Chapter 1: Ricochet

Fanning myself with one hand, I peeped through the balcony doors and watched as the backyard slowly filled with guests.

The rose-gold motifs blended beautifully. The flower arrangements, petals floating lazily on the pool’s surface, the tablecloths, even the red carpet—everything was washed in soft pink hues. It would’ve been perfect if the grass had turned pink too.

Sweet Sixteen.

That was what was written on the stage.

A small smile tugged at my red-painted lips as I watched the crowd grow larger by the minute.

Looks like everyone took the "bring your company along" memo way too seriously.

“Mom!”

The agitating shriek from inside the room yanked me out of my moment of silent pride. Just one minute alone to appreciate my work, and I couldn't get it.

I’d been stressed all week preparing for this very event. I planned everything and every detail even in every corner. And it still wasn’t over. Not until it was done.

“Mom!”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the hardest responsibility I’d ever taken on as an adult.

“For goodness’ sake, Adriana. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re practically an adult, so could you please never scream like you’re lost in the jungle ever again. Do you get that?”

As soon as I entered the room, I found my reflection—not really a mirror, but close enough.

Sitting on the edge of her pink canopy bed was a blonde diva, light makeup softly enhancing her already beautiful features. Her hair was styled like a princess’s, fluffy, glossy and perfect.

Mid-arm gloves hugged her hands, matching the glittery rose-pink gown draped over her body. She was almost ready to be the main event of the evening.

Almost.

Everything was perfect... except she was barefoot.

“Sorry,” she said, pouting. “You were spacing out.”

She didn’t look nearly old enough to be sixteen. With all that pouting and fumbling with her nails.

My baby Adriana was turning sixteen today, and no matter what the calendar said, she was still my baby—acting like one most of the time.

But me? When I was her age, I thought I’d been the most adventurous sixteen-year-old in the whole world. Adventurous enough to discover what it was like to become a young mother.

I sighed and waved the thought away. “What’s the problem? Why aren’t you wearing your shoes yet? And where the hell is Betty? I thought she was helping you. The party starts in less than an hour.”

“Shoes. That’s the problem.” She lifted her feet and wiggled them toes. “You forgot to buy them.”

“Me?” I pressed a palm to my chest.

“Yes. You promised yesterday you’d go to the mall and buy me new sandals. I think you forgot again.”

Guilt hit me instantly. Right where it hurt. Where? My age. Forgetting things reminded me that I wasn't getting any younger.

I exhaled in what I hoped was a graceful way. “Oh, shoot… I totally forgot.” I glanced at her towering shoe rack and grabbed a random pair. “Don’t you have a whole collection of heels? These would definitely go with your dress.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing as she studied them.

I could tell that she was... "worried"? If I understand her expression right.

“That’s green.”

I followed her gaze. “So are your eyes,” I said with an awkward chuckle. “Why not try something exotic? Who knows Pink and green woukd be a perfect match. You’re beautiful—like me, like your mom. Anything would work.”

“Mom…” she whined.

“Alright, alright!” I tossed the heels back onto the rack. “I’ll sprint to the mall and buy you shoes.”

“Pink,” she enunciated.

“Do I look senile to you?”

“Do you even know my shoe size?” she retorted, obviously doubting my memory.

I felt insulted... and weirdly proud at the same time. That attitude definitely came from me. No DNA test needed.

Time to compliment me. Good parenting.

“Seven, Mom. Seven.” She held up her fingers like I was the forgetful, naïve one here.

I rushed down the staircase with my careful steps and ran pass Betty.

“Diana, where are you going?” Betty asked, stepping into the living room helping me attending guests, which mostly I was unfamiliar with. My best friend—and the one person I trusted with everything, mostly because she had more brains than I did. “The party’s about to start.”

“I forgot her shoes!” I shouted, already halfway out the door. My keys jingled as I rushed to the car, struggling in my heels and doing my best not to trip and twist an ankle. “I’ll be back before you know it. Stall if I get stuck in traffic.”

“Jesus, Diana. Just... be careful on the road!” she yelled as I drove off in my five-century-old car and headed straight for the mall.

Since I was born blessed with so much luck, there was a traffic jam. By the time I reached the mall, twenty minutes had already been wasted.

I was so dead.

“Pink, pink, pink,” I muttered as I scanned the shelves. Then something caught my eye. Right at the very top.

It was glassy, elegant. From the mirror above the shelf, I caught the pristine detail of a blooming rose perched delicately on it.

“Beautiful,” I murmured, glancing around for the saleslady who had been tailing me earlier and had now vanished like a soap bubble. “Now where are you when I actually need you?”

I stretched up, careful not to knock anything over... or worse, break something and go bankrupt. I’d already spent a fortune on my baby girl’s birthday. After this, I wasn’t touching my money again. I still had so much to prepare—for her and for me.

“Come on…” I breathed, fingertips barely grazing it. “Dang it.”

I grunted, ready to give up, when my heel slipped.

The sole betrayed me, an evidence of its practical price, bending just enough to throw me off balance. I braced myself for impact.

“Gah!” I yelped, squeezing my eyes shut.

But then... a pair of strong, possessive arms caught me. Held me. Saved me. Spared me from being friends with the cold floor.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

I was met with a pair of gorgeous forest-green eyes staring right back at me. His dark hair was neatly pushed back, his face clean-shaven and devastatingly handsome and slapped me the very definition of what I could only describe as a fuck-worthy man.

Except...

He was the last man I ever wanted to see.

“Ricochet?”