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My heart constricts in my chest. I hope my mom can see me from above, that she’s proud of me. She always said I’d do great things, and she was right, I guess. I am successful. But sometimes, it just feels pointless. Like a never-ending quest.
I nod. “I think she would be. But that’s not entirely true, about making it big. My friend, Wade—the one who’s wedding we’re going to—was a foster kid too. And he’s now one of Europe’s biggest football stars. With determination and hard work, we can do anything.”
“And a little bit of luck,” she says. “Just like in Monopoly. You can be as determined as you want, but if you don’t have any opportunities, it’s hard to make your dreams come true. We’re not all equals.”
“Maybe . . . But you can also create your own luck, break down closed doors to make opportunities happen, make people see you. That’s what I did.”
A smile crinkles her lips. “Well, it certainly worked for you. To your success,” she says, raising her glass.
“To our success,” I say with a wink, then take a sip. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about this with anyone. Just like you, this is not a period of my life I like to share.”
She pretends to zip her mouth shut. “My lips are sealed.”
Sharing my past with Jane feels natural, leaving my brain a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I knew there was something special about this girl, something that connected us instantly. I guess our similar pasts are part of that. Staying away from her after tonight won’t be an option. I’m in big trouble.
“Should we call it a night?” she asks, looking around.
“Yes,” I say, snapping out of my thoughts. But all I can think about now is going upstairs with Jane, and the idea makes my heart rattle.
We put the game away and stroll to the living room. Once we’re in front of the stairs, she turns around.
My jaw tightens. It would be so easy to just lean forward and kiss her. I can already imagine the softness of her full lips on mine. Her hand in my hair as she deepens our kiss.
“Good night,” she says, and before I can say or do anything, she spins around and walks away.
I stay right where I am in the dark living room. Unable to move, wondering how my perfectly organized life became such a mess. Damn. I’m falling for my fake fiancée.
21
The Dress
Jane
I can’t have feelings for Colton. This can’t be happening. Except it is happening, and it’s making my life a living hell.
We spent yesterday evening assembling Truffles’ cat tree, and all I could focus on was the way Colton’s biceps clung to his white T-shirt as he screwed it all together. That was the first time I’d seen him in something other than a suit, and it triggered unwanted fantasies in my mind. Okay maybe not totally unwanted. After that, I assumed we’d hang out for the rest of the day, but he shut himself in his office until dinner. Still, it feels like something is different between us now that we’ve opened up about our pasts. But I can’t let that distract me. Colton is a powerful man, and balance is important in any relationship.
What am I saying? None of this is real! We might be friends, but that’s all we’ll ever be. He made it clear from the outset that he’s not interested in dating anyone, and neither am I.
But all these emotions are making our wedding planning even more awkward. Especially the part where I choose my dress, which is happening right now.
I’m with Marcie and Jules at a cute bridal store they selected in Beverly Hills. I’ve already asked Marcie to be my maid of honor and Jules my bridesmaid. They were surprised, but I made up some far-fetched story about my best friends living abroad. Once they got over the shock, they accepted gladly. So, here we are, gathered in a circular room made entirely of pink velvet, accentuated by the golden fixtures that touch every surface.
“I’m so excited!” Jules squeals, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s all pro-love today because she and Zed got back together.
“Me too,” Marcie says, her eyes sparkling. “Do you have any idea what style you want?”
“Mermaid would look good on you,” Jules says. “And of course a princess dress is always a solid option.”
Marcie nods, and before I can stutter a reply, I’m saved by the shop assistant, Carol, who comes back with a tray topped with three champagne glasses.
We sit down on a white couch and have a sip.
“So,” Carol begins, peering over her oval glasses. “Do you have something specific in mind, or can I bring you a couple of choices?”
“Um, I’m not sure what I want, so maybe option number two?”
“Sure. Can you stand on the platform for me, please?”
