Georgia
It's Wednesday morning, and the dress hunt is on. Valentina and I have already visited two stores; she's tried on twelve dresses, and the day feels impossibly long.
"So what happened then?" she asks, glancing at me as I zip up dress number thirteen.
"Nothing, you called," I say, fastening the delicate silk-covered buttons down her back. "This one is stunning."
The dress is breathtaking—an off-white dream with lace detailing above the waistline, a plunging V-neck in the front, and an exposed back. The skirt has soft, flowing tulle and is weightless and elegant. She looks like she just stepped out of a bridal magazine.
"Wait, what do you mean I called?" she interrupts, turning her head to look at me.
"You did, "I remind her.
“Sunday morning. You called to plan the week and told me I needed to keep Wednesday morning open for dress shopping."
She pauses, then narrows her eyes at me. "You mean to tell me you were sitting at The Daily Brew with this gorgeous man, and instead of talking to him, you chose to talk to me?"
I smirk. "I'm a good friend."
"You're a stupid friend," she huffs before turning to the mirror, finally taking in her reflection. Then, softer, "You're an amazing friend."
She smiles, and in an instant, her eyes fill with tears.
"I think I found my dress," she whispers, emotion thick.
I step beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as we stare at her in the mirror. She's glowing, radiant with happiness. I squeeze her gently.
"Lucky number thirteen?" I ask, and she nods, her smile widening.
After finding her perfect dress, we moved on to shoes, and I found a dress for myself somewhere along the way. It was a dark emerald little number—off-the-shoulder, with long sheer sleeves adorned with delicate embroidered stones in deep shades of green. It was simple, elegant, and just above the knee.
"It hugs every curve. I love it!" Valentina exclaims as I step out of the fitting room. Then, smirking, "If only you had a handsome Greek god to bring to the wedding with you."
“Please. A man that polished? He’s either married, engaged, or batting for the other team—my luck, he’s probably all three.”
"Well, did you ask him?" she teases, handing me a pair of emerald sandals.
I gasp, holding one against my dress. "Where did you find these?!"
She grins. "I'm just lucky." Then, turning to the shoe attendant, she signals him over. "Can we get these in a size nine, please?"
"Right away, ma'am," he says politely before hurrying off.
I smirk at her. "You've gotten used to this high-society thing pretty quickly."
She waves me off. "Anyway, back to the important part. What exactly happened? He sat before you while you were talking with my fiancé…" She pauses, her expression turning dreamy. "And then I called you. What happened in between?"
I think back to Sunday—and instantly want to kick my own ass.
It started with a voice—deep, smooth, confident.
“You’re sitting in my chair,”
he’d said, lips curved in a smirk that should be illegal before noon.
I didn’t look upright away. I wasn’t giving in that easily.
“I didn’t realize the table was reserved,”
I’d replied, calm, cool, sipping my drink like my pulse wasn’t already sprinting.
Then I made the mistake of glancing up.
The man was carved from trouble. The sunlight hit just right, catching the angles of his jaw and the ridiculous shade of blue in his eyes. That kind of blue doesn’t play fair. It lingers. It burns itself into your memory.
“Like I said earlier,”
I added, forcing my eyes back to my drink.
“this is my table.”
He leaned in just slightly—close enough that I caught a whiff of cedar and clean laundry and something else I couldn’t name, but wouldn’t forget.
“Are you going to look at me,”
he asked, teasing.
“or are you going to keep pretending I don’t exist?”
That did it.
I looked at him—really looked.
“I’m ignoring the bold stranger who decided to crash my peaceful coffee break,”
I said.
“You could’ve picked any of the twenty-five empty seats. You didn’t have to pick mine.”
“Why would I sit anywhere else,”
he replied smoothly.
“when you’re sitting here?”
I might’ve blushed. Might’ve smirked. Definitely forgot how to breathe for a second.
Then my phone buzzed—Valentina.
Saved by the bell.
I stood, drink in hand, and said with a sly smile.
