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Chapter One
Charlotte
The morning that everything fell apart, I woke up thinking it was going to be a perfect day.
To be fair—most of my days are good. Not that I don’t have my moments like everyone else—a broken heel or a morning where I oversleep—but for the most part, my life has fallen into place exactly the way I wanted it to.
A comfy job working as an IT manager that lets me wear jeans to the office? Check.
A great group of friends who love getting brunch on the weekends? Check.
A condo apartment close enough to Lincoln Park that I have a good view from my balcony? Check.
A handsome boyfriend to share that apartment with, who also has a good job and shares a similar taste in what to watch on Netflix after a long day? Check, check, and check.
There have been times in my life, of course, when I’ve wondered if living a life according to a list like that is really making me happy. In college, I knew friends of my friends who did things like drive to the Grand Canyon on a whim, or book the next flight out of an airport without knowing where they’d end up. People who would take spontaneous weekend road trips and just pick a direction. People who didn’t Google the menus of restaurants before they went there, so they’d already have some idea of what they wanted to order.
I’ve never been spontaneous, or impulsive, or exciting. And I’ve always consoled myself that even if I do lead a pretty routine existence—it’s worked out for me so far. Those other acquaintances, the ones who do all of those impulsive things—they have maxed out credit cards and piles of student loan debt. They’re complaining about being sick of dating apps and waxing nostalgic about the days when you could meet the love of your life over a loaf of sourdough at the farmer’s market.
So maybe being boring isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Jaz, one of my best friends, is waiting for me in the lobby when I step off the elevator, five minutes after five p.m.. She works for the same company that I do, in the HR department, and we usually catch a ride or walk home together, since she lives a block away from me.
“I have a stop to make,” I tell her as I stow my badge in my purse, my designer mules clicking against the tile floor as I hurry towards the rotating glass door at the front of the building. “I need to pick up my dress for tonight from Velvet Luxe.”
“Ooh, fancy.” Jaz wiggles her eyebrows, catching up to me as we step out into the crisp Chicago fall air. “What’s the occasion?”
“My anniversary with Nate.” I can’t keep the smile off of my face. “Five years. He got a reservation at Alinea for us. I’ve always wanted to go—I’m so excited.”
Jaz whistles through her teeth as we stop and I check my Uber app—these shoes weren’t made for walking. They’re cute, but I swear I was getting blisters today just sitting at my desk. She shrugs on a black leather jacket, tugging her hair over her shoulder. “Man, I need to find a boyfriend who will make reservations like that for me. I can’t remember the last time Jay and I went out on a date. He’s always so busy. Remote work doesn’t mean more time off, that’s for sure. And these game developers always have him in crunch for one thing or another.”
“Make a reservation for yourself.” I grin at her. “Or all of us. We could have a girls’ night out. Celebrate our friend-a-versary—the whole group of us.”
“Technically, that passed back in August,” Jaz says, laughing as a black Toyota pulls up to the curb. “We all met at Northwestern, freshman year.”
“Okay, so a belated celebration.” The driver comes around to open the door for us, and I slide inside, Jaz following right behind me. The interior of the car smells like clean leather and pine, and I breathe in, letting myself relax back against the seat. This is the beginning of what I’m sure is going to be an amazing weekend.
Tonight is the special dinner Nate planned, and then tomorrow I have a beer tasting booked at his favorite pub, followed by bar-hopping. Sunday, I even skipped my usual weekend brunch with Jaz and the rest of our friends, in favor of a lazy afternoon in. I’m hoping to order takeout, have lots of sleepy sex, and maybe take a long hot bath before I have to jump back into the week.
“Well, tell me what you think of it, and we’ll discuss next weekend. Since you ditched us for this one,” Jaz teases lightly.
“You’d do the same thing if it were you.” I can tell from her tone that she’s not actually upset, though. An anniversary is a big deal. And especially this one, when I’m pretty sure there’s a chance that Nate is going to propose. Jaz and I and the others have been speculating for weeks now, ever since I saw a jewelry store catalog in the mail. Nate isn’t really the present-buying type, unless it’s a very specific occasion, and he’s never gotten me jewelry. So for a jewelry store to have his address, he must have been doing some shopping.
“Hopefully he steps up his game this weekend, so you don’t fall asleep mid-sex,” Jaz retorts, and I shake my head.
“That was one time. Once. And I’d just worked an eighty hour week. I think Ryan Gosling himself could have been down there and I’d have fallen asleep.”
“Not a chance.” Jaz laughs. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t sound like he’s exactly rocking your world every night. Or even most nights. Any night?” She raises one perfectly threaded eyebrow, and I sigh, sinking back further into the seat.
“I mean—it’s not that exciting,” I admit. “I guess it’s pretty standard, all things considered. But that’s just how sex is. It’s fun, and feels pretty good, but it’s not like—I don’t know.” I shrug. “All the stuff you see in movies and read in books. All those crazy fantasies. No one actually does that.”
Jaz gives me a smug look. “No one?”
“Oh, come on.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You? Seriously? You’re telling me you’ve had that kind of sex?”
I see the Uber driver glance back at us in his rear-view mirror as I say it, and I wince, my cheeks flushing. “Not that we need to talk about this right now,” I mumble. “Actually, we’re almost there.” I lean forward, gesturing to the sign a half a block ahead of us—white-painted and scalloped with the boutique’s name written in wine-red script.
For as long as I’ve had any reason to buy special-occasion dresses—graduation, friends’ weddings, nights out—I’ve been coming to Velvet Luxe. Not being a very adventurous person in any facet of my life, I was more inclined to go to a designer store like Dior or Chanel for those kinds of clothes—but one of our friends at Northwestern who was a fashion student used her trust fund to open it five years ago, right after we graduated. And, being good friends, we all made sure to get our dresses exclusively from her.
