dog would be good for something.
The conversation quickly devolves into how he got Ghost, and then dogs in general and before she realizes it, she's slid down on the couch so she's on her back, phone held above her face, grinning like mad at his story of training baby Ghost not to pee in his apartment and his very angry landlord.
::oh shit, I didn't realize what time it was, I have to meet someone for dinner
When Sansa looks up at the time display at the top of her phone, she's shocked to find they've been talking for almost a half hour. And now he has to go meet someone for dinner. (A part of her wonders if he's been talking to other girls on Tinder, she can't be the only person to send him a message. Hadn't he said notifications originally? As in multiple? Is he meeting one of them for dinner? Is he even interested in meeting someone off this app now that he's sober? Does he still want a date for this wedding? She can't believe they haven't talked at all about that – just dogs. She hates herself sometimes.)
::have a good dinner!
There. That's casual. And definitely doesn't betray the fact that she desperately wants to know what his deal is.
::thanks, I will
And then, after a few seconds:
::I'll talk to you later?
Later. He wants to talk to her more? That little zing of anticipation flits through her stomach again and her fingers type out a response before she can really think it through.
::definitely
“I love you dearly,” Mya says as she leans against the cubical wall that borders Sansa's desk, “so if you're really thinking about this, please be safe. I do not need my best friend murdered in some guy's basement.”
Sansa spins back and forth in her office chair idly, lost in thought. She knows Mya can be a bit paranoid, she watches way too many murder shows and so she's convinced everyone is a murderer, but Sansa knows her advice isn't completely off the mark.
“What if he gets offended?”
“That you're making sure he's not catfishing you? If he's offended by that, then he's definitely catfishing you.”
Sansa groans and stops spinning her chair and leans her head back to stare at the tiled ceiling and the bright fluorescent lights overhead.
She figures there's about an eighty percent chance that Jon is not who he says he is. For one, he's too good looking to be that nice. His dog is too cute. He's too funny (ok, she's not actually sure he is funny because when she had relayed one of their conversations to Myranda and Beth over the weekend, they had both sort of blinked at her in confusion. Maybe only Sansa finds him funny.)
But ugh. They've been talking nearly nonstop since that first day and she can't stop thinking about him and they'd finally gotten to the topic of the wedding (she's been trying not to be weird about it, even though that's what his whole profile had been about. She doesn't want to be nosy). Jon had mentioned that yes, he does want a date for this wedding (or, more specifically, he said he doesn't want to show up alone, she thinks there's a distinct difference), and that had started an awkward should we meet up conversation. Which is why Mya is so concerned.
Because in all the years she's been casually using Tinder, Sansa has never once even thought of meeting with someone. She doesn't know why Jon is different. Maybe it's the mystery of the wedding, of the ex and the half brother. Maybe because he's so different from most of the men she talks to.
When their supervisor walks by a second time with a pointed look, Mya sighs and heads back to her own desk and Sansa spins again to face her computer, but instead she picks up her phone and opens Tinder.
::do you have a facebook or something? Instagram?
It's about an hour later, as she's heating up her lunch in the office microwave, when he answers.
::have a facebook, don't really use it. No instagram.
She doesn't even have to ask, he sends her a link to his Facebook page, and sure enough, it hasn't been updated in almost a year. But the photos are of the same guy as in his Tinder profile and now she has his last name. Jon Snow.
::ok not to be weird, but I'm just not sure how to tell if you're you or not
::who else would I be?
She can't tell if he's joking. Or maybe men genuinely don't think about this kind of thing. Or maybe he's a catfish trying to throw her off the scent.
::I don't know. Sorry, my friend got in my head and she thinks you're not who you say you are and that you're going to try and murder me or something
After she hits send, she stares down at the last message in horror. She's usually so good at flirting, saying exactly the right thing to make guys fall for her, so why can't she be like that with Jon?
::do people do that? Not murder, I know that happens. I mean pretend to be other people?
She stares at her screen for a few seconds, wondering if he's really that oblivious to online dating culture. Or just online culture in general. Instead of responding, she sends him a link to the Wikipedia page for the show Catfish.
By the time he responds, she's back at her desk with a mouthful of lemon chicken.