“Well, that was cute. Enjoy the chair.”
And just like that, I walked away from what could’ve been.
"So you just walked away after he said he wanted to sit with you?" Valentina practically yells as we make our way to my car, arms full of way too many shopping bags. "Georgina, you told me this man had ocean-blue eyes, a smirk that could melt steel, and a voice that gave you goosebumps—and you left? What is wrong with you?”.
"Val, you know as well as I do that a guy who looks like that would never be interested in a girl who looks like me," I say, unlocking the trunk and shoving bags inside.
She sighs, stuffing her bags alongside mine. "That's mostly in your head," she says, shaking her head. "You constantly have men turning to look at you, and you just ignore them because you assume they're secretly judging you. Like they're calling you fat under their breath instead of just wanting you."
"Valentina, leave it alone," I say, shutting the trunk and climbing into the driver's seat. She immediately slips into the passenger side, undeterred.
", I wish you could see yourself like everyone else does. You have men looking at you everywhere you go, but you let the things you've heard in the past define how you see yourself. You need to stop holding onto that and embrace who you are."
I know, deep down, that she's right. That doesn't make it any easier. Sure, size fourteen may be the most common size for women in America, but that doesn't mean society sees it that way. I've spent my entire life struggling to accept my body, knowing I'll always be more insignificant than my friends and most of the women around me. It's hard to open up and put yourself out there when you're convinced you'll often be ignored—or worse, laughed at.
Because with all the beautiful women in the world, why would a Greek god choose me?
The rest of the drive is quiet. Valentina knows this is a struggle for me, something I've been working on for years. She means well, but there's nothing she can say to fix it overnight.
When we pull into her neighborhood, I break the silence. "Will you need any help setting up the venue?"
"No," she says with a soft smile. "Tom and I are going tomorrow to go over everything with them in person. He reserved the entire floor. We want to get married on the terrace, in the same spot where we met." Her expression turns dreamy. "And he booked all the rooms on that floor so we can stay there Saturday night. Which reminds me…" She perks up. "Did he send you the info for Friday night’s wedding party dinner?"
"Yeah," I nod. "Mi Luna, Rice Village. Seven p.m."
Her face lights up. "Oh, that Spanish restaurant is my favorite! Have you ever been?"
"Nope," I say, pulling into her driveway.
"They have flamenco dancers, and the food is amazing! I can't wait for all of us to be together. Even Tom's childhood best friend will be there." She lets out a small sigh. "I just wish Krys could come."
"That reminds me," I say, putting the car in park. "We have a little something planned for you on Saturday night, so don't make any plans."
Her eyes narrow playfully. "Drinks?"
"Something like that," I say with a smirk. "I'm only working half the day on Saturday, so I'll come over afterward to help you prepare everything. We’ll take whatever you need to the hotel early so you can enjoy the night without stressing."
She leans over and hugs me. "You're the best." Then she pulls back with a teasing grin. "Thank you for surviving this insane shopping trip with me."
I laugh. "I'll pick up your dress tomorrow and bring it on Saturday."
"Sounds like a plan." She pops open the trunk, rummaging through the bags. "What are you doing the rest of the day?"
"Studying," I say with a groan. "I have two crucial exams next week, and this weekend will be a total blur."
She pouts. "Have I told you lately that you're the best?"
I smirk, shutting the trunk. "You're just lucky you're pretty."
She laughs, hugging me one last time before heading inside. I shake my head, get in my car, and breathe deeply.
It's time to go home and face my textbooks.
Journal Entry
Date: January 16th, 2019
Valentina found her dress today.
She looked so beautiful and so happy.
I could see it in her face and how her hands trembled just a little as she stared at her reflection.
It's funny how a single dress can make it all feel real. She's getting married. She's found her forever.
And me? I'm still thinking about a stranger I met on Sunday.
I told Valentina how he sat across from me at The Daily Brew as if he belonged there.
He asked why he'd sit anywhere else when I was sitting there, and his smile stopped my heart for a moment, and instead of staying and talking to him, I left.
