Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Finally, I saw the house I’d memorized from the street view map. Sofia’s aunt’s place was lit up, warm light glowing in the windows.
I mounted the steps, my hands shaking now that it was over, and rang the bell.
The door flew open.
“Oh my God,” Sofia shrieked, grabbing me and dragging me inside. “You made it!”
She was laughing, breathless—exactly the same and yet not at all the same as I remembered her.
She was taller, drop-dead gorgeous in a way that looked effortless, as though she could’ve walked a runway if she wanted to.
Still loud, still unapologetic, but now there was a polish to her that hadn’t been there before.
“Let the party start,” a girl our age said from behind her, holding a glass of wine.
“This is my cousin, Margaretta,” Sofia said, tugging me farther into the house and gesturing toward an older woman at the kitchen table. “And this is my aunt Teresa.”
Teresa smiled warmly. “You must be Scarlett. Welcome.”
I barely managed a hello before Sofia wrapped her arms around me again, squeezing hard, as if she needed to be sure I was real.
And just like that, we were old friends again.
Sofia finally pulled back, hands on my shoulders, eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You look incredible,” she said. “Also—holy shit. You’re actually here.”
“I know,” I said, still catching my breath. “I can’t believe this worked.”
She grinned. “Let’s get you a glass of wine and head upstairs to get ready. I’ve got the entire night planned, and we need to move.”
I still couldn’t believe I was here with her, reconstructing my life in real time.
When I’d reached out to her, half-expecting silence, she’d answered immediately—no hesitation. Just come. Standing here now, with her hands on my arms, I knew I’d trusted the right person.
We’d been inseparable once. Sleepovers, shared secrets, and our first tiny rebellions. Sofia had always been the daring one, forcing the world to keep up. I’d been the contained one, watching and learning.
Then my mother died, and Spain happened.
Now, it all felt washed away by a single hug.
She poured me a glass of prosecco and grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the stairs.
“Come on, I’ve got the perfect dress and heels with your name on them. Trust me, no one’s going to mistake you for a nun.”
I laughed and let her pull me along.
For the first time in forever, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The next hour blurred together in the best way—curling irons heating up, makeup compacts, palettes, and brushes spread across every surface, clothes tossed on the bed as we debated options. By the time we were done, Margaretta’s old bedroom looked like a glamor bomb had hit it.
Sofia kept our glasses filled with prosecco while Margaretta cranked her playlist, and somewhere in the chaos Sofia produced the perfect little black dress for me.
It was short with a touch of sparkle, hugging my curves—naughty enough to feel dangerous on New Year’s Eve.
Margaretta fixed my hair while Sofia worked on my makeup, creating a smoky eye that made me barely recognize myself.
We talked the entire time. Laughed. Hyped each other up.
They filled me in on everything I’d missed since I left Manhattan—who was sleeping with whom, who’d married for money, who’d imploded publicly.
Sofia, of course, had every detail about people we’d gone to school with, while both of them had the inside scoop on the rich and famous.
Margaretta complained about Miami and how she was already itching to move back to the city.
Sofia was careful not to explain exactly who I was, so Margaretta treated me as though I were just another one of Sofia’s friends—and I didn’t correct her.
Somewhere between the second glass of prosecco and the final check in the mirror, I realized I’d completely forgotten about the security guys.
Oh well. That was their problem now.
When Sofia finally grabbed her phone and ordered an Uber, we threw on coats, grabbed our bags, and headed out the door, flushed, buzzing, and ready for whatever the night decided to throw at us.