::yikes. Look, I'm going to send you my number. I'm in meetings all day, but I'll be done by 7 tonight. You can do with it what you will, but if you want to make sure I am who I say I am, you can facetime me then
By the time seven rolls around, Sansa has done her makeup three times, each time deciding it was too much and too forced, wiping it off in frustration only to start again. She opens the camera app on her phone and checks her appearance, fluffing up her hair and trying to find the best angle. She's being ridiculous, she knows, but she is full of nervous energy and it needs some outlet.
There's no way Jon isn't who he says he is, right? Because why else would he tell her to do this? Although, if he has any sort of connection issue and can't take her call, she'll be sure he's a catfish. She's watched the show. Always having connection issues so you can't Facetime is like catfishing 101.
She sends a quick text that she's going to call, just so she doesn't catch him off guard, and he sends back a simple ok.
Then she sits on her couch and calls him.
For three brief seconds that feel like a lifetime, it just rings and her stomach clenches until his face pops up on the screen.
“Hi,” she starts, her voice coming out slightly higher pitched than it usually does.
“Hey,” he says back and he's real. His voice is deep and it has a Northern lilt to it that gives her a pang of nostalgia (she really needs to call her parents soon).
“So... Jon, huh?”
“I'm really who I say I am,” he confirms, one side of his mouth tilting up in a smile. “Jon. Twenty nine. In desperate need of a date to my half brother and ex girlfriend's wedding.”
She lets out a huff of laughter at that, though it's more out of nerves than actual humor. She's not sure what to say next, this is so weird. She's not big on talking on the phone in general, even with people she's close to. Jon seems to feel the same, because he says, “would you like to have lunch with me this weekend? We could do this in person?”
They decide on brunch (her idea) at a restaurant downtown (also her idea). Jon seems to be fine with letting her set the course of this date and she's eternally grateful for it. It means she gets to pick a place that she's familiar with, but isn't one of her regular spots close to her apartment (just in case he turns out to be the creepy stalker type). They're both quick to say their goodbyes, and she's also thankful for that. It seems that they're on the same page with how awkward this Facetime call was, but she's glad she did it because now she can stop worrying.
(Or, at least stop worrying that he has a different face. He still could be an ax murderer.)
She shows up to their date in a blue romper that she hopes looks casual and not like she spent all morning with half her closet spread out on her bed debating what to wear.
Except, she's quickly getting the sense that this isn't a date.
The initial bit is awkward, because of course it is, they're meeting for the first time. But as they settle into their table, jammed in a corner near the windows in the overcrowded restaurant, it starts to feel a bit more normal. Just not like a date.
Jon is nice and polite and she likes that even though their waitress takes forever, he doesn't seem to get annoyed and he's not rude to her at all when she finally gets to their table. He declines the traditional brunch mimosas, making a joke about alcohol not doing him any favors, but she orders one to hopefully settle her nerves a bit.
It's all very by the book, but the longer it goes on, as their drinks come and then their food, it begins to feel more like... well, a business transaction.
“So I'd be your girlfriend?” she asks, taking a sip of her mimosa. “Wouldn't your family question why you suddenly have a girlfriend they've never heard about?”
He shifts in his seat and gives a little shrug and says, “I'm not really close to that side of the family. The only person who I would ever tell about a relationship is my half sister, and she just had a baby so she'll think she forgot I told her or something. And as I said, I don't really use social media, so it's not like they would have seen me posting about it.”
“I have to ask, why are you going? It sounds like you're not really that close to your half brother.”
He sighs and rubs a hand over his face for a moment, sitting back in his chair. “I almost said no, when I got the invitation. But then all I could think about was how everyone would talk about how I didn't go. Anytime I see one of them, they're going to bring it up. So I decided it would be better if I showed my face. And... well, I checked the plus one box without... I didn't really have a plan. Then I couldn't decide if it was more embarrassing to just go by myself or back out completely.”
“You weren't dating anyone at the time?” He shakes his head. “What about any friends that could go with you?”
“The bride happens to know who all my female friends are,” he deadpans and she winces. How could she have forgotten?
“Right.”
