Page 1 of The Invitation
Chapter One
Georgia
“How did the date go?”Sutton asks, lifting her martini. Despite the low lighting in the bar, the rock on her left hand—on the important finger on her left hand—twinkles.God, that’s a stunning ring.
The Swill, Sutton’s favorite establishment in her new, swanky Nashville neighborhood, isn’t what I expected. She insisted it was a dive bar where we could hang out and catch up after two weeks of being so busy that one-word texts constituted our friendship. With that vibe in mind, I wore cutoff jean shorts, an off-the-shoulder top, and my favorite cowboy boots. Purple, of course.
I was met with valet parking and a three-page wine menu.
Make it make sense.
It’s no wonder I have trust issues.
“The date last night?” I ask, plucking a toasted ravioli from the plate between us. “I canceled.”
“You did not.”
“Yes, I did.” I pop the appetizer into my mouth. “When I realized I’d rather wash my hair and pluck my eyebrows than meet him for dinner and drinks, I bailed.”
Sutton sighs, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you canceled on Bennet Copeland. What’s wrong with you?”
“Currently? Unemployment, the price of wine, and the fact that you let me walk in here dressed like this.”
She grins. “Well, if I had your legs, I’d live in those shorts. All heads turned when you walked in.”
“Yeah, probably because compared to the rest of you, I look like I charge hourly and spend a lot of time on my knees.”
“Shut up,” she says, laughing.
I shrug, swiping another ravioli.
Sutton McKenzie and I met on my first day at Waltham Prep. My parents divorced the summer before, and to suck as much money out of my father as she could, Mom finagled him into paying my tuition at a ritzy private high school that, financially speaking, I had no business attending. I wasn’t happy about leaving my friends for my senior year, and Ireallywasn’t happy about wearing a stuffy uniform and forgoing nail polish. But Sutton’s bright smile and offer to sit beside her at lunch eased my fish-out-of-water fears.
We’ve been best friends ever since.
“So what did Bennet do to earn the not-your-type label?” Sutton asks.
“I think it was his breathing that did it for me.” I chuckle at her eye roll. “Honestly? I don’t know that he did anything specifically. I just got tired of feigning interest in his portfolio. That man is pretty proud of himself.”
“Listen, I know you’re still in your rich-men-are-pricks era, but you need to reconsider.Trust me. It’s a lot easier working through your trauma while wearing a Siggy’s diamond andshopping at Halcyon than sitting at home in sweats eating ramen.”
“Sounds like you’ve had the wrong ramen.”
“You know what I mean, smart-ass.”
I laugh. “I do. I just disagree.”
“You are such a pessimist.”
“No, I’m a realist.”
“Your reality is what you make it.”
Sutton launches into a spiel about how life is like clay, and you must mold it to your liking. I tune her out, letting her voice blend in with the laughter from the tables surrounding us.
I’ve heard her speeches enough times that I can repeat them verbatim. It’s not that she gives awful advice or even that she’s wrong. I admire her perspective and how she wakes up in the morning with a clean slate. She doesn’t hold grudges. Her negative experiences aren’t allowed to taint her future, either. She truly believes that only good things are meant for her.
She might be right since she does live a charmed existence. My grandfather used to say people like her could roll around in pig shit and come out smelling like a rose.
