Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I give him a wide smile. “Would she like me? I bet she would like me.”
Thomas rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Mac.”
But he’s smiling a little as he says it. I count it as a win.
CHAPTER FIVE
Friday, September 16
My best friend in the entire world is Collette Burton, who’s about as different from me as it’s possible to get.
For starters, she’s tall, elegant, and has really shiny brown hair. The first two are God-given, the third has a little help from her fancy SoHo salon. She’s an associate at some fancy downtown law firm, rocks four-inch stilettos no matter the time of day, and would never, ever have to wear bikini bottoms because she forgot to do laundry.
In fact, she probably wouldn’t own a bikini—she’s more of a classic one-piece kind of girl, even though she works out six days a week and has Victoria’s Secret model-worthy boobs.
In other words, she’s very, very easy to hate, but luckily, even easier to love. We met at a mutual friend’s party in our early twenties, bonded over our shared love of the Indiana Jones franchise, and somehow we just kept hanging out until we became the biggest part of each other’s life.
Well, we used to be the biggest part of each other’s life.
Now, my darling Collette has found herself a man.
I’m not bitter about it, not really. In fact, I’m pretty proud. I always knew that Collette would get married some day, but I figured she’d do it in a Collette kind of way: Meet the guy. Know he was perfect right away, but not sleep with him until the fifth date. Then, make him go on a billion more dates over the course of two years. Move in with him, to make sure they were compatible. Another two years. Eventually, an engagement that would last another two years, in order to pull off the City’s Most Perfect Wedding.
Instead, Collette went and pulled a Mac. My risk-averse, owns-multiple-planners best friend has finally done something spontaneous:
She’s marrying a guy she’s only been seeing for three months.
Jonathan is a fellow lawyer at her firm, and even I as a romance-skeptic can see that he’s perfect for her. In addition to being every bit as beautiful as she is, he’s smart and sweet. But not the sugar kind of sweet, the right amount. Plus, Jon makes Collette laugh, and I do love a man who can make my best friend laugh.
Even better, he’s also extremely tolerant of her flighty, often-late best friend.
Because yes, I am just the teensiest bit late to their engagement party.
Though for once, it’s truly not my fault: Sixth Avenue was closed due to some sort of manhole incident, which means the cab driver had to go the lonnnnng way around to get to the fancy Astor Room just off Park Avenue.
Collette comes from an upper-middle-class family in Connecticut, and though I don’t know much about Jonathan’s family, at first glance at the party attendees, it’s pretty obvious that they too come from money. I spot enough red soles on the women’s shoes to rival the Louboutin section at Bergdorf’s.
And all of the men’s suits have that custom made look to them. Not because I know about fashion, but because designers have an eye for stuff that looks good, and these people all look really good. And expensive.
Everyone also seems to be extremely tall.
Even my high heels (not Louboutins, in case you were wondering), the search for my best friend in the crowded room is not going well on account of all the shoulders at my eye level. Finally, I spot her standing over by the dessert table, looking flawless and bridal in a strapless white cocktail dress and pale pink pumps with little bows on the heels. She spots me and grins. Collette whispers something to Jon, who nods and removes his hand from her waist.
I’m delighted to note the way his gaze follows his fiancée as she heads towards me, adoring and just a little bit hungry. That’s exactly the way a man should look at his future wife, and I’m thrilled Collette’s found it. And even though that’s not in the cards for me—my choice—sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To have someone look at me that way . . .
“Hi!” Collette says, enveloping me in a one-armed, Chanel-scented hug, since the other is holding a flute of champagne. “You made it!”
“Of course I made it! What are maids of honor for?” I say, giving her a tight squeeze.
“Oh, so!” she says, pulling back, her eyes glowing with excitement and maybe a little of the bubbly in her glass. “That reminds me, on my way to work I passed the new shop for this up-and-coming designer, and I saw this navy dress that would be so perfect on you. Do you have time later this week to go take a look? I want to make sure you’re wearing something you love.”