Chapter 2

I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the disorienting realization of where I was.

Maya’s couch. Maya’s apartment. Not the apartment I’d shared with Leo.

The events of yesterday crashed over me in waves. Leo and Genevieve. The bed. The words. As exciting as a tax audit. The engagement ring left on the counter like loose change.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Seventeen missed calls. Thirty-two text messages.

None from Leo.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. The blanket fell away, and I realized I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and stale. My mouth tasted like grief and forgotten toothpaste.

I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and scrolled through the messages. Most were from mutual friends, carefully worded texts fishing for information. “Hey, heard you and Leo hit a rough patch. Everything okay?” Translation: tell me everything so I have something to talk about at brunch.

Three messages from Genevieve. I deleted them without reading.

Five from my father’s assistant, Carolyn. “Your father would like to speak with you. Please call at your earliest convenience”.

I set the phone down and walked to Maya’s bathroom. The mirror reflected a stranger. Smeared mascara. Swollen eyes. Hair like a bird’s nest. I looked like the after photo in a cautionary tale about trusting the wrong people.

I washed my face with Maya’s fancy French cleanser, brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush Maya kept for guests, and changed into clean clothes from my suitcase. The mechanical routine steadied me. Put on underwear. Button the blouse. Pull on the pants. Breathe.

My phone rang.

Father flashed across the screen.

I stared at it for three rings before answering.

“Hello, Father.”

“Diana.” My father’s voice was clipped, impatient. The voice of a man whose time was valuable and being wasted. “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“I was indisposed.”

“So I heard.” A pause. Papers rustling in the background. He was multitasking. Of course he was.

“Genevieve called me. Quite upset. She says you overreacted to a situation and caused a scene.”

I laughed. The sound came out broken and sharp. “Overreacted.”

“Yes. She explained the circumstances. Look, I understand you’re hurt. Breakups are difficult. But assaulting your sister and storming out like a child is beneath you.”

“I didn’t assault her. I slapped her. Once. After she told me she’d been sleeping with my fiancé for months in my own bed.”

“Our bed? You mean Leonard’s bed.” My father’s tone was matter-of-fact. “You were living in his apartment. Under his roof. A man is entitled to make choices about his own life, Diana. If he decided things weren’t working, he has every right to move on.”

“He was sleeping with Genevieve while we were engaged.”

“Affairs happen. Especially when one party is… unfulfilling.” He said the word like a diagnosis. “Genevieve mentioned Leonard felt the relationship had grown stale. These things occur. The mature response is to handle them with grace.”

I closed my eyes. Breathed through the pain lodging itself in my chest like a knife. “What would you like me to do, Father? Apologize to Genevieve for interrupting?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d like you to sort this out like an adult. The Pembrokes are a respected family. We don’t air our dirty laundry in public. We certainly don’t create scandals for gossip columns.”

“I’m the scandal? Not Genevieve sleeping with my fiancé?”

“Genevieve is young. Impulsive. She made a mistake. But she’s family, Diana. Blood. And more importantly, she understands the value of discretion. You’ve always struggled with being too emotional. Too reactive. Your mother was the same way.”

The mention of my mother stung worse than anything else. My mother, Elizabeth, had died when I was twelve. A car accident on a rainy Tuesday. My father had remarried within the year, bringing Genevieve and her mother, Patricia, into our lives like replacement furniture.

“I’m not discussing Mother with you.”

“Fine. Let’s discuss the practical matter at hand. I’m hosting the Whitmore charity auction next month. Senator Whitmore will be there. So will the Hartwell family. I expect you to attend. Wearing something appropriate. Looking presentable. We will present a united front.”

“You want me to go to a party with Leo’s family?”

“I want you to remember who you are. A Pembroke. We don’t crumble at the first sign of adversity. We certainly don’t hide in Brooklyn apartments feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“How did you know I was in Brooklyn?”

“Genevieve assumed. You don’t have many friends, Diana. Process of elimination.”

