CHAPTER ONE – CHARLOTTE
“It’s the famous Calhoun Gala,” Ava says in a grandiose tone. “My family organizes it every two years. I cannot refuse to go.” Ava looks troubled as she takes a dainty bite of her gluten-free pizza, her manicured nails perfect as always.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as I study my best friend. It’s rare to see Ava perturbed. If there’s ever a picture in the dictionary next to the words “good girl,” it’ll be Ava’s. She has faultless good manners, doesn’t laugh out of turn, never yells, and certainly never complains about family obligations like the gala, thanks to her “proper” Southern upbringing. This impending Calhoun Gala is bothering her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ava sounds petulant, taking the wine glass beside her and swallowing a generous amount of wine.
“You have something here…” I say as I touch her chin. “It’s cheese.”
“Oh, really, Charlotte,” Ava moans. “Right now, I don’t care what’s on my chin. The gala is in one week!” Her eyes are wide.
“Okay” I say, drawling out the word. I move the empty pizza box out of the way and lean my elbows on the table. “Your family has been organizing this gala for years, Ava. You grew up attending this event; what’s different about this year’s? What’s bothering you?”
Ava releases a delicate sigh and leans back against the couch. “My father will finally be introducing me to Jonah Davenport at the event,” she says.
I gasp and reach out to place a comforting hand on Ava’s arm. Although we have been planning this for two years, it feels strange and terrifying that the day has finally come.
Five years ago, Ava’s dad, Gordon Calhoun, called her and said, “I’ve found you a man to marry. His name is Jonah, the eldest son of Thomas Davenport, who owns Davenport Oils. He’s the Davenport Oils heir and a billionaire, so you’ll be well taken care of. In due time, you’ll meet and get married.”
The only thing Ava said in response was, “Okay, Dad. I cannot wait to meet him.”
Three years later, the Calhoun and Davenport families started planning the wedding. Both families are billionaires, so this is going to be the wedding of the year; nothing can go wrong—not a speck should be out of place. As a wedding planner myself, I have been very involved in the planning, but I think it’s strange that, in all this time, Jonah and Ava have not physically met each other.
Yes, they call each other regularly and update each other with the wedding prep, but it is nothing compared to a meeting.
What if Ava meets Jonah at the gala and doesn’t like him? The wedding date was set two years ago, the best venue and caterers are already booked, so she can't possibly call it off. Knowing Ava, she would rather marry a man she doesn’t like with a smile on her face than complain or rebel against her family.
Aside from being billionaires, Ava’s parents still live by the Old South traditions, even in the twenty-first century. At twenty-six years old, Ava is pampered and spoiled sweet, and she hardly makes any life decisions herself. I don’t understand it and gag at the idea of a husband being chosen for me.
“Ava.” I reach for my best friend’s arm. “This is ridiculous. You’ve not even met this Jonah guy. What if he has warts all over his face? What if he’s—?”
Ava laughs and shakes her head. “Let’s hope he doesn’t have warts,” she says, her tone growing serious, “because I can’t defy my father.”
I gape at her. “Look at you; you’re a nervous wreck. You don’t want to marry this man, obviously.”
“No, that’s not it.” Ava sighs. “I’ve always known my father would find me a husband, and honestly, I don’t mind it.”
“Then why are you worried?” I ask.
“When Jonah and I meet next week, we will get formally engaged, and then the final wedding prep will consume my whole life—our whole lives." Ava curls her fingers around mine. "I've been planning this wedding for two years, but it's never felt real."
“Now it does,” I say, and she nods.
I scoot over to Ava’s side of the table and pull her into my arms, running my hands up and down her back in an attempt to ease her stress. She’s trying to be strong and act like all is well, but I can see a hint of fear in her eyes. She’s also not sure about this, but like the good girl she is, she won’t cannot complain.
“Ava…” I tuck a loose strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear and hold her at arm’s length. “Have you tried talking to your dad about this?”
“About what?” she asks, looking completely clueless.
“About Jonah, of course.” I roll my eyes.
“Why should I talk to him about Jonah?” Her frown deepens.
“Ava,” I groan. “Do you really want to marry Jonah? Is that what you want?”
She shrugs and gently dabs her mouth with one of the serviettes on the table. “I want to marry him,” she says. “I’m a little anxious, but what prospective bride isn’t? My father will not choose an unsatisfactory man for me as a husband. I trust him.”
I see it’s a lost cause trying to push Ava into rebellion, so I take my mind off it and decide to help her relax instead. “Then you don’t have to worry, okay? I’m sure things will turn out okay.”
“Thanks to you and my mom,” she says with a giggle, perking up. “Everything is almost ready.”
“We’ve had two years to plan,” I answer. “Of course, it’s almost ready.”
Ava laughs again and falls silent while I take a small bite of my cheese pizza. Ava is right. Next week, when Jonah returns to South Carolina, things will get even more serious. When they got officially betrothed five years ago, Jonah was in his final year at Harvard University. For the past four years, he’s been in Saudi Arabia learning about the oil production business since he’ll soon take over from his father, Thomas Davenport.
