Page 38 of The Friend Situation

“Is that all?” I ask, tapping my foot impatiently.

“Enjoy yourdate,” he says, moving toward the door, an edge of something in his voice.

He knows.

“It’s not a date! I’m going solo,” I call after him as he heads toward the end of the long hallway.

“Let me remind you that Lexi said the same thing,” he says over his shoulder.

It’s not the first time he’s graced my apartment with his presence. When Easton and Lexi first started dating, Brody and I struck up an easy friendship. It was mostly me giving him a hard time and playing matchmaker while he rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“It’s not a date! I swear,” I protest until he’s out of sight, my words trailing behind him like an unfinished thought.

As I step back into my apartment, I notice an envelope with my name neatly written in cursive on the outside. Intrigued, I pull out the pearly paper from inside.

C,

I personally picked out everything for you. I look forward to seeing you tonight.

—W

I tuck my lips into my mouth, feeling my heart thump with excitement as I place the two dozen yellow roses on the tiny kitchen counter. The sweet, intoxicating aroma fills my small space, and I’m full of anticipation for what the night holds.

I unzip the front of the garment bag with trembling fingers. I pull out a black A-line Valentino evening gown with a sweetheart neckline, and the fabric flutters into the air with a whisper of elegance. Breathless, I grab my phone and quickly search online.

I nearly drop my phone. It costs twenty thousand dollars.

“This is too expensive,” I whisper to myself.

He shouldn’t have spent this on me.

I lay the dress across the back of the couch, and then I pull the ribbon from the top of the gigantic box. It falls to the floor like a feather. Lifting the lid, I peer inside. Two gifts are both professionally wrapped; their glossy paper reflects the light and screams expensive.

I start with the larger one and gasp as I unveil silver crystal Valentino high heels. They shimmer like tiny stars captured in glass, and I can’t help but think of Cinderella.

This can’t be real, is the only thought racing through my mind as I lift the lid of the second box.

Inside lies a large black velvet jewelry box.

My hand quivers with nervousness as I click it open.

A luxurious blue crushed velvet lines the inside of the box, displaying a brilliant-cut diamond necklace on a delicate chain, heart-shaped diamond earrings, and a bracelet that sparkles with promise.

I can hardly comprehend the value of this jewelry—hundreds of thousands of dollars—all nestled together with a dress and shoes that cost more than I make in years.

This is too much.

Yet the Ambrosia dress code requires it. Weston’s social class demands it too. I’m painfully aware that I don’t belong in his world. Always the bridesmaid. Always on the outside, looking in, peering through the glass at lives more luxurious than my own.

Before I can let myself dwell on those thoughts too long, I place everything on my bed. Then, I hurry to the shower, being careful not to wet my hair. When I stand under the stream and close my eyes, Weston is on my mind.

His smile, his blue eyes, his laugh, the way he makes me feel.

After my shower, I continue preparing for the evening, putting my hair in rollers.

With thirty minutes to spare, I put on the dress, feeling the fabric hug my curves in all the right places. I put on the shoes, andthey add four inches to my height, which will only put my mouth closer to Weston’s if we’re standing. As I remove the rollers, my hair falls into big, bouncy curls.

I move toward the full-length mirror. I pause, hardly recognizing myself. Is this the version of me Weston wants?

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