They sit in silence for a bit, her pushing bits of crepe and strawberries around on her plate as he stares out the window. Then he finally looks back at her and sighs.
“You haven't asked yet.”
“Asked what?” He gives her a look and she cringes a bit. “I feel weird prying.”
There's another pause before he speaks again. “Do you know why I responded to you? To your message on Tinder?”
“You didn't respond to them all?”
“Only yours.”
“Oh,” she breathes, feeling something bloom in her chest that she tries to push down.
“You were the only one who didn't immediately ask what happened with my ex and brother.”
“I'm not going to lie and say I'm not curious,” she says slowly, cautiously, “but you don't have to explain it if you don't want to.”
“It's not that complicated,” he says, his voice going a bit dull as his eyes stray back to the window, to the street outside. “We dated for five months. She broke up with me, then a month later I found out she was with Egg.”
Sansa makes a sort of noncommittal humming noise as she takes another sip of her mimosa instead of asking the question she wants to ask.
He seems to hear the question anyway, because he says, “they never really clarified the... timeline.”
“Right.”
After another moment, there's a heavy sigh and he looks back at her. “I wasn't lying when I put the warning there. My family is... unpleasant to deal with and a lot of people are going to be watching me and talking about me and judging... you need to know what you're getting into. It's not just that she's my ex, I'm also sort of the black sheep of the family – our dad cheated on his wife with my mom and had me.”
“That's... a lot,” she says, because she doesn't know what else to say.
“I also didn't take a job in the family business, so that didn't help matters. I'm a huge disappointment.”
“You're really selling this,” she jokes and it takes a second, but it finally lands and he lets out a small laugh. “I'll go.” He makes a face like he doesn't believe her. “I'm serious.”
“I don't understand why you'd agree to help me out. I guarantee you, this is going to be a terrible weekend.”
She shrugs and brings a hand up to play with her dragonfly pendant that she only wears on special occasions because it's good luck. “I mean, I guess there's something to be said for wanting to watch this trainwreck of a wedding.” It's only half a joke and he seems to take it as one, because he's smiling again. “Or maybe I'm just a bleeding heart and the idea of you going alone makes me want to... I don't know, save you?”
His smile grows, it crinkles up the corners of his eyes and transforms his whole face. “My knight in shining armor,” he says, and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks.
What she won't tell him is that she's only met him once, they've only been talking for eight days, but she already has a crush on him. He makes her pulse race and her stomach swoop and her breath catch.
But as they leave, after they split the check and walk back out onto the street and part ways, she understands that a real relationship isn't in the cards for them.
Because he's clearly still not over his ex.
They meet a few more times – a dinner the next Wednesday, beers at a local pub Sunday afternoon. He gives her the details of the wedding, the when and where and how of it all.
The more she finds out, the more she realizes that he really did mean his warnings. The wedding is at a resort nearly two hours away, they'll be going down Friday morning, the rehearsal dinner will be that night, then the wedding will be the next day. They'll leave Sunday.
Jon isn't in the wedding party, but apparently his brother had still asked him to be a part of the rehearsal and the photos and she can tell Jon wants no part of it, but as with everything else, couldn't say no.
When the subject of a dress comes up, the ease she feels around him disappears and their conversation grows a bit tense.
“You don't need to buy me a dress.”
“I just don't want you to be out any money because of this,” he scratches at his beard and can't meet her eyes and she gets the sense he's incredibly uncomfortable with this, too.
“I have dresses.”
He takes a deep breath and plays with the napkin under his drink for a moment before he responds. He turns on his stool to face her a bit more and his knee brushes hers and it sends a shiver down her spine. His voice dips low so that she has to lean forward to hear him over the noise in the bar. “It's just that I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Around my family, I mean.” Sansa has no idea what that even means, but he continues. “I guess I have one last warning. Do you... have you heard of the Targaryens?”
The name rings a bell and she nods slowly, though she can't quite place it.
“You've probably seen their name around. It's mostly real estate and stuff, but they're... well, they've got money. Everyone at this wedding will be in designer clothes and I don't care what you wear, but I don't want you to feel out of place.”
Something falls heavy in the pit of her stomach when she realizes he's not just offering to buy her a dress for the occasion, he's offering to buy her a designer dress. Something expensive. Something she could never afford on her own.
