Part One
Marlow
Okay. Before we dive in, let’s get one thing straight — thisisa Christmas love story. A beautiful one, in fact.
But, before we get to the part with the magic and mistletoe, we need to go back. Because what started as something silly and downrightridiculous, somehow managed to unravel the lives of four people in ways none of us saw coming.
I’ll go first.
Prologue
Marlow
One month ago in Las Vegas
I knew it. Iknewit! I fuckingknewit!
I’m standing outside one of Las Vegas’ newest and most exclusive clubs, where I’m supposed to be celebrating my childhood best friend’s bachelorette party. Champagne, dancing, bad decisions—the works.
But, no. Instead of partying, I’ve been pacing the damn sidewalk in stilettos, because my phone has been blowing up with call after call from an unknown number.
Finally, after the sixth one lights up my screen, I cave and answer.
And who is it?
Myex-boyfriend’s childhood best friend.
You know the one. The one he swore up and down wasjust a friend. The one who always said, “babe, it only looks like we’reclose because we grew up together,” every time I made a comment about how she was always around. The one hegaslightme about her not liking me for a year because, according to him, I was “just jealous” and “insecure” and only a truly mature woman could handle their friendship.
Yeah. That one.
She’s pregnant.
And because life is apparently a soap opera,Young and the Dickless, she’s decided to call me and tell me about it.
Her whiny, high-pitched voice oozes through my speaker. “I’m really sorry you had to find out like this, but I just feel like…women should stick together. You know?”
“Sorry!” I yell into the phone. “Were you sorry the countless times you were offering your vagina up to my boyfriend, you cantankerous cunt?”
A group of guys stumbles past, bumping into me. One of them smirks, clearly clocking my mood. “Chill out, babe. This is Vegas!”
I roll my eyes. “Sohelpful, that one,” I mutter under my breath sarcastically.
I am not normally this feisty, nor would I ever curse someone out while standing in stilettos on a sidewalk. But sometimes a girl hits her breaking point. That moment where she realizes that playing nice, smiling through the bullshit, and being the “good girl” has gotten herexactlynowhere.
And let’s be clear: I’m supposed to be havingtheweekend to end all weekends. One last wild, unforgettable, maybe-regrettable hurrah before I trade in tequila shots and spontaneous decisionsfor early mornings and professionalism. Because next week, I start my new job with the Atlanta Strikers Soccer Club.
So really... what better place to make a few questionable, possibly life-altering decisions than three thousand miles from home?
Jillian’s still yammering through the phone. “Okay, I don’t know what a... a cantankerous is, or whatever, but—”
“Save it, Jillian. You didn’t call me out of sisterhood or solidarity or whatever fairytale bullshit you’re selling yourself tonight. You called to gloat. To tell me you finally got what everyone already knew you wanted—you got Jeremy. Congratulations. May the four of you live happily ever after.”
She gasps. “Four? I’m not having twins!”
I let out a cold laugh. “It’s cute you think you’re gonna break him up with his mama!”
Then I hang up. Hard.