She called me an idiot for walking away.
Maybe she's right.
The truth is, I can't imagine someone like him wanting someone like me.
I've spent my whole life trying to accept myself and believe I'm enough.
But when I see a man like that—golden skin, piercing blue eyes, confidence radiating from every inch of him—I can't help but think that women like me don't get men like him.
Not in real life.
Valentina says I need to see myself the way others see me, that men look at me, that I turn heads, and that I need to stop believing the voices from my past that told me I wasn't good enough.
I wish it were that easy.
I don't know if I'll ever see him again.
And maybe that's for the best.
But a small part of me can't help but wonder what if I had stayed?
Before I know it, it's Friday afternoon, and I'm rummaging through my closet, trying to figure out what to wear.
I've been buried in my books for the past two days, cramming as much information into my brain as possible since I won't have time to study all weekend.
My last two exams are on Monday, and the last thing I need to do is blow it because I have spent too much time on wedding planning.
I have no idea what to wear to this wedding party dinner.
I’m going to see some of Valentina’s friends and meet Tom’s best friends for the first time, and I don’t know what kind of crowd to expect.
The uncertainty makes me nervous.
Am I supposed to dress up? Keep it casual? I'd ask Valentina, but I’m sure she’ll be in white and looking like a goddess, so that doesn’t help much.
I decide on the safest choice—dressy casual.
I settle on dark jeans, a black sleeveless bodysuit, and a deep pink, long-sleeved lapel blazer.
My dark brown hair falls in waves, and I keep my makeup minimal.
I’m good to go with a swipe of mascara and a hint of blush.
I steal a pair of black heels from my mom’s closet, grab my purse, and rush out the door.
The restaurant is nearly forty minutes away, and—of course—I’m already running late.
By the time I arrive, I've spent an extra ten minutes circling the parking lot, desperately looking for a spot.
I finally find one, park, and hurry inside.
The hostess doesn't need to guide me to the table—I spot Valentina immediately.
She's glowing, her blonde hair swept into a loose bun, looking every bit the bride-to-be.
The happiness radiating off her is almost contagious, and I can't help but smile as I make my way over.
"I see my party, "I tell the hostess before entering.
Valentina's eyes light up the second she sees me. She jumps up from her seat, practically running to greet me. "I am so happy you're here!" she squeals, pulling me into a hug before dragging me toward the table. "Everyone, this is —my best friend."
"Hi," I wave, scanning the table. Tom extends his hand, and when I shake it, he cups my hand gently with his other, like a father would. If he didn't already have my heart, he does now.
"Glad you could make it," he says warmly.
Once he lets go, I wave at the rest of the table, exchanging greetings. I recognize a few faces, mostly Valentina's friends, but there are some new ones—Tom's friends. They look friendly enough.
"Sit right here," Valentina says, pulling out a chair. "Next to Natalie—you remember her, right?"
"Yes!" I say quickly, smiling at Natalie as I sit beside her.
I liked her the first time we met; she seems just as warm now.
Valentina circles back to her seat next to Tom, directly across from me.
A waiter approaches and asks what I’d like to drink, and I go for a sangria. We're at a Spanish restaurant—might as well embrace it.
The table is buzzing with conversation.
Multiple conversations are happening at once, laughter filling the space.
Tom and Valentina look incandescently happy, and watching them makes my heart swell.
The waiter returns with my drink and asks Tom if anyone else will join us. Tom nods.
"One more.
He should be here soon."
Whoever it is will be sitting in the only open chair directly to my left.
I grab my phone and switch to the camera. "Lovebirds, pose for me. I promised Krystin a picture."
"Oh yes!" Valentina beams, immediately scooting closer to Tom, pressing her face against his. They look disgustingly in love. I snap a few photos, quickly show her the best one, and text my sister.
That's when I hear it.
A deep voice, smooth and rich, just beside me.
"Ma'am, is this seat taken?"
I look up—and there he is. Adonis. In the flesh.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.