Chapter 1
ONE
noia
The one thing no one tells you about weddings is how goddamn itchy and traumatic everything is.
The dress. The fake eyelashes. Not to mention the ridiculous expectations.
“Are you sure about this?” my mom asks again, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she hands me a flute of champagne. “How’s your head feeling? It’s been a week and you still have a bump.”
“Tish,” Sasha cuts in sharply. “It’s her wedding day. Maybe don’t interrogate her while she’s being stuffed into a straight jacket made of statin and lace.”
I smirk. My best friend Sasha is a badass. We’ve known each other since we were in the sixth grade, and she’s always had my back. Shit, we even got our periods the same fucking week.
We first met when I was twelve. I was sitting on a bench, nose buried in a book, trying to blend into my surroundings over by the basketball court, when Lexi Carter and her crew cornered me.
Keeping my nose in my book, I hoped if I ignored them, they’d get bored and just go away.
But Lexi was having none of it. She snatched my book out of my hands, dangling it just out of reach.
“Give it back,” I mumbled, wishing I had the courage to punch her in her smug little upturned nose.
“Or what, freak?” Lexi sneered, flipping through the pages. “God, this is so lame.”
It was at that moment when a blur of red hair and righteous fury showed up out of nowhere. Sasha—a girl I barely knew from math class—stormed over like a pint-sized hurricane and stepped between us.
“Back off, Lexi, or I swear to god I’ll tell everyone about what happened at camp last summer,” Sasha growled, green eyes flashing.
All the color drained from Lexi’s face before she dropped the book on the ground and she and her posse scattered.
Then Sasha sat down next to me, handed me half her smashed PB&J, and said, “You like books? Cool. Me too.” And from that day forward? Best friends for life.
“Earth to Noia,” Sasha grins, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I grab the glass from my mother’s hand and down half of it in one gulp.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “Eric is a good guy. A little narcissistic, but he doesn’t snore and he gets along with Goonie. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
They look at me, both of them slowly shaking their heads.
“We’ll support you no matter what, you know that,” Sasha smiles.
Music floats through the church walls from outside the bridal suite. Inside, it smells like flowers and anxiety, which, for some reason, suddenly feels wildly ironic.
I sit in front of the vanity mirror, staring at a version of myself I never would have been able to put together on my own—I’m more of a stretch pants and sweatshirt kind of girl.
The perfect up sweep of my blond hair, the shimmery shadow and glossy lips, sure as shit doesn’t feel like me. Not for a second.
“God, I look like a freaking cupcake.”
Sasha steps behind me to fluff my veil. “You look beautiful.”
I study her as she stands behind me in the mirror. With a ride or die soul and a smart-ass mouth, she’s always been there for me. Just like she is now, wearing her deep green maid-of-honor dress like a badge of honor.
My mom, Tish, is pacing over by the window, setting my nerves even more on edge.
“Mom,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Can you stop acting like someone just ran over your dog? Marrying Eric isn’t such a bad thing.”
Mouth twitching, my mom crosses her arms. “You’ve only known him for six months.”
“Seven,” I correct.
“You’re only doing this because your manager said it would be good for your image,” she volleys back.
“Incorrect,” I say, pointing at her with my champagne glass. “I’m doing it because I’m thirty-two and tired of explaining at every family gathering why I’m not married yet. And because I can’t make one of my fictional book boyfriends come to life so I can bring him to Thanksgiving dinner.”
Sasha snorts. “He’d just burn the turkey and flirt with your grandma.”
“You both know Gram’s can give as much as she gets.”
We laugh, and for a second the air in the room feels lighter—like maybe I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.
But that second is short-lived.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by a deep, hesitant male voice. “Uh, Sasha? Can I talk to you a sec?”
Sean, Eric’s best man, is a cinnamon roll of a guy. Eric met him in college and they have been best friends ever since.
Sasha’s brows pull tight. “Just a sec. I’ll be right back.”
Heels clicking against the tiled floor, she slips out, closing the door softly behind her.
Taking a seat, my mom crosses her legs, aiming a look at me over the rim of her glass. “Sugar... If something feels off, it would be better to back out now. Other than in your books, you don’t owe anyone a happily ever after.”
“Mom...”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Just trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”
Just as I open my mouth to fire back, I hear Sasha’s raised voice coming from the other side of the door.
“You’d better find out where that motherfucker is, or so help me—”
I sit up straight.
My mom looks up sharply. “What the hell—?”
I stand from my chair, heart thumping in my chest.
A second later, Sasha storms in, cheeks flushed and fists clenched.
“What’s going on?” I ask, blood pounding in my ears.
She pauses, almost as if she wants to soften the blow, but when she sees my face, she lets out a defeated sigh.
“Noia…”
“Spit it out.”
“Sean can’t find Eric,” she explains. “He’s not answering his phone and he’s not here at the church. No one has actually seen or talked to him since last night.”
My mom gasps, hand flying to her chest. “I knew that guy was no good. I knew it. There was something twitchy in his eyes, always smiling like a politician.”
Fuck, I don’t even feel like crying. I’m just… stunned.
The silence in the room is so heavy, I can almost feel it in my bones.
“Maybe he got stuck in traffic?” I offer a little too brightly. “Or maybe his phone died. Maybe he’s trying to find a parking spot?”
Sasha shakes her head slowly. “Noia. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Sean checked with the hotel. His car is gone.”
“I always said you should’ve stuck with that fireman with the motorcycle,” my mother grouses. “What was his name? Lucas?”
“Luca,” Sasha and I say together.
“He was crazy. He set my mailbox on fire after I broke up with him,” I mumble.
“Well, at least he showed up,” my mom snaps.
Not trusting my legs to keep me upright, I sink back onto my chair.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “He told me he really wanted this. He helped choose the cake, said he couldn’t wait to see me walk down the aisle—”
Sasha kneels in front of me and grabs my hands.
“Noia. Listen to me. This is not about you. This is about him.” She stands up with a huff. “That asshole, douchebag, piece of shit, coward.”
My throat burns, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to cry. I’m too numb and way too fucking pissed.
My mom hands me her champagne and I take it, draining the glass.
“I need to get out of this fucking dress,” I finally say.
“You want me to get the scissors?” Sasha asks, reaching for her purse.
“Yes,” I growl. “Then I want a fucking bonfire.”
Sasha’s mouth twitches and my mom nods.
I look at myself in the mirror one last time.
If there’s one thing I do know for sure? It’s that Ryder Blackwood would never do this shit to me.