Page 1 of Only for Tonight
CHAPTER 1
Rebecca
The hotel room mirror isn’t being kind.
I’m standing in front of it in my underwear—the nice black set I packed when I still thought I’d have someone to appreciate it—trying to decide between the emerald wrap dress and the black bodycon. Four other options are draped across the bed like rejected possibilities.
The emerald makes my eyes look amazing but hugs my curves. The black is safe but feels like I’m trying to prove something.
And to who, exactly? You’re going to a romance convention alone because your ex is a dick.
My phone buzzes.
Sienna.Have you left your room yet or are you spiraling?
I snap a photo of the dress carnage and send it.
She calls immediately. “Babe. The emerald one. It’s gorgeous on you.”
“It shows everything though.”
“Good. Your body is perfect. Brett was an idiot who didn’t deserve you.” Her voice is firm. “Now put on the dress, go downstairs, and have the best night of your life.”
After we hang up, I stare at my reflection. Brett’s voice tries to echo in my head—maybe you should think about joining a gym—but I push it away.
The emerald dress. Book-themed earrings. Lipstick.
Good enough.
I grab my purse and the paperback from my nightstand—Amplifiedby Isabelle Stone. The newest rockstar reverse harem I started on the plane. Why choose romance with four guys who all want her. Wish fulfillment in paperback form.
Isabelle’s on a panel tomorrow morning. I want to be coherent when I meet her instead of just screaming about how her books changed my life.
Though I’ll probably do that anyway.
The elevator ride up feels surreal. But when the doors open, I take a breath and head toward the bar.
No more hiding. No more letting Brett’s voice dictate what I deserve.
Tonight is for me.
The hotel bar is stunning—velvet couches, low lighting, moody music. From up here on the twenty-third floor, the convention center looks like a glowing beehive below. Readers streaming in and out with arms full of tote bags and hearts full of book boyfriend dreams.
I’d planned this weekend for months. Printed questions for signings, organized my schedule, packed my favorite paperbacks in perfect Instagram-worthy stacks.
Then Brett dumped me.
One week ago.
After four years.
His excuse?
“I don’t get why you’re still into this book stuff, Rebecca. It’s kind of embarrassing. You’re twenty-eight. Maybe it’s time to grow up?”
Grow up. Like falling in love with fictional men who actually know how to communicate was a character flaw. Like wanting grand gestures and protective instincts and love that burns bright enough to rewrite your world was childish.
Like wanting more than settling was asking too much.
