1
Jillian
“Have I mentioned how much I hate that lying, cheating, scumbag?”
Across the table from me, my best friend Becca shoves a donut hole into her mouth. White powder puffs from her mouth as she speaks.
“Because I do.”
“Once or twice.” In reality, it’s been closer to a thousand times in the last nine months.
Running my finger over the gold filigree of the invitation sitting on my counter, a thousand thoughts pummel me. Most of them having to do with my own humiliation.
In hindsight, I’m glad I’m not marrying Roman Holmes next week, but inviting me to his wedding? It’s a slap in the face, which is why I have avoided opening the stupid envelope for so long. It’s sat on the corner of my kitchen counter, mocking me for the last month, but now I’ve run out of time to avoid the reality barreling down on me.
The taste in my throat sours, ruining my appetite for what’s left of my Saturday morning donuts and mimosa brunch, a long-standing tradition Becca and I instituted right before finals week our junior year of college.
I shove away the donuts. Damn Roman. He not only cheated on me and destroyed my trust in men, but he’s also now ruining my love of donuts. I might hate him for this more.
“You’re right. He’s a scumbag.” I grab the envelope addressed to me and written in Julianna’s perfectly scripted calligraphy. I’m sure she started taking lessons as soon as he slid a three-carat diamond on her finger. It’s not like she has much else to do with her time.
“This is all sorts of twisted and nasty,” Becca hums around another donut.
I skewer her with a glare. “Can you not eat right now? What am I going to do?”
“Set Julianna’s wedding dress on fire as she walks down the aisle?”
“Tempting.” I’m surprised that’s what she offers up. It’s one of the tamer scenarios we’ve discussed since I heard of their engagement.
“You don’t have to go. Screw them. And your parents for even thinking you’d go along with this bullshit.”
I have no idea why she’s surprised. Ever since I caught Julianna and Roman in the act of sucking each other’s faces off when I showed up at his office unannounced, my parents have championed their wedding—my ex-fiancé to my now ex-best friend.
I’d gone to have my monthly lunch with my dad and stopped by Roman’s office on the way out. He’s heir to Stearns & Holmes Shipping, a corporation my grandfather and his built together. My father and Roman’s are co-presidents of Stearns & Holmes Shipping, which handles ninety-five percent of container shipping from the Eastern Seaboard. Not exactly glamorous, but the Holmes and Stearns families have been connected since before South Carolina was a state. All the oldest sons are groomed to take the helm as soon as they finish their graduate studies, and Roman is no different. I’m pretty sure my parents loved our relationship for so long. Since they weren’t blessed with sons, us getting married would allow the two families to finally join together as one.
Although, no one ever asked me what I wanted.
However, up until that fateful day in his office, I’d thought Roman and I were going to forge our own path. He was going to put in his time at the family business gaining experience and then he was going to move to where I am in Charlotte, where we could live our own lives outside the purview of everyone else’s expectations.
Little did I know Roman was playing me the entire time. That became incredibly clear the day I stopped by his office, only to find Julianna practically bent over his desk, their mouths fused together. They barely noticed my presence, or the plunk of my diamond ring smacking Roman in the back of the head.
And now they’re the ones getting married.
Our families are so closely intertwined there’s no way I can’t show up. Everyone in the upper echelon of Charleston will be there. My absence will be noted even more than my presence.
There’s also no way I can go.
Roman’s betrayal was just the tip of the iceberg. It was my parents’ full support of their relationship afterward. But mostly, it was Julianna, my friend I’d had since we were in the same preschool and went through everything together that hurt the worst.
I fled back to Charlotte, North Carolina, to Becca, who let me cry in her arms for days. Then I picked myself up, threw myself into work at the marketing firm where I work, and swore off men forever.
With a heavy sigh, I reach for a donut.
Screw Roman and Julianna.
They might have taken a lot from me and kicked my pride straight to the curb of our centuries-old and generational family home in the historical district of Charleston, but like hell they’re going to steal my love of donuts.
“Seriously, Becca.” I look at her, blinking away the burn in my eyes. That stupid invitation has made me face everything I’ve spent nine months avoiding. “What do I do? I didn’t even RSVP to this ridiculous farce, but my mom’s email last week said she expects to see me there.” With a roll of my eyes, I take on my mother’s tone and squish up my face. “‘Family supports family, Jillian.’ Please. Because they supported me?”
To say I’ve always been the black sheep of my family is a severe understatement. My father would probably have an aneurysm if he saw me sitting in my own kitchen, cut-off sweat shorts, unwashed hair flying all over the place from the knot at the top of my head, no makeup, a T-shirt that says DRINKS WELL WITH OTHERS in gold glitter. If he saw me stuffing my face with fat-inducing, cheap donuts from the corner gas station, he’d probably have a heart attack. My mother would no doubt comment on how the carbs are bad for my hips.
She takes a sip of her mimosa and arches one perfectly microbladed brunette brow. “You have three options, as far as I can see.”
I take a minuscule bite of the chocolate cream-filled donut before me, savoring the sugary sweet taste before I reach the cream center. “Those are?”
“One, ignore them because screw them all. I can’t believe your parents have approved of this so quickly and completely ignored you. Although that would give your parents a hernia and you’d never hear the end of it. Two, you show up, cause a scene and like the first option, you let Roman and Julianna have the satisfaction of knowing you’re still pissed about this.” She points her finger at me. “And you know Roman would get some sort of sick thrill over it.”
My lip curls at the thought. Roman getting any kind of thrill from me makes my stomach roll.
“And my third?”
“Get yourself a hot date, show up to the wedding with your head held high, and act like you don’t give a crap about any of them.”
“And who should my hot date be, exactly? Just swipe right on the apps you made me download and press my luck?”
To say I’ve had cold feet in getting involved with anyone new is an understatement. Plus, I’ve been crazy busy. Also, there’s the whole concept of meeting men online, getting to know each other via text and not even our voices that holds little appeal.
Besides, there’s only one guy I’m interested in, in that way. Unfortunately, he’s made it clear where my place is in his life.
The dreaded friend zone.