Page 39 of The Friend Situation

The black dress is pure seduction. The chiffon flows around the fitted bodice like a dream. I slide the necklace around my neck, fastening it, before putting on the earrings and bracelet.

I look like …royalty.

Just as I finish my makeup and press my red lips together, I receive a text that the limo has arrived.

I grow nervous, wondering what I’m actually doing. I shouldn’t have committed to this, but curiosity took over.

I make my way downstairs, and the driver quickly opens my door. I slide into the back seat, where a bottle of chilled champagne, lavishly arranged chocolate-covered strawberries, and another bouquet of my favorite roses await.

Next to them is another note with my name—written in the same script as before.

C,

Lex said you require chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne. She also mentioned a trip to Paris. Might have to make that happen soon. Do you have your passport?

—W

I chew on the edge of my lip, my eyes scanning over his words again. With a laugh, I reread his message. Jet-setting across the world with Weston? It’s too dangerous, especially with the blind items being posted about him and a mystery woman. But I’d runaway with him.

The butterflies in my stomach flutter wildly as the implications wash over me.

Ican’tbe her. Can I?

The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, both thrilling and terrifying.

When I enter Ambrosia, it doesn’t feel real. I’ve only ever glimpsed this elite restaurant through photos. It’s like a fairy tale. The off-white walls glow under low lighting, casting shadows that dance across the room. Warm candlelight flickers and sways like tiny fireflies, and I’m caught in a beautiful trance, trying to process my surroundings. The who’s who of the city dines here, and the atmosphere is rich with romance and promise. The wealthy indulge in simple two-thousand-dollar dinners, and CEOs close monumental deals at polished tables covered with silk tablecloths.

Among this grandeur, I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong, even if I wear the correct costume. I’m Vivian inPretty Woman, an unwelcome spectacle trying to blend in with a sophisticated crowd. The thought makes me chuckle as the host leads me across the marble floor that gleams brightly.

The diamonds sparkle against my skin while curious heads turn in my direction. I can almost hear their whispered questions dancing through the air—Who is she? Why is she here?

Tonight, I can be anyone I want.

As I continue forward, I recognize several celebrities and rock stars but keep my gaze locked ahead, pretending not to notice. I feel a pang of longing and curiosity tugging at me, wondering if Weston has already arrived, hoping to spot his familiar face in the crowd.

I sit at a booth with a high back, and it gives me more privacy than I expected.

A server approaches, setting an extra-dirty martini with fat green olives in front of me. She hands me a menu wrapped in leather.

“I didn’t order this,” I say politely, my lips curving into a grin as my fingers glide over the menu.

“Yes, miss. It was orderedforyou,” she replies with professional poise. “However, I was instructed that you’d choose your meal. I’ll give you a few minutes. If you have any questions, I’m at your service.”

“Thanks.”

As I glance over, I notice the fresh flower arrangement on my table—a single yellow rose nestled among delicate greenery, its vibrant hue a striking contrast to the restaurant’s muted palette. It’smeantfor me. It’s always the small, thoughtful touches with Weston that set my heart racing.

As I scan the room, I can barely contain my excitement, my eyes flitting around in anticipation of spotting him. The martini dances on my tongue.

Peering at the menu, I realize that not a single price is listed on the pages. Perhaps it’s because the individuals who can afford to dine here have unlimited amounts of money.

At precisely seven o’clock, Weston enters with a stunning blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman I’m unfamiliar with. She isn’t an A-list socialite or celebrity, which leaves me unsettled. I reach for my phone and quickly search his name online. The glow of the screen reveals several articles that were posted minutes ago. I can’t resist clicking on the first one.

Weston Calloway spotted with Naomi Accetta at Ambrosia. His secret girlfriend?

I search her name and find her Wikipedia page staring back at me.

Who is she?

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