The Fixer: Clearing the Path for Her "Perfect" Wedding

My name is Andre, and I am the man who handles the mess so she can stay clean.

Camila was getting married in Rio. She was stressed beyond belief because her fiancé, a wealthy but useless man named Paulo, had forgotten to secure the venue's permits and the catering deposits. The wedding was three days away and it was about to be cancelled.

"Andre, please, I can't let my family see me fail like this," she sobbed into the phone. I am a fixer; I have connections. I spent seventy-two hours straight on the phone and in the streets. I used favors I’d been saving for a decade. I threatened, I bribed, and I spent my own emergency fund to fill the gaps that Paulo’s negligence had created.

I made the "miracle" happen. The wedding went off without a hitch. I stood in the back of the church, my eyes burning from lack of sleep, my suit wrinkled from the three-day marathon. I watched her walk down the aisle. She looked like an angel. When the priest asked if anyone objected, my heart screamed, but my lips stayed shut. At the reception, Paulo gave a speech. "I know it was a bit touch-and-go," he joked, "but I always find a way to make things happen for my beautiful bride."

Camila beamed at him, her eyes full of adoration. She didn't mention the man who had actually saved the day. I left the party early, walking home in the humid night, knowing I had just used my life’s influence to marry the woman I love to a man who doesn't even know her favorite color.