Chapter 1 Sophia
A s I enter through the revolving door of my best friend’s apartment building, the concierge greets me and grants me access to the elevator since he recognizes me. I practically live here and even have my own key. I’m surprised Aria hasn’t taken it away from me, considering I barge in most of the time.
Glancing at my watch, I cross my fingers, hoping I’m not too late. I may have forgotten the time I was supposed to be here because I didn’t write it on my calendar. Every time, I tell myself I’ll remember and jot it down later—and I always forget. The endless cycle continues. Will I ever be on time for anything in my life? Probably not. But by now, my friends know this about me.
“Open up!” I pound on the door, opting not to use the key this time, because if my speculations are correct, I have a pretty good idea who will be opening it.
Isabella opens the door and blocks the entrance, crossing her arms. “Do you have any idea how late you are?”
Isabella Walton, one of my best friends. She’s feisty. Temperamental. Type A personality. A grump by heart but has a soft spot for romance novels. And surprisingly, an amazing baker. Seriously. The woman makes the best red velvet cookies. I dream about those cookies.
“I don’t, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” I reply, batting my lashes and giving her the best puppy eyes I can muster.
Isabella glares at me with her intense green eyes without saying anything and moves aside, letting me in.
Aria walks into the living room and shoves a margarita in my hand. “The maid of honor is finally here!” She beams.
Aria Petrov, my childhood best friend. She’s fiery. Quirky in an endearing, cute way, and has the kindest heart you will ever meet. But most importantly—she’s a bride now.
That’s right. My wonderful and insane best friend is getting married to Damian Romano—her former boss and former top bachelor of Chicago. Self-made billionaire, smart, handsome—the whole package. Hell, the man is so perfect he was going to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit to protect her. They are the perfect couple, and they complement each other in the best way possible. Not only that, but Aria has grown so comfortable with her body and her looks. She has always had a fire in her; she simply needed a push in the right direction to fully embrace it. And that’s a job Damian has taken to heart. The man is the grumpiest person I’ve ever met, but when it comes to her? A huge teddy bear. He would do anything for her.
If only I could be so lucky.
You don’t even want to open yourself to the possibility of falling in love, stop acting the martyr.
It’s not that I’m not open to it. I’m simply not open to the inevitable heartbreak. Falling in love is for fools. For most people, anyway. My best friend was lucky enough to find a man who loves her fiercely. If I had a 100% guarantee I could have the same, I would be open to the idea. My heart has been broken too many times, starting with the most important man in every little girl’s life. The one who’s supposed to love you and protect you. The one who’s supposed to show you how unconditional love looks and feels like.
Trauma, party of one. That’s me!
“Maid of honor is very late, is what she is,” Isabella points out, shutting the door.
The maid of honor title makes me equally excited and nervous. While I love my best friend wholeheartedly, I’m not entirely sure why she chose me. It honestly seems like a job for Isabella. I’m all for planning the most over-the-top bachelorette party, but the actual wedding? A recipe for disaster.
“Sorry I’m late, Ari.” I grimace, giving her a tight hug, then drop onto the couch, getting comfortable.
Aria’s loft is luxurious in a simplistic way. Her living room is an open space with an L-shaped couch and a loveseat in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of the windy city. Her walls are decorated with her own paintings, giving the space a vibrant edge. It always makes me proud to see Aria unafraid to show off her art. All thanks to her fiancé, Damian, who helped her recognize her worth, even though I had been telling her for years. She needed to find her soulmate—her person—to finally be able to see it. She’s now one of the best up-and-coming artists in the industry, painting and sharing her love for art, despite all the struggles she went through.
Aria sits next to me as she waves her hand dismissively. “You know I don’t care, but this one”—she glares at Isabella over her shoulder—“will hang us both if we don’t stick to the schedule.”
Isabella shakes her head in disbelief, walking toward us as she ties her long, straight blonde hair in a messy bun. “How do I care more about this wedding than the bride?” She juts her hip out, planting a hand firmly on it.