For years, Ava, Mrs. Calhoun, and I have mapped out the wedding. We’ve taken care of the venue: the Calhoun family's lavish waterfront estate in Charleston, South Carolina. The decor, the color scheme, florals, cake, musicians, the luxurious dinner, the wedding attire, and every other detail has been meticulously arranged. Now that Jonah will be returning, we can put the final touches to the preparation.
“Charlotte.” Ava’s eyes suddenly light up. “You can come with me.”
“Come with you where?”
“To the gala,” she squeals, grabbing my arm excitedly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“What?” My eyes widen. “Hold on, Ava, you know that’s not possible.”
“Why not?” she says, pouting.
“Because…” I sigh. The Calhoun Gala is a high-society event where all the celebrities and superstars of the country meet to socialize and network. The family has been organizing this party for many years, and I’ve never requested to attend because I know it’s way out of my circle. Ava may be my best friend, but I don’t belong in their world, and I will never forget that, no matter how glamorous it is.
“Ava, you know the event is strictly by invitation,” I say lightly, and she waves me off.
“I can invite whoever I want.”
When I start to shake my head again, she pouts. “Please, Charlotte, I really need you.”
“You don’t.” I pat her hands. “You’ve got this. I promise you.”
“I would be so nervous,” she says. “And you’re the only one I’ll be able to talk to. If you’re not there, I’ll feel alone. Please. You have to come with me.”
I groan and slump to the floor while Ava continues to plead. I don’t want Ava’s family to think I’m taking advantage of their daughter. Even though an invite to the Calhoun Gala is sold at fifty thousand dollars apiece, invitations sell out fast and are very scarce. It’s an event everyone wants to attend, so Ava’s family may think I manipulated Ava into bringing me.
“Please, Charlotte,” Ava begs. “I’ve never asked you to attend the gala with me because I know you will refuse. But now, I need you by my side that night.”
“Ava—”
“Thank you.” Her arms circle my neck. “You’re the bestest friend a girl could have.”
“Shut up.” I’m not sure I’m totally comfortable being Ava’s plus one to the famous Calhoun Gala, but this is beyond me now because I’ll do anything within my power to make Ava happy, and attending this gala may not be my choice, but it is well within my power.
“I’m going shopping for a dress to wear to the gala tomorrow,” Ava says happily. “You can come with me.”
“Ugh, no.” Ava and I don’t shop in the same stores for obvious reasons.
“Why?” Ava is a darling best friend, but sometimes, she’s blissfully unaware of the economic disparity between us. I try not to discuss it so much because she’s empathetic and would try to help.
“I have some dresses that I could wear.”
Ava gasps, her eyes turning into huge circles on her heart-shaped face. “No! You have to wear a new dress for the event. Everyone will look stunning; I want you to beat them.”
I’ve watched every edition of the gala online, so I know how everyone dresses there, but I’m not trying to compete with people who are richer than me. I’m an event planner and can hardly splurge on designers with the little I make.
“Don’t worry, Ava. I’ll handle my outfit.”
“Oh, I almost forgot—” Ava snaps her fingers. “Remind me to text the caterer tomorrow morning,” she says. “Jonah texted me that he’s pescatarian and has a sesame allergy.”
“What?” I laugh, and Ava shrugs.
“We’re still getting to know each other,” she explains.
“I see.” They’ve been betrothed for five years and engaged for two, with their wedding coming up in about two months, and yet, they hardly know each other’s allergies or food preferences. It’s all so strange to me, and I don’t see myself in Ava’s position ever.
“Does he know sesame salad is one of your favorite foods?” I arch my brows, and Ava huffs.
“It’s one of my favorites,” she stresses. “Which means I have lots of them. If he’s allergic to sesame, I’ll be content with my other favorites and not eat sesame salad anymore.”
“Wow.”
Ava rolls her eyes and rises to her feet with a stretch. “Come on, enough talk about men and weddings.” She picks up the empty pizza box and heads to the kitchen. “This is supposed to be a fun sleepover. What are we doing for fun?”
I follow her into the kitchen, trying to forget that Ava is going to stop eating her favorite food because her husband-to-be, who she hasn’t met, by the way, is allergic to sesame.
“Ava?” I lean on the counter, watching her trash the box. “If you knew Jonah was pescatarian and allergic to sesame five years ago, would you have opposed the betrothal?”
“No,” she says without thinking too hard. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint my father. Plus, the Davenports are a respectable family; why should I let a sesame allergy stop me?”
When I scoff, she chuckles and glances up at me. “If your father found you a man, wouldn’t you marry him?”
I laugh at the sheer absurdity of her statement. It’s inconceivable that my father would do that because even as a child, I’ve always had the freedom to choose my path. I’ve kissed a lot of frogs and haven’t met a prince yet, but I’d continue to kiss frogs before I betroth myself to a man I don’t know.
“No, I wouldn’t”, I tell Ava. “And you’re right; enough talk about boys.”
There’s nothing like my nonexistent love life to bring me down to earth. “Let’s order ice cream and choose a movie.”
Ava groans and stomps her foot. “I can’t eat ice cream because I already had pizza. I’m on a strict diet to fit in my wedding gown.”
“Fine.” I grab her arm and lead her back to the living room. “Let’s find the sappiest, most unrealistic chick flick and get lost.”
“I’m in.”