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It’s just 30 days.
Farrow will be back where she belongs in no time.
Problem was, being good didn’tfeelgood.
In fact, it felt the opposite.
Celeste Ayi flipped through the catalog, frowning. “Are you sure we want a spring wedding? I don’t think my hair can handle the heat.” She snapped her fingers. “I suppose I could hire a personal hairstylist to follow me during the reception. What a phenomenal investment.”
“Xiao Ting, we get fitted for our dresses in one week.” Mom tsked at the sight of her sister downing her drink in one go. “We need to keep a stable weight. At least until after the wedding.”
I sighed, trudging back to my bed.
It didn’t matter what I said. Mom wouldn’t listen.
I needed to track down Eileen.
T-MINUS 26 DAYS.
Zach Sun:
6:00 p.m. The Grand Regent Lobby.
Zach Sun:
Is there a reason you stood me up, Miss Yang?
Zach Sun:
I know you’re in Potomac, Eileen. My mother informed me.
T-MINUS 25 DAYS.
On day five of my liberation from Zachary Sun, Dallas called in reinforcements.
I groaned at the hanger she tossed at me, sitting on the edge of her duvet. “For the last time, I’m not depressed.”
Truly, I wasn’t.
Since I left Zach’s, I’d vowed to focus on myself. To use these thirty days to sort out my mind and screw my head on straight.
At thirty-three, he had ten more years on this earth to figure out who he was and what he wanted with life. I deserved an extra thirty days.
Plus, now that I knew Eileen loved Zach—way,waymore than she let on—my old arrangement with him felt icky. (Though I did find her manipulations to be as charming as one-ply toilet paper.)
Dallas shoved a hanger at Frankie this time. “That’s what all depressed people say.”
Fair enough.
“Why do we need reinforcements?” I shimmied on the fluffy tulle skirt. “We’re not The Avengers.”
“Speak for yourself. I feel like Tony Stark.” Hettie—the head chef at the Costa Estate and the coolest person to grace this forsaken planet—frowned at the boxy red-and-gold tutu Dallas had crammed her into. “We’re going to the club, not a ballet recital.”
“My sister never got a bachelorette party.” Frankie slung an arm around Dallas’ shoulder. “If she wants us to wear these, we’re wearing these.”
“Thank you, Frankie.” Dallas slipped into a white dress that barely fit over her stomach. “Nothing cures depression like a trip to the club.”
I collapsed onto her mattress, covering my face with both palms. “Not. Depressed.”
