Page 9 of Fighting

“Delia’s first,” the coordinator calls.

An ethereal instrumental pop song provides the tempo for her trip down the aisle, an uplifting melody that people in the crowd mouth the words to.

At close to a foot taller than me and with dark blond waves, Delia is every bit a Barbie at first glance. Given her stature and figure, she’s in a silky column gown with a cowl neck and halter strap. She’s stunning. Her old Hollywood style waves and the deep side part add to the vintage glamour.

“Nessa’s next. Then the maid of honor—” The coordinator’s brows lift, and she scans the space beside me, where Lily was just standing.

I turn in a slow circle, finding her peeking through a panel of windows to one side of the doors. Her chocolate eyes are glassy as she watches the men lined up by the altar. I pop my arm around her waist and lean in. “You got this.”

When she turns in to hug me, her off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline sheath gown lightly swishes my toes. The thigh-high slit sweeps wide, giving her a seductive quality.

She swallows thickly, nodding, as the coordinator guides me to my place. Like I practiced last night, I walk slowly toward Delia. It’s impossible not to take in the splendor of the room asI go. The men all look incredible in their navy suits. Of course, Mateo has his eyes locked on me. The millionaire playboy who has never committed to anyone or anything looks like a delicious mistake I can’t afford to repeat.

As I walk in time with the music, his attention burns into me. His smirk is wicked, and the wink he gives me makes my heart flutter in a way it shouldn’t. After everything with Caleb, I’ve decided the best way to protect myself from being fooled again is to maintain my independence. Shoulders back, bouquet low, I glide to the music and do the only thing that comes naturally to me. I plaster on a bright smile and focus on the task at hand.

four

Mateo

2 Months Ago | Summer

Manhattan in Julyis sticky and humid, leaving my clothes fitting a bit too snugly. Stuck in something ill-fitting really sums up how I feel. Even if I undo the top button, it’s hard to breathe. When I moved to the city, I was fascinated by how it smelled like the dollar pizza slices sold in tiny corner shops. Now all I notice is trash sizzling on the sidewalks. The hustle of people down the streets and below, inside subway cars, used to make me feel as though I was part of something. Today, I’m positive if I stood in the middle of an intersection and screamed, I’d get honked at and nothing else. Over time, or maybe it happened overnight, every part of the city experience I once celebrated faded. By no longer looking up in fascination, I’m confronted by one facet after another of a blurry puzzle I used to fit into.

Nothing about New York City feels the same since my night with Nessa. Too often, I stare longingly at her contact in my phone, trying to concoct reasons to text her. I went out. Tried to meet other women. Get my mind off her. But all I did wascompare them to her, noting all the ways they didn’t measure up. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

Tonight, I’m once again entertaining clients to court business for someone else’s benefit. As I sit in a high-quality leather armchair, waiting for this guy and his crew to arrive, I pull out my phone to dig further into his background. As I peruse his social media, I come across a photo that instantly has my blood running cold. It’s her, with my client.

It’s an older photo, from what I can tell. The two of them are standing in a brick courtyard. Ivy Out of My League. That’s how Nessa put herself into my phone. Though based on her texts the next day, she doesn’t remember. I spent the next twenty-four hours calling her Ivy.

I’m still stewing over the image when my client texts that he can’t make it because thepussy here is fire.

Great, wonderful.

Mateo:

I don’t understand how you dated him.

He was clearly there because his daddy donated a few buildings.

I pull up the ride share app and order a car, then cash out with an extra generous tip to expense to the company.

While I wait, my phone buzzes.

I’m ecstatic that she actually replied.

Ivy:

Satan’s Bikini Waxer?

Mateo:

You dated him

Ivy:

Ugh, don’t remind me.

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