CHAPTER 1
POPPY
Want to pretend your life isn’t falling apart? Master the lighting. Nothing masks chaos like the glow of sunrise filtering through your curtains between 7 and 8 AM—suddenly my tired face isn’t oily; it’s luminous. Magic Hour makes even disaster look intentional.
For a moment, I just stand there, watching the light shift across my living room. This is the part I love—the puzzle of it. How shadow and brightness can transform the ordinary into something worth stopping for. When I started posting five years ago, I began a Sunday morning ritual of finding beauty in small moments. Somewhere along the way, the joy got tangled up with metrics and brand deals and the constant awareness of 847,000 people watching.
Eight hundred forty-seven thousand. Down from 863,000 last month, after the collagen powder partnership went viral for all the wrong reasons. My followers didn’t appreciate me promoting a product that gave half of them hives.
I shake off the thought and settle into frame. Three takes to nail the yawn that looks natural. Five for the stretch that shows off my silk pajama set without looking like I’m trying, which of course I am.
I’m always trying.
“Good morning, my radiant friends!” I beam at the camera, voice pitched to that sweet spot between perky and relatable. “Welcome back to PoppyRoseGlows. Today we’re doing my Sunday reset routine, and I’m so excited to share—”
My phone buzzes. I ignore it. Rule number one: never break the fourth wall.
“—my new favorite matcha blend. It’s from this amazing small business owned by—”
Another buzz. Then another.
I keep smiling, but my stomach tightens. Multiple texts in rapid succession means either my agent landed a brand deal, or my mother’s having a crisis. Given that it’s Sunday morning and Mom does nothing before her 10 AM Pilates class—
My phone rings.
“Cut,” I mutter to no one. I live alone.
Violet’s face fills my screen, FaceTiming me with aggressive cheer. My older sister does nothing by halves. Cardiac surgeon. Perfect posture. Townhouse in Beacon Hill. The kind of bone structure that photographs well without ring lights.
I answer because ignoring Violet only makes her more persistent.
“Poppy! Oh good, you’re awake. I can see your ring light—are you filming? Oh, don’t let me interrupt, I just have the most amazing news—”
“I’m not filming anymore.”
“Perfect! So, Chris proposed!” She flashes her left hand. The diamond catches the light.
“Congratulations.” I push warmth into my voice. “That’s wonderful, Vi.”
“We’re thinking of a destination wedding in the Bahamas.” She’s talking at her usual velocity, which means I’m supposed to absorb information, not take part in the conversation. “Small, intimate. Just family and close friends. Which brings me to why I’m calling—”
My stomach drops further.
“—we’re thinking late January. I know it’s soon, but Chris has a conference in the Bahamas in February, so we’d combine it with—” I look down at the ground while taking a deep breath, forgetting she can still see me. “Are you listening?”
“January,” I repeat as I turn back to face the camera. “That’s this month.”
“Three weeks! Plenty of time. Mom’s already freaking out about flowers, but I told her we’re keeping it simple. You know how she gets.” Violet rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she’s being Mom about it, you know.”
“She is great at that, isn’t she?”
“She is. But I told her it’s only fifty people, max,” Violet continues. “You’ll be a bridesmaid. I’m thinking emerald green for the dresses? It’ll look gorgeous with your coloring.”
I’m still processing “fifty people” and “bridesmaid” when she says it.
“Oh, and Preston’s coming. With Serenity. I know it might be weird, but Chris and Preston work together, and it would be stranger not to invite them, don’t you think?”
Preston. My ex-fiancé. The one who left me eight months ago for a yoga instructor named Serenity—Serenity! I mean, if you’re going to ditch me, please don’t do it for a Serenity. Especially someone who doesn’t believe in processed sugar or monogamy—that is until she met her perfect match. And it turns out, his perfect match, too. Not mine, despite the ring and the weddingvenue deposit and the two years I spent pretending I didn’t notice him pulling away.
