Page 1 of The Wrong Proposal

PROLOGUE

PENELOPE

Not one personmakes someone happy.

It took me longer than it should for those words to sink in.

Even in high school, I was never without a boyfriend for long, which says more about me than I like to think about.

My parents also emphasize how happiness is about a person’s well-being. They link contentment with society and respect for the environment. While I understand it, I’m not as invested as my parents in joy sourced from a relationship with nature. Because it’s been six months since the man I imagined spending the rest of my life with shattered my heart, and all the advice to immerse myself in nature hasn’t helped. The countless trips to the beach or hiking in the mountains until I fall into bed exhausted fail to heal the gaping chasm in my chest.

This month, my relationship with nature is on hold because she’s justnotdoing it for me.

Although the grapes to make wine—tick.

So, I’m sticking with what other almost-thirty single women do on Friday nights—drink wine with my besties until it numbs the pain.

Tonight is my friend Hugh’s twenty-ninth birthday. In typical Hugh style, he has booked birthday celebrations every day for the next week.

September is perfect in LA to enjoy the warm nights, and tonight Hugh chose a restaurant to begin festivities. Otiumis fabulous, although I feel uneasy being here because it’s where my ex and I came on regular dates. The food is to die for, so I’m not letting stupid memories ruin my fun, and I’ve wasted no time downing a few glasses of white wine.

“So how do I ask her?” A muscle tics in Hugh’s jaw as he looks between our other close friend, Zara, and me. He lounges back in his chair, and the ridiculously expensive yet surprisingly tiny cocktail in front of him is yet to be touched. “There are a hundred scenarios, and I want it to be smooth yet romantic. If it’s complicated, I’ll freeze and mess up.”

Hugh has been in a relationship for two years, and I didn’t see a proposal coming.

“Mess up like say the wrong thing or not ask her at all?” Zara rolls her eyes as though asking someone to marry you should be the simplest thing for anyone.

“Yeah. The last thing I want is to be at an expensive restaurant wearing a suit and surrounded by other people, witnessing…” He changes direction, “What if she says—”

“She won’t,” Zara and I say in tune.

“She loves you. She only wants you. You’ll be fine,” Zara almost sings.

Hugh’s nervous eyes dart and lock on me before staring at his hands.

“Hugh.” I wait for him to give me his attention. “Bernard was a dick. Don’t compare your love to us.” No one should compare their relationship to my ex and me, especially me, because I always pick the guy destined to break my heart.

Hugh is in love.

Bernard was not in love with me.

And I wish it didn’t take five years for me to realize that fact.

His gaze turns to understanding. “Thanks, Pen.”

I smile then catch the faint outline of my reflection lost in the city lights in the floor-to-ceiling glass window at our side. Bernard and I used to flirt in the glass, catching fleeting glimpses of the other’s reflection. A year ago, I misinterpreted his expression. His pained eyes were not from a stressful week that came with being the CEO of a construction firm. Over the prior twelve months, I’d become acquainted with tension on a Friday night. Only this time, Bernard stumbled to find the ‘right words.’ I saved him the embarrassment and left the relationship myself—a learned skill toread between the lines.

Two weeks later, I resigned as an interior decorator.

His company’s head interior decorator.

“Pen, you’re the creative one of all of us.” Hugh forks the gnocchi seasoned with black truffle in his mouth and groans. “I could live on this.”

“You say that every time.” Zara shakes her head.

“You should try it just once.”

She straightens her back. “You know I don’t eat pasta. Too many carbs.”

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