And then the shock of – wait, does that mean he's rich? He doesn't look like the type. He doesn't act like it.
She makes some excuse to go to the bathroom and while she's in there, she pulls out her phone and Googles Jon Snow. It's a generic name, so she adds Targaryen and sure enough – there, on her screen, is an article about some fundraiser and there's a picture of Jon with his arm around a gorgeous brunette, standing next to two men with pale blond hair, one older, one younger. The caption reads: Rhaegar Targaryen (center) with sons Aegon Targaryen (left) and Jon Snow (right).
A few more clicks and she's at a Google search of the name Targaryen and just reading their Wikipedia makes her stomach clench because they aren't just rich. They're rich. Like generational wealth, owns half of King's Landing real estate, twenty car garage rich. So rich that common people like her have barely heard their name.
And then she finds the wedding announcement for Aegon Targaryen and there, in the photo with him, is that same brunette and Sansa feels a pang of hurt for Jon. Aegon Targaryen and Margaery Tyrell.
When she finally comes out of the bathroom, he gives her a once over and then sighs. “You looked me up.”
“I'm sorry,” she breathes, hands still shaking a bit.
“You can back out of this anytime you want.”
Yes! her logical brain screams. Back out!
But then she thinks about those photos – of Margaery on Jon's arm and then with Aegon. She thinks about the way Jon's face turns to stone every time he talks about her or his brother. She thinks of how hurt he must be. He must have really loved her. He must still love her.
This is a terrible idea. She barely knows him, she doesn't know any of these people and she'll be completely out of place, and she knows he only wants her there to make his ex jealous.
(Maybe he wants her back? Oh gods. Is that an option? What if he and this Margaery run off together and Sansa is stuck at a resort in the Reach by herself with a bunch of people who are essentially Westerosi royalty?)
“No, I'll go.”
He looks up at her and the hope on his face solidifies her decision. It may be the worst one she's ever made, but that isn't going to stop her, common sense and self preservation be damned.
“About the dress...” he starts.
She thinks again to the photo of Jon at that fundraiser, the dress Margaery had been wearing in it and suddenly the idea of walking into a room full of people like that, even in the most expensive dress she owns, makes her want to throw up.
“When are you free this week?” he asks when she doesn't answer. “We can go pick one out then.”
The thing about movies is they have montages and you don't have to watch the tedious process of trying on dress after dress – the zippers and the ties and the restricted breathing and the spinning and turning and trying to figure out if it's flattering or if the store mirrors are those trick carnival ones.
If only this were a movie.
It felt a bit like one at first, meeting Jon at a boutique that he said his half sister had recommended, one that Sansa would never in a million years walk into herself, though she would absolutely stare longingly at the window displays. It's all glass and chrome and white and she has her own personal shop attendant with her, running out to fetch different dresses or sizes.
She should feel like a princess, this should feel like a dream, except when she finally steps out in a red dress that clings to her, that is cut lower than anything Sansa has ever dared to wear before, and Jon looks at her and gives a low whistle, it feels like anything but.
“This is it,” the attendant says with an approving nod and Sansa turns to look at herself in the mirror. Even without her hair and makeup done, she has never looked better, she thinks. But this isn't a fairytale and she isn't a princess and all of this feels empty because the person she truly wants to appreciate it only does because he wants her to look nice on his arm.
Which is what she agreed to.
Sansa changes back out of the dress and the attendant takes it and gives it to Jon and by the time Sansa is dressed in her regular clothes, Jon is already up front paying for it.
“You'll outshine the bride,” the sales clerk whispers as Sansa makes her way up front and she forces a smile onto her face and swallows down her disappointment.
The dress is nice, but Sansa has seen the bride. There is no outshining Margaery Tyrell.
“Ready?” Jon asks, handing over the bag that's worth more than Sansa's rent.
Is she ready?
Is she ready to leave in five days, on a two hour road trip to a resort in the Reach, with a man she just met three weeks ago, to play his doting girlfriend while he pines over his ex and maybe ruins the wedding?
No, she is absolutely not ready. But of course that's not what she says.
“Definitely.”