“Damian is your best friend, even though neither one of you acknowledges it. It’s like a silent treaty between two very grumpy people,” I quip then take a sip of Aria’s famous margarita, savoring the strong citrus flavor.
Aria nods animatedly. “That’s true.”
“Enough chitchat. Let’s get started. I brought my famous red velvet cookies.” I perk up at her comment, but she points at me, squinting. “You can only eat them if you actually get to planning. Now, come on,” she says, striding into the kitchen.
Aria and I look at each other as we roll our eyes and follow after her.
All the Pinterest pictures Aria printed to get some ideas are laid on the kitchen island, and we go over them, talking about what we like and dislike as we sip our margaritas. I honestly can’t believe my best friend is getting married. I feel like it was just yesterday when she walked through my apartment door, stating she hated his guts and couldn’t be with someone so insufferable. Now, though? I can’t imagine someone more perfect for her. The way they love each other is nothing short of amazing. And while I’m more than excited for her, another side of me can’t help but feel jealousy—that’s too strong of a word, more like longing—to have what she has.
Let’s get real. You and relationships will never mix. Or did you forget what happened last time?
Three years later, I still haven’t forgotten. It’s kind of difficult to get over something so… I can’t even find the right wording for it.
Traumatic. Horrible. Impossible to believe .
“Why don’t you hire a planner? Your man can afford it,” I joke.
Aria shakes her head, hitting my shoulder with hers playfully. “No, come on! This is supposed to be fun!”
I have a different idea of what fun looks like than Aria and Isabella. I’m more into the let’s go on a girls’ trip and have the time of our lives vibe, while the girls are the let’s go to brunch and drink a good cup of coffee type. Somehow, we still fit. I keep them young, and they keep me tamed. It’s the perfect balance, if you ask me.
I will always be the loud and obnoxious friend. Having fun and experiencing life helps push away those helpless thoughts. Is trying to erase your problems away the best way to cope? Probably not. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying, though.
I bite my lip nervously. “Honestly, I suck at this, but anything for you, Red .” I laugh. “Have you guys picked a date yet?”
“Gee, I’m glad the nickname is catching on,” she retorts dryly. “And no.” She groans. “We’re still not sure if we want a fall or winter wedding.”
I snicker at her comment. I can’t believe I never thought about calling her Red. With her perfect, curly auburn hair and the red lipstick she always wears, the nickname is fairly obvious. I swear, whoever started this is a genius. I think it was Damian’s head of security, or maybe his cousin? I heard the story from Isabella in passing. I’m not really part of the group they have going on. My schedule is too hectic, and the rare times they get together, I’m always too busy.
Aria perks up, her hazel eyes gleaming with something I can’t quite place. “Are you able to make it to the birthday dinner tonight? I would love for you to meet the birthday boy. Please tell me you’re not working, it’s Saturday. You can’t work on weekends!”
Ah . That gleaming is mischief.
Working at one of the top media websites in the country is anything but glamorous. That’s mostly because Max, my boss, sucks. The hours are ruthless, and I work more often than not and barely have a social life. It was supposed to be a temporary job, but four years later, I’m still there. I honestly thought I was going to be someplace else by now, but I have too many responsibilities to ever quit and pursue what I want.
I mull it over for a moment. If only they knew all I did today was work when I was supposed to be outlining my book. I have lots of ideas. What I don’t have is the time or the energy to pursue the author career I keep saying I want. And even though I worked all day, I still have so much left to do. But I did tell myself I needed to start cutting back.
I can also smell her intentions from a hundred miles away, and I’m not sure if I like where this is going. She has been throwing comments here and there about how she thinks I’ll get along with Damian’s cousin—the birthday boy. In Aria’s world, that’s code for: I’m trying to set you up . Ever since she got her own person, she’s determined we all find ours, too. The sad reality is, even if I found someone I could get along with, I will never open my heart. I still have too many fresh wounds waiting to be mended, and it’s safe to say they won’t be closing anytime soon. That’s why casual sex is in, and relationships are out.