The words landed like punches. You don’t have many friends. Because I’d spent three years molding myself into Leo’s perfect accessory, attending his events, befriending his circle, slowly losing pieces of myself until there was nothing left but the hollow shell of who I’d been.

“I won’t go to your party,” I said quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

Silence. Alistair Pembroke was not accustomed to being told no, especially not by his disappointing eldest daughter.

“You’re upset,” he said finally, his voice taking on a patronizing gentleness worse than his earlier irritation. “I understand. Take a few days. Collect yourself. But Diana, I mean this. The family image matters. Your behavior reflects on all of us. If you care about this family at all, you’ll do the right thing.”

“And what’s the right thing, Father? Pretending Genevieve didn’t destroy my life? Smiling for photos while Leo brings his new girlfriend to events? Being your obedient daughter while you choose her over me for the thousandth time?”

“You’re being hysterical.”

“I’m being honest.”

“Same thing, in your case.” He sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. “Call me when you’re thinking clearly. I have a meeting.”

The line went dead.

I stood in Maya’s small bedroom, phone pressed to my ear, listening to silence. My father had hung up. Of course he had. Why waste time on the daughter who’d never measured up when he had important meetings and a family image to protect?

I set the phone on the sink and stared at my reflection.

You don’t have many friends.

Too emotional. Too reactive.

As exciting as a tax audit.

A wallflower.

The words circled my mind like vultures.

A key turned in the front door.

“Di?” Maya’s voice rang through the apartment, bright and warm. “Oh my God, you’re here! I got your text from last night and took the first flight back. I’m so sorry, I would have been here sooner but the flight was delayed and then there was this whole thing with baggage claim—”

Maya appeared in the bathroom doorway and stopped. Her dark eyes widened as she took in my face.

“Oh, honey.”

Those two words broke something inside me. I felt my face crumple, felt fresh tears spill down my cheeks even though I’d thought I’d cried myself empty last night.

Maya crossed the small space in two steps and pulled me into her arms. She smelled like airport coffee and the jasmine perfume she always wore and safety.

“I’ve got you,” Maya whispered, stroking my hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I sobbed into my best friend’s shoulder, the kind of ugly crying I’d been too controlled to allow myself even in private. My whole body shook with it.

“He was sleeping with her,” I choked out. “For months. In our bed. And my father… he called and told me I overreacted. Said I need to fix things for the family image.”

“Your father is an asshole.”

“He said I don’t have many friends.”

“Well, you have me. And I’m worth at least ten regular friends.” Maya pulled back, cupping my face in her hands. “Look at me. Leo is an insecure man-child who couldn’t appreciate what he had. Genevieve is a malicious snake who gets off on hurting you because she’s fundamentally empty inside. And your father is an emotionally stunted narcissist who shouldn’t have been allowed to raise houseplants, let alone children.”

Despite everything, I laughed. It came out wet and broken, but it was a laugh.

“There she is.” Maya smiled, wiping my tears with her thumbs. “Come on. We’re having a feelings day. I’m talking ice cream for breakfast, trashy reality TV, and at least three rom-coms where the heroine realizes she’s better off without the guy.”

“I should… I have work tomorrow. I need to prepare for the Sanderson wedding. The bride is particular about—”

“Nope.” Maya steered me out of the bathroom and toward the couch. “You’re calling in sick. The Sanderson wedding will survive without you for one day. You, on the other hand, need to fall apart properly before you rebuild.”

“I’ve already fallen apart.”

“Honey, you’ve barely cracked the surface.” Maya grabbed her phone. “I’m ordering Thai food. The good kind with extra spring rolls. You’re going to eat, cry, possibly throw things at the TV when the romantic lead does something stupid, and then we’re going to make a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For your life. Your new life. The one where you’re not molding yourself into whatever shape other people want.” Maya scrolled through her phone. “But first, sustenance and catharsis. Pad Thai or drunken noodles?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Pad Thai it is.”

Maya ordered food while I sank into the couch, pulling the same blanket from last night around my shoulders. The apartment felt smaller in daylight, cozier. Every surface held evidence of Maya’s life. Canvases leaning against walls. Books stacked in precarious towers. A collection of vintage cameras on a shelf. A life full of passion and purpose and color.

