My Marriage Pact: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (My Way to Romance)

Chapter One

“Well, it’s about time!” I exclaim into my phone.

“I know, I know. It’s been far too long,” Larisa confesses over FaceTime. “But now that filming is wrapped, I’m bringing Gianluca back to Boston next week. I can’t wait to see you girls.”

“And we can’t wait to see you!” Jo’s warm smile on the screen reassures Larisa that everything will be as it used to. Our bond is unbreakable despite the distance and time apart.

“And you have to tell us all about the movie!” I add enthusiastically. “And about Los Angeles!”

Larisa chuckles, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, it was such an incredible experience. Working with talented actors, exploring beautiful locations… I can’t wait for you all to see it.”

I feel a surge of pride for my friend, knowing how hard she’s worked to make her dreams as a cinematographer come true.

“Well, hurry home! We’ve got a wedding to plan!” Jo adds.

“Ugh. I just wish I didn’t have to work next week…” Or ever. I sigh.

“How about Jo and I stop by while you’re working? You can help me pick out some makeup for the wedding, then we can go to dinner when you get off?”

“That sounds perfect! I would love that.” I smile. “Alright ladies, I gotta run. My lunch break is about over, and you know how Mr. Doyle gets if I’m late…”

We say our goodbyes and end the call, but as I hang up the phone, the weight of loneliness settles deeper into my chest. My girlfriends are living their best lives. Jo is married to a billionaire and has settled into her role as a wife and mother to his child. She also just published her first novel, which made the New York Times Bestseller List. While Larisa’s engaged to Gianluca—a literal Italian celebrity—and her career as a cinematographer is taking off.

And then there’s me, stuck in a dead-end job with no love life to speak of.

But I can’t dwell on that now—I have customers to attend to.

“Excuse me, do you have this lipstick in black?”

“That is black.” I smile.

“No, a different shade of black,” the customer says to me as if I can’t understand the obvious.

“I’m so sorry. We only have one shade of black.”

The June afternoon sun is shining through the beauty store window, causing me to squint as I wait for her response.

“Well, I need something different than … this!” she snaps.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is that you’re looking for, ma’am, and I’ll get it for you,” I say, in my most polite “dealing with difficult customers” voice.

“I’m looking for black lipstick!”

“That is black. But perhaps I can show you some other colors that might interest you more…”

She looks at me like a cat looks at a steering wheel. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Because that’s not your job, you know! It’s not your job to be funny! Your job is to get me my lipstick!” she says as she raises her voice.

“The lipstick that’s … already in your hand?” I ask her calmly, but I can see that the veins in her forehead are starting to swell.

“That’s it! I want to speak with your manager!” she snaps.

“I am the manager,” I lie, though I immediately regret my words.

If my boss finds out about this, I’ll be fired.

She pauses for a moment, giving me a nasty look.

At least if he fires me, I won’t have to deal with people like this anymore.

This job at Floreale Beauty was supposed to be a stepping stone to my career as a freelance makeup artist. I planned to get a couple of years of experience doing makeovers before going out on my own. But … life happened, and I’m somehow still here—dealing with customers who think they know more about makeup than I do.

My thoughts are disrupted by the sudden motion of the angry customer flinging the lipstick at me. It flies through the air, narrowly missing my face. I’m frozen in shock, unable to process what just happened as she turns on her heels and storms out, stomping as she goes.

Carol approaches me, laughing. “What’d you do that for, Emmy?”

“I don’t know. A slow day?” I laugh.

“That was funny, I’ll give you that, but don’t let Mr. Doyle catch you. He’ll go ballistic if he finds out that you ran a customer out of his beauty store,” she whispers.

“Come on. She wasn’t gonna buy anything anyway. She spent the last hour swatching every lipstick in this store—she was obviously just bored and looking for a fight.” I shrug.

Buzz. Buzz.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, catching my attention.

I take it out carefully—so Mr. Doyle doesn’t see me—and swipe it open, instantly smiling at the sight of my childhood best friend’s name.

Evan: How’s your day going, Dolly? Has Mr. Doyle been giving you a hard time?

Evan: I’m swamped over here. There was an accident on the highway and a bunch of kids came into the emergency room with concussions. But … anyway. Just wanted to check in on you. Have a great day!

