CHAPTER ONE: ARRANGED MARRIAGES
SUTTON
The Leagueof Extraordinary Bitches group chat is really going wild today. I mean, it’s usually pretty lively, but the girls are exceptionally fired up tonight. My phone won’t stop vibrating.
Grace: Am I the only one still dreaming about Estes Park? It was such a good idea to have a second Christmas there.
Skyler: Friendsmas, you mean. And oh, I’m right there with you. But I’m dreaming more about the super dirty hot tub sex I had with Carson.
Grace: Jesus, Sky. Can you please not talk about your sex life with my brother?
Skyler: It’s not my fault his dick is a magic wand.
Rylee: A magic wand? Does he literally dick-atize you?
Skyler: I am totally under the thrall of Carson’s peen.
Grace: Dear God, make it stop!
Stacey: This conversation does not pass the Bechdel Test, lol.
Rylee: Is it anti-feminist to talk about men if we’re talking about the ways they please us with their bodies?
Stacey: Hmmm, actually, that might be an exception.
Rylee: Great! In that case, Zander’s tongue is literally what dreams are made of…
I can’t stop laughing, but I put my phone on mute. Typically, I’d be right there with my girls, giggling about men, but right now I’m really in the zone and I don’t want to lose my flow.
My brain is on fire right now as I scratch out schematics for a new build idea I’ve been percolating on at my desk. Few things can completely push my anxiety from my head. But when I’m in the zone like this, I don’t have a care in the world.
I finish measuring out the last angle of the first floor of the three-floor complex I’ve been imagining, and sit back on my stool. I let out a long breath. Grinning, I gaze down at my work, spread out on my drafting desk, and stretch my arms over my head. How long have I been at it? I check my phone — ignoring the already 13 new messages in the group chat — and realize it’s been over an hour since I first sat down here. No wonder my lower back aches.
Standing, I cross my bedroom to stretch out my legs, my feet sinking into the soft, thick carpet. The suite I live in takes up the entire third floor of the penthouse my parents own, and it is my own private domain. I have my workspace set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows so I can gaze out at the New York skyline and soak in the inspiration of the architecturalmarvels of the city. My king-size bed is across from my desk, and opposite that is a cozy sitting area with plush sofas and a marble coffee table. A bookshelf filled with romance novels and architecture-focused books dominates one wall, and the others are decorated with framed photos of my family, friends, and antique blueprints I’ve been collecting since college. Finally, the ensuite bathroom has a soaking tub I could sleep in, a glass-walled shower, a toilet, and a luxury bidet — because I’m a fancy girl with standards. Right now, I’m ready to get back to my work, so I pick up my pencil again and?—
“Sutton, darling! It’s time for dinner!”
Startled, I frown in surprise at the sound of my mom’s voice coming out of the intercom speaker that connects my floor of the penthouse to the other two. Why’s she calling me to dinner like she’s June Cleaver? And why did she sound so excited? It’s not uncommon for us to have dinner together, but usually she just texts me.
As I consider the possibilities, I get a sinking feeling deep in my stomach. Oh, crap. Is she pulling another surprise setup on me? I’m going to go downstairs and see we’re not having dinner alone, aren’t I?
I take a moment to quiet my thoughts, sucking in a deep breath before I hit the intercom button to respond.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be right down.”
Once I drop my finger, I groan, wanting nothing more than to return to my desk and my blueprints so I can get lost in my work again. However, I can’t just ignore Mom, and I know she’ll be upset if I don’t go downstairs. So, I force my feet to carry me out of my suite and onto the third-floor landing. I take the spiral glass and steel staircase down to the first floor of the penthouse. The second floor is where my parents have their bedroom and Dad has his home office.
When I reach the first floor, the open-floor plan makes it impossible not to spot my mom immediately. She’s standing near the living room area, with its custom Italian leather sofa and matching chairs. Just as I suspected, she’s not alone. Mom is talking animatedly with a woman I’ve never seen before. She looks to be around Mom’s age, and there’s a sense of familiarity between them that means they know each other pretty well.
If that’s the case, why don’t I recognize her?
There’s also a man with them who looks to be around my age, and bears a striking resemblance to the woman. They’re both tall and slim, with blonde hair – though the woman’s is very obviously not natural. She’s wearing a sleek Chanel sheath dress, and he’s in a dark gray suit that could be Armani, so they have money. No surprise there.
When I’m nearly to the bottom of the stairs, Mom catches sight of me and a huge smile curls her red lips.
“There you are, darling!” She waves at me, beckoning me over. Her bright blue eyes are wide with excitement. “Come and meet an old friend of mine … and her son!”
I reluctantly make my way over to them and Mom grabs my hand, pulling me into her side as she drags me to face her… guests. She brushes her fingers through the end of my hair, no doubt making sure the teal underneath isn’t showing.