“Aria Petrov,” I scold, eyeing her suspiciously, “Are you trying to set me up?”
“No,” she replies innocently before taking a sip of her margarita .
“Aria, come on, you can’t possibly be trying to set them up,” Isabella chimes in with an incredulous tone.
I gawk at her, flicking my hair dramatically. “You don’t think I’m a catch?”
She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I never said that, but let’s just say if you were to look up the definition of player in the dictionary, a picture of him would pop up.”
Aria’s shoulders deflate with a long sigh. “But maybe Sophia can keep him on his toes,” she says hopefully. “She’s pretty much the female version.”
I throw the fakest and loudest gasp, clutching my imaginary pearls. “ Ugh, as if! ”
My Clueless reference earns me an eye roll from Aria.
Quoting ’90s movies and TV shows is a favorite hobby of mine, which no one—especially not Aria—appreciates.
Isabella thins her lips, holding back a laugh. Knowing her, that’s the best reaction I’ll get. We make quite the trio, if you ask me. I’m the loud, obnoxious one. Aria is feisty when she needs to be but mostly sweet. Isabella, though, she’s the grumpiest. Which was surprising at first. She was so shy and quiet when I met her. But now, I embrace it. An Isabella without her signature frown is a scary one.
“You’re both impossible,” Aria mutters, opening the fridge and grabbing a water, then closes it and leans her hip against it. “Come to the birthday dinner, please.”
Resting my palms on the edge of the kitchen counter, I shake my head. “No.”
“You can’t say no to a bride, it’s bad luck!” she exclaims.
I frown. “ Pft . Says who?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “But I promise I have no tricky business.”
Aria is looking at me with those big puppy eyes, and she knows I can never say no to them. I know she’s trying to set me up, but what’s the worst that can happen? If he’s a player like Isabella claims, chances are we’ll have a one-night stand and move on. And if I’m being honest, I doubt anything will happen, because this past year has been a weird one. The men I’ve slept with have been mediocre at best. The excitement I used to feel doesn’t hit the same anymore. Sometimes I think, hey, maybe you’re ready to settle down . But I know better than that.
“Fine.” I sigh, letting my head drop between my shoulders.
“Good luck,” Isabella says, sarcasm lacing her tone.
I grab the kitchen towel from the stove handle and throw it at her. “Shut up before I make you go with me, because if I remember correctly, isn’t your dear Matteo best friends with him?” I arch an eyebrow.
Her eyes snap to mine, her body tensing at the mention of Matteo. “Over my dead body, am I going to be in the same room as that asshole.”
“Isabella, you do realize he’ll be at the wedding, right?” Aria chimes in, unsure.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Isabella drawls, sitting on the kitchen island stool.
“Why do you dislike him so much?” I ask.
Isabella pulls her phone from her jeans pocket, her gaze flicking away from us as she focuses on the screen. “I’m not going to talk about it.”
Aria and I exchange a knowing look. This always happens when we try to find out what the hell happened between them. While I haven’t personally witnessed their dynamic, Aria tells me it’s not pretty. And I don’t doubt it. I love Isabella to death, but her temper can be a lot sometimes. She’s always simmering in anger, which as her best friend, makes me hurt for her. But I guess everyone copes differently. I’m not about to reprimand her for something I also do. While she relies on anger, I rely on jokes and keeping a smile plastered all over my face even when it hurts.
“8 p.m. at Lorenzo’s, don’t forget,” Aria says while pointing her index finger at me, successfully deterring the conversation. “I’m sure you guys will get along really well.”
I hold back an eye roll. I love my best friend—truly, I do—but she still thinks I’m teenage Sophia, the hopeless romantic who wanted to meet her prince charming. But the more I witnessed at home, the more I knew it was all bullshit. When my father died, I also witnessed—and cleaned up—the mess he left behind. So much heartbreak. Darkness. Sadness. Some people are not meant to fall in love and find their person. I happen to be one of those people.
And every day, I try to be okay with it.