Evan and I have always been close, but now that Larisa and Jo are in serious relationships, we’ve gotten even closer. And his text messages are sometimes the only thing keeping me afloat during my boring working hours at Floreale.

I quickly and discreetly type my responses.

Me: Everything is fine and boring as always here.Thanks for checking in.So sad to hear about the accident. Are the kids okay?

Me: I’m sure you swooped in like the superhero doctor that you are and made them all better!

I add a few emojis and send Evan my replies, knowing it’ll probably be a while until he can answer me again.

“Why does he call you ‘Dolly’?”

I almost jump out of my skin when I hear Carol’s voice from behind.

Wow. Was she really reading my messages over my shoulder?

I turn around and stare into her face, not exactly knowing how to react to this realization. The best thing to do would be to call her out over how inappropriate that was, but Carol’s a nice girl—she probably didn’t mean anything by it.

Plus, she’s the only one at work I get along with. I don’t need to alienate her.

“Umm … it’s a long story…” I reply, clutching the phone to my chest as if I’m holding Evan himself. Somehow, I don’t want to share the messages between us any more than I want to share him.

And definitely not with Carol.

“Oh, come on, tell me!” she begs. “Besides, what else are we gonna do around here all day? We have nothing but time!”

Carol’s right, but … I still feel a little weird opening up to her about Evan.

We walk together toward the back of the store where the woman caused havoc in the lipstick aisle. As we start to clean up and rearrange the lipsticks by brand and shade, I finally tell Carol what’s behind the little nickname that Evan has for me.

“It’s funny, you know? Well, maybe not funny ha-ha. But funny for us. For me. Anyway, it started back in high school.”

“Oh, wow! So, you and Evan have known each other since high school?”

“We’ve known each other since middle school, actually. We met when I was in the sixth grade, and he was in eighth—Evan’s two years older than me. But, the nickname originates from high school…”

“That’s so cute,” Carol says as she continues stacking lipsticks.

“Yeah. So, in high school, I went through this Dolly Parton phase. I’ve always liked her music and movies, but I was super into her aesthetic. Which is so weird, because I’m a brunette, but I just always loved that big, blonde hair of hers and her strong, feminine makeup.”

“Did you ever bleach your hair and try to get it all blown out like Dolly’s?” she asks.

“No, no. My mother would’ve freaked out—she’d never allow that sort of thing. But I did do her whole makeup look. In fact, I still wear red lipstick all the time because of her.”

“Aww, so you were into makeup even back then?”

“Yep, and looking back, I think I did a pretty good job of it.” I smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s the reason I became a makeup artist…” my voice trails off as I get lost down memory lane. “So, anyway. I used to wear a T-shirt with Dolly Parton’s face on it. And because of that, Evan got into the habit of calling me Dolly. Then, as the years went by, it sorta became an inside joke between us. Of course, I eventually stopped wearing her T-shirt and makeup—I grew out of it, I suppose. Minus the red lipstick, of course. But Evan’s the only person who calls me Dolly.” I smile just thinking about it.

“That’s so amazing… I wish I could find someone like Evan. Do you have a nickname for him, then?” she asks me.

I ponder her question.

“Hmm. No. I guess I don’t. He’s always been … Evan. Just Evan.”

“Just Evan?” Carol asks me.

“I guess so,” I reply.

We continue cleaning up the lipstick display in silence for the next few minutes.

Evan’s face swims in and out of my mind as I think about our years together back in high school when he was nothing but a scrawny teenage boy.

Surely, that must’ve earned him a nickname or two.

But I can’t remember now.

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I take my phone out of my pocket once more and text him again, stepping away from Carol so she can’t read over my shoulder this time.

Me: Hey, do I have a nickname for you? I mean … have I ever called you anything other than Evan?

I hit send and stare at the screen, waiting for an answer, even though I know how busy he is today at the hospital.

“Miss Williams! Are you texting on the job?” my boss’ voice pierces my ears.

Dang it.

My boss, Mr. Mervyn Doyle, is a man with an awful comb-over and large, round glasses that magnify his eyes to the point they look like bug eyes—which, honestly, freaks me out. He also has a little mustache that he meticulously sculpts every day with some combination of gel and black dye.

