Ten
There are two types of people in the first-class lounge.
The first are the seasoned elite who sit perfectly poised, sipping their overpriced cocktails, scrolling through important emails, probably debating stock market crashes or whatever rich people do for fun.
Then there’s me.
I am very much not one of them.
I am the imposter, the stray, the emotional support raccoon that has somehow scurried into the wrong enclosure. Yet here I am, hiding in plain sight, all thanks to one pity upgrade from Clara, the angel at the check-in desk.
So I do what any emotionally exhausted woman with far too much on her mind would do.
I head straight for the bar.
The bartender barely glances at me before setting down a drink napkin. “Coffee?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to need something stronger.”
He doesn’t question it, just nods once, like he’s seen enough weary souls wander in here to know when it’s time to skip the caffeine and move straight to the hard stuff.
“Whiskey?”
The moment he says it, my brain immediately betrays me, flashing back to last night, straight back to him.
To Nathan.
The way he leaned against the bar, whiskey in hand. The way he watched me, calculating, like he was figuring out exactly how he'd ruin me.
To his voice, low and smooth, whispering filthy promises as his fingertips dug into my hips.
To his hands, his mouth, his tongue…
I snap out of the memory so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
No.
Absolutely not.
I grab my glass the second the bartender slides it toward me and take a long sip. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through my chest, steadying my nerves.
Setting my glass down, I reach into my bag and pull out the one thing I’ve been dreading and obsessing over in equal measure.
Jeremy and Grace’s wedding invitation.
I smooth my fingers over the heavy cardstock, eyes skimming the delicate gold script.
Jeremy & Grace
Together with their families, invite you to celebrate their wedding...
I read the words again and again, hoping that maybe I might wake up thirteen again, arguing with Jeremy about who finished the cereal and watching Saturday cartoons in our pajamas.
Jeremy. The floppy-haired kid who sulked when I beat him at Mario Kart, who used to chase me around the house with spiders just to hear me scream, who snuck me into parties when I was too young to go, then complained the entire time as he walked me home after I inevitably drank too much.
Now he's getting married.
Married.
I shake my head, a small smile forming. Even if I haven’t been around lately, one thing I know for certain is that Grace is perfect for him.
She balances him in ways I didn’t think possible. She’s calm to his chaos, quiet strength to his endless energy, and even though I barely know her, I know she makes him happy.
That’s enough for me.
I turn the invitation over, tracing the raised gold lettering with my fingertips, feeling the weight of memories creeping back. The ones I've tried to forget. The ones that remind me why I left home.
The truth is, I wasn’t just taking an incredible job when I moved to New York. I was running.
I told myself I was being practical. That the marketing executive position in the city was an opportunity too good to pass up. But looking back now, I know I was running from Daniel.
From us.
From the life I'd spent years envisioning—the marriage, the house, kids someday. When the job offer came, I jumped without thinking. Without letting guilt or comfort or him pull me back in.
It turned out to be the best decision I ever made.
New York gave me space. It allowed me to build a career and life where I wasn’t just Daniel’s girlfriend anymore. I was me. Confident, respected, and in control of my life.
Somewhere along the way, I met Harper.
Two years later, she's not just my roommate, she's my best friend. She might not have known me since childhood, but she's the closest thing I've ever had to a sister. She supports my reckless choices and calls me on my bullshit. She's the reason I'm here, still standing, even if I do look like death itself.
Going back home now means facing everything I left behind.
It means facing Daniel, facing the looks of pity, and facing the fact that some parts of my past never really went away. They were just patiently waiting for me to return.
I'm not sure if I'm ready for that.
A small breeze from the overhead fan brushes against my skin, loosening my grip, and before I even register what's happening, the invitation slips from my fingers, fluttering to the floor in a slow-motion betrayal.
“Shit,”
I mutter, sliding off my stool and crouching down quickly to grab it.
Only, I’m not alone.
Another hand reaches out at the same time, fingertips brushing against mine. My entire body freezes, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, every instinct screaming that something is horribly, horribly wrong.
The sensation feels familiar.
Too familiar.
There’s a prickle at the back of my neck, a hush in the lounge as if the air itself holds its breath. I sense it before I see him.
Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.
Nathan.
Nathan is kneeling right in front of me.
Nathan, as in last night’s extremely questionable decision.
Nathan, as in six feet and then some of devastatingly attractive, soul-wrecking trouble.
Nathan, as in the man who had me screaming his name in a way that could have gotten him evicted.
He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, somehow even more attractive than he was last night, which puts me at a distinct disadvantage.
Unlike last night’s full of liquid courage Sienna, this morning's Sienna is hungover, emotionally compromised, and extremely aware of her day-old mascara.
He freezes, his eyes locked on mine.
Oh my God.
Is he following me?
No, Sienna, don't be ridiculous.
Nathan doesn’t look like the type to chase down one-night stands. He looks like the type to have them on speed dial.
He holds my brother’s wedding invitation in his hand, eyes flicking down to it before moving slowly back to my face. Something unreadable shifts in his expression. Something infuriatingly calm.
Neither of us speaks for several painfully long seconds because, honestly, what the hell is there to say in this situation?
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Still, nothing comes out.
Nathan’s lips twitch into a slow smirk, the kind that sends heat straight to places I do not need to be feeling it right now.
When he finally speaks, his voice is achingly familiar.
“Well,”
he says smoothly, handing me the invitation, “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
I might actually die here.
Right here, in the first-class lounge, clutching my brother's wedding invitation, hungover, humiliated, and facing my one-night stand.
Because if there's a God, he's clearly punishing me.