“Paige, falling in love is what everyone expects of me, and every time I can’t get there, I feel like something’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t say that,” she chides softly, walking back to me. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Sure there is. Everyone dates, has sex, falls in love. And I’m just watching from the outside.”
“Okay, look. If you’re swearing off love, I won’t mention it again. You’re done with sex? I’ll get you the finest vibrator money can buy. And, hey, if you decide you’re aromantic, you know I’ll support you—hell, I’ll plant a flag on my front porch.”
“Buuuut?”
Again, she mock-glares. “I don’t think that’s it, Scarlett. Ithink it’s hard for you to open up. To be vulnerable.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “And you’re protecting yourself from heartbreak by keeping enough distance from everyone.That’swhy you feel nothing.”
I exhale, then give her a curt nod. “Okay. So let’s say you’re right—”
“I am.”
“—and that I’m open to changing that—”
“Of course you are!”
“How would I do that?”
Her eyes widen, the green in them shimmering against the light. “Oh, I’msoglad you asked.” She walks to the chairs where the workers have abandoned their jackets in a heap and reveals a black clothes bag. “Happy birthday, Scarlett.”
Ignoring the usual lump in my throat every time I hear those words, I take the bag. “What is this?”
“Opening the present usually answers that question.”
I unzip it, and…wow. My fingers brush over the fabric inside the bag—a striking, vibrant red. As I unzip it further, the dress is revealed in its full, breathtaking glory. It’s a bold shade of crimson, with intricate lace detailing that winds down like a cascade of flowers. It has that high-fashion edge that feels completely foreign to me, like it’s supposed to turn heads in a room full of strangers—which is perhaps exactly what Paige intended.
I glance up, speechless, and see her face lit with excitement. “Thanks, Paige,” I say breathlessly. “I’ll definitely wear this when I’m finally invited to the Met Gala.”
She laughs. “You do that. In the meantime, that’s the bathroom.” She points at the door behind her. “Put this on and get out there.I guarantee you’ll have men begging you to fall in love with them within ten minutes.”
“Yay.” Though the prospect of wearing this dress makes tonight slightly more exciting, knowing people willseeme in it dampens all my enthusiasm. I hate parties—let alone being the center of attention at parties. And that dress… that’s not going unnoticed.
At least this day is consistent with the last five miserable birthdays I’ve had.
My phone pings, and when I enter the restroom and check the latest notification, the breath is nearly kicked out of me.
Ethan
Happy birthday, big sis.
I bring the phone to my chest and close my eyes, smiling. “Best birthday ever.”
“Mask on.”
I glance up into the masked bouncer’s eyes and blow out a breath. “No, I know the party planner—she’s my best friend.” He blinks. “I’m just here to support her.” Another blink. “Seriously?”
He gestures behind him with a tilt of his head, where I glimpse inside The Oak. Everyone is, indeed, sporting one of these silly black masks and wearing something red or black. “Fine,” I grumble, turning the mask in my hand, feeling the velvety texture and the rhinestones clustered like tiny sparks at the center, thinning out toward the edges and the angled eyeholes.
I pull it on and enter the small, dark hall, handing my ticket toanother bouncer. Then, past the curtained entrance, I step into the dimly lit bar—and immediately feel like I’ve stumbled into an entirely different world.
A wash of sultry red lighting and moody jazz music hits me, blending with the faint, spicy scent of roses. The room is draped in rich velvet curtains, shadows pooling in every corner. Most nights, this place is just a casual hangout where the biggest thrills are karaoke and fried food. It’s hard to reconcile that laid-back charm with the lavish spectacle Paige has created tonight.
Still, I’d rather be at home, cozy with a blanket and a good book.
Reluctantly, I step farther in, weaving through the crowd as guests laugh in hushed tones and slip into shadowed nooks. In the center of the room, the dark polished bar glows from below, and the bartenders, dressed in sleek black, are mixing drinks with names like “Sinful Kiss” and “Eternal Flame,” each one deep red or dark purple with absurdly ornate garnishes.