He hurries toward me along the white tiles of the beauty shop, berating me as he goes. “How many times have I told you that you’re not allowed to text or call or … whatever it is that you, young people do on those dreaded machines at work? How many times, Miss Williams?” he screeches.

“Too many times, Mr. Doyle.”

“Don’t give me sass, Miss Williams.”

“I’m not … giving you sass, Mr. Doyle.”

My comment irks him even more.

His little black mustache is working overtime on top of his lip as he starts scolding me again. “Miss … Williams! Is that any way to talk to the man who pays your wages?”

“No … I apologize…” I relent, knowing this conversation is headed nowhere.

I might as well agree with him and keep my head down.

I look around the beauty shop and notice that Carol is nowhere to be found—she probably snuck away into the break room so that she doesn’t catch any of Mervyn Doyle’s wrath.

I don’t blame her.

But just as Mr. Doyle finishes his rant, my phone vibrates loudly in my pocket.

There’s no doubt he just heard it—his face is turning red all over again. “Miss Williams!”

“I know, I know. How about I … go to the break room and … put the phone in my purse. How’s that?”

Luckily for me, he agrees, and I’m allowed to go.

This gives me a chance to read Evan’s messages.

Evan: Hey, Dolly! A nickname? That’s such a random question. But no, not that I can think of.

Evan: Well, you used to say that I looked like one of those skeletons for Halloween back when we were in high school.But that was before I got all big and strong.

I can’t help but laugh at his last message.

It’s true. Evan has changed a lot in the last ten years or so. He went from being a scrawny, lanky boy in high school to a muscular, athletic man—no doubt thanks to all the hours he spends at the gym. He’s barely recognizable.

Evan: Hey, where’s this question coming from, anyway?

Evan: FYI the hospital’s a little crazy today, so I’ll be working a double shift.Dinner tomorrow?

I simply cannot keep myself from smiling at the thought of seeing him tomorrow evening. Spending any amount of time with Evan makes my day.

In the break room, Carol is sipping her coffee and watching me text. “Did Evan answer you?”

I still find her interest in my relationship with Evan somewhat bizarre, but I don’t quite know how to bring it up with her. I mean, Carol is my best friend at work. For one thing, she’s my ally against Mr. Doyle, not to mention she’s what helps keep me sane on an everyday basis—apart from my texts with Evan, of course. But goodness, she can cross the line sometimes.

“Umm … yeah, he did. He’s really busy at the hospital.”

“Wow. The hospital?” she asks me, her eyes lighting up. “Is he a doctor or something?”

“He’s an emergency room doctor, here in downtown Boston. He typically treats patients that are brought in straight from the ambulance,” I explain.

“Gosh … that must be so difficult,” she says.

“It is. It’s very taxing. He often sees some of the worst-case scenarios. We’re talking car accident victims, gunshot wounds, and the like. I sometimes wonder how he does it all. He’s a superhero; that’s what I always say!” As I talk, I realize that, perhaps, I have had a nickname for Evan all along.

He’s been my real-life superhero.

And I’m his Dolly.

“That’s amazing. And does it pay well? I mean, I’m assuming Evan makes a lot of money?” she asks.

“Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean…” She winks and grins. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with where this conversation is going.

“I guess he does alright. He has a great apartment and an expensive car so…”

“That’s what I thought! I’ve seen him around here, picking you up in that Lamborghini! Gosh … a Lamborghini! Can you imagine? I mean, that’s the dream, isn’t it? To marry a rich doctor.”

“Maybe if you’re Rachel from Friends. But even she gave up that dream and married Ross,” I say, feeling increasingly irritated by this conversation.

Carol starts laughing and winks at me, even though I don’t understand why. “So, tell me, Emmy. Have you ever thought about it? Come on, you must’ve…”

“Thought about what?”

“You and Evan. He’s a doctor, he’s rich, he’s handsome. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about snatching him up.”

“I’m really not sure I understand what you mean, Carol.”

“Oh, girl … I’m talking about a relationship! Have you truly never thought about dating Evan?”

“No. Evan and I are best friends and have been since middle school. But that’s it,” I answer with the truth.

“I think you’re crazy,” she says with a laugh before throwing the rest of her coffee in the small utility sink and heading back to the front of the store.

Now that I’m finally alone, I take a moment to answer Evan’s latest message before putting my phone away.

Me: Sure! Dinner tomorrow sounds amazing!