Everything my life wasn’t.

Maya returned with two pints of ice cream from her freezer. “Okay. We have salted caramel and mint chocolate chip. Pick your poison.”

“I really should—”

“Diana Pembroke, so help me God, if you say you should do anything productive right now, I will sit on you.” Maya thrust the mint chocolate chip at me. “Eat. Process. Feel your feelings like a person instead of a robot programmed for perfection.”

I took the ice cream. The spoon. Put a small bite in my mouth. The cold sweetness spread across my tongue, and suddenly I was ravenous. I took another bite. Another.

Maya queued up a movie on her laptop. “We’re starting with ‘10 Things I Hate About You.’ Classic. Underrated. Heath Ledger at his finest.”

We settled on the couch together, the way we had countless times in college. Before Leo. Before I’d started prioritizing his schedule over my friendships. Before I’d become someone even I didn’t recognize.

The movie played. I ate ice cream and cried through the parts where Kat read her poem. Maya kept up a running commentary, pointing out plot holes and making me laugh despite the raw wound in my chest.

The Thai food arrived. We ate straight from the containers, grease and carbs and the kind of comfort from not caring about calories or appearances.

“When did I become so small?” I asked during the third movie, some Julia Roberts vehicle Maya had insisted was essential viewing.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… when did I start making myself smaller? Quieter? Less?” I set down my food. “I used to have opinions. Dreams. I wanted to open my own event planning company. Travel to Europe and study hospitality design. I had plans, Maya.”

“You still have plans.”

“No. I have a job at Veridian where I’m terrified of losing because it’s the only thing I have left. I have a father who sees me as an obligation. A stepsister who hates me. An ex-fiancé who found me boring.” My voice cracked. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Maya paused the movie. “You’re Diana Pembroke. You’re the woman who planned the Ashford wedding in three weeks when the original planner had a nervous breakdown. You’re the person who remembers everyone’s coffee order and sends birthday cards to your clients’ children. You’re my best friend who helped me move into this apartment at two in the morning because my ex was being a psycho. You’re strong and capable and kind, and you’ve been suffocating yourself trying to be perfect for people who don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t feel strong.”

“Nobody feels strong when they’re falling apart. But you will. You’re going to rebuild yourself, Di. Better this time. For you, not for Leo or your father or anyone else.”

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her.

My phone buzzed. A notification from work. A reminder about tomorrow’s menu tasting with the Sanderson bride.

“I have the tasting tomorrow,” I said. “The bride specifically requested me. If I call in sick, she’ll be furious. She might complain to management. I can’t afford—”

“You’re the best events manager Veridian has,” Maya interrupted. “They’re lucky to have you. One sick day won’t change anything.”

But I was already spiraling. Veridian was my safe place. My sanctuary. The one area of my life where I was good enough, where I excelled, where nobody called me boring or disappointing. The restaurant was exclusive, prestigious. Working there meant something.

I needed it.

“I have to go in,” I said. “I can’t risk my job. Not now. Not when I’ve lost everything else.”

Maya looked at me for a long moment. “Okay. But you’ll throughout today. Deal?”

“Deal.”

We finished the movie. Started another one. I cried through the happy ending, then laughed at myself for crying, then cried some more.

Outside, the sun set over Brooklyn. The apartment grew dark except for the glow of the laptop screen. Maya made popcorn and we ate it by the handful, butter dripping down our fingers.

“Thank you,” I whispered during a lull between films. “For coming back early. For this. For being you.”

“Always.” Maya leaned her head on my shoulder. “You’re going to get through this. I promise. And when you do, you’re going to be unstoppable.”

I closed my eyes and let myself believe it.

Just for tonight.

Tomorrow, I would go back to Veridian. Back to the one place where I was valued. Where my work mattered. Where Diana Pembroke was more than a disappointment, more than a wallflower, more than the girl who wasn’t enough.

Tomorrow, I would hold on to the one good thing I had left.

I had no way of knowing how soon I would lose even this.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​