Page 2 of Broken Deal

Isabella Walton, one of my best friends. She’s feisty. Temperamental. Type A personality. A grumpby heart but has a soft spot for romance novels. And surprisingly, an amazing baker. Seriously. The woman makes thebestred velvet cookies. Idreamabout those cookies.

“I don’t, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” I reply, batting my lashes and giving her the best puppy eyes I can muster.

Isabella glares at me with her intense green eyes without saying anything and moves aside, letting me in.

Aria walks into the living room and shoves a margarita in my hand. “Themaid of honoris finally here!” She beams.

Aria Petrov, my childhood best friend. She’s fiery. Quirky in an endearing, cute way, and has the kindest heart you will ever meet. But most importantly—she’s a bride now.

That’s right. My wonderful and insane best friend is getting married to Damian Romano—her former boss and former top bachelor of Chicago. Self-made billionaire, smart, handsome—the whole package. Hell, the man is so perfect he was going to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit to protect her. They are the perfect couple, and they complement each other in the best way possible. Not only that, but Aria has grown so comfortable with her body and her looks. She has always had a fire in her; she simply needed a push in the right direction to fully embrace it. And that’s a job Damian has taken to heart. The man is the grumpiest person I’ve ever met, but when it comes to her? A huge teddy bear. He would do anything for her.

If only I could be so lucky.

You don’t even want to open yourself to the possibility of falling in love, stop acting the martyr.

It’s not that I’m not open to it. I’m simply not open to the inevitable heartbreak. Falling in love is for fools. For most people, anyway. My best friend was lucky enough to find a man who loves her fiercely. If I had a 100% guarantee I couldhave the same, I would be open to the idea. My heart has been broken too many times, starting with the most important man in every little girl’s life. The one who’s supposed to love you and protect you. The one who’s supposed to show you how unconditional love looks and feels like.

Trauma, party of one.That’s me!

“Maid of honor is very late, is what she is,” Isabella points out, shutting the door.

The maid of honortitle makes me equally excited and nervous. While I love my best friend wholeheartedly, I’m not entirely sure why she chose me. It honestly seems like a job for Isabella. I’m all for planning the most over-the-top bachelorette party, but the actual wedding? A recipe for disaster.

“Sorry I’m late, Ari.” I grimace, giving her a tight hug, then drop onto the couch, getting comfortable.

Aria’s loft is luxurious in a simplistic way. Her living room is an open space with an L-shaped couch and a loveseat in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of the windy city. Her walls are decorated with her own paintings, giving the space a vibrant edge. It always makes me proud to see Aria unafraid to show off her art. All thanks to her fiancé, Damian, who helped her recognize her worth, even though I had been telling her for years. She needed to find her soulmate—her person—to finally be able to see it. She’s now one of the best up-and-coming artists in the industry, painting and sharing her love for art, despite all the struggles she went through.

Aria sits next to me as she waves her hand dismissively. “You know I don’t care, but this one”—she glares at Isabella over her shoulder—“will hang us both if we don’t stick to the schedule.”

Isabella shakes her head in disbelief, walking toward usas she ties her long, straight blonde hair in a messy bun. “How do I care more about this wedding than the bride?” She juts her hip out, planting a hand firmly on it.

“Damian is your best friend, even though neither one of you acknowledges it. It’s like a silent treaty between two very grumpy people,” I quip then take a sip of Aria’s famous margarita, savoring the strong citrus flavor.

Aria nods animatedly. “That’s true.”

“Enough chitchat. Let’s get started. I brought my famous red velvet cookies.” I perk up at her comment, but she points at me, squinting. “You can only eat them if you actually get to planning. Now, come on,” she says, striding into the kitchen.

Aria and I look at each other as we roll our eyes and follow after her.

All the Pinterest pictures Aria printed to get some ideas are laid on the kitchen island, and we go over them, talking about what we like and dislike as we sip our margaritas. I honestly can’t believe my best friend is getting married. I feel like it was just yesterday when she walked through my apartment door, stating shehatedhis guts and couldn’t be with someone so insufferable. Now, though? I can’t imagine someone more perfect for her. The way they love each other is nothing short of amazing. And while I’m more than excited for her, another side of me can’t help but feel jealousy—that’s too strong of a word, more like longing—to have what she has.

Let’s get real. You and relationships will never mix. Or did you forget what happened last time?

Three years later, I still haven’t forgotten. It’s kind of difficult to get over something so… I can’t even find the right wording for it.

Traumatic. Horrible. Impossible to believe.

“Why don’t you hire a planner? Your man can afford it,” I joke.

Aria shakes her head, hitting my shoulder with hers playfully. “No, come on! This is supposed to be fun!”

I have a different idea of what fun looks like than Aria and Isabella. I’m more into thelet’s go on a girls’trip and have the time of our livesvibe, while the girls are thelet’s go to brunch and drink a good cup of coffeetype. Somehow, we still fit. I keep them young, and they keep me tamed. It’s the perfect balance, if you ask me.

I will always be the loud and obnoxious friend. Having fun and experiencing life helps push away those helpless thoughts. Is trying to erase your problems away the best way to cope? Probably not. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying, though.

I bite my lip nervously. “Honestly, I suck at this, but anything for you,Red.” I laugh. “Have you guys picked a date yet?”

“Gee, I’m glad the nickname is catching on,” she retorts dryly. “And no.” She groans. “We’re still not sure if we want a fall or winter wedding.”

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