Chapter One
PENNY
As I stand backstage at Madison Square Garden, my heart is beating hard and fast. I place a hand on my chest, take a deep breath, and will myself to relax.
Relax! How can I relax with fifteen thousand people out there waiting for me?
They have come to watch me cook, decorate, plan a party, and learn to organize their homes. Who would have thought when I started my little YouTube channel eight years ago it would blow up to this scale? Not me, that’s for sure. I used the platform as a creative outlet. Shy and introverted, I was happy pretending no one was watching.
My mother, Elizabeth, who is also my manager, sidles beside me. Her blonde hair is styled in a neat chignon and pearls decorate her neckline. She’s wearing a blue and white floral dress that flares to the knee, and a white cardigan is draped over her shoulders. She radiates true southern elegance.
“Sweetheart. How are you feeling?” she asks. We moved to New York City from South Carolina eleven years ago, and we have both lost the southern accent.
I swallow hard. “Like I’m going to throw up.” You’d think I’d be used to this by now. I’ve been thrown in the public eye and have done multiple presentations and shows—just not to this scale. I’ve filmed a TV series on Netflix, and yet, I’m still that shy and introverted girl.
She fluffs out my hair and brushes the locks off my shoulders. “They are here to see you. Keep it together.”
If that’s a pep talk, it sucks. Although I’m used to it. She’s not one for showing an abundance of loving encouragement. She’s all business and making sure I do it well and don’t screw it up.
“I’ll try,” I say.
Positioning herself in front of me, she adjusts the collar of my navy blouse. Her gaze travels the length of me. If her forehead could crease, it would, because I can see distaste in her expression. “Why aren’t you wearing the Gucci skirt I bought you to go with this top?” she asks. “It’s much more flattering than what you have on.”
Byflattering, she means the skirt she bought makes me look thinner. Will she ever accept that I’ll never be a size two like she is?
“I didn’t think wearing an eight-hundred-dollar skirt to the show was appropriate when I’m teaching an audience how to decorate on a budget,” I reply.
My mother rolls her eyes. “You are successful. There is no shame in showing how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. If anything, wearing expensive clothing tells people they too can be in the position you’re in if they try.”
I don’t have time to argue with her, the MC is revving up the crowd and listing off all my achievements. When she calls my name, my body grows cold, and my feet don’t budge.I can’t dothis. What was I thinking? Madison Square Garden is for rock stars, not little nobodies like me!
Before I can turn and run from the building, my mother nudges me from behind. Breaking my frozen state, I stumble forward.
“Good luck. Don’t forget to…” My mother’s voice gets drowned out in the applause.
As I step onto the stage, the vibrations of thousands of people blast into me. Like I’m being hit by the pressure from a wave. The golden light following me is blinding. I have to stop myself from shielding my eyes. I’ve never been in front of so many people.
An adrenaline hit shoots through me, and I walk to the table set up in the middle of the stage for the demonstration without tripping over my feet. Waving, I smile and pretend I’m the most confident person in the room. Inside, I’m a shaking, scared mess.
Standing at the table, I wait for the audience to sit. I use the moment to take a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I look over the sea of faces, and my chest swells with joy. I’ve done a lot of great things with my career, but a live show at Madison Square Garden tops it all. My career is skyrocketing. I’m getting married tomorrow. My life is perfect. My life can’t get any better than this.
I start the show and talk to the crowd. My body begins to relax. Once the nerves settle, I feel more in control.I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing.
Behind me, the big screen that’s set up to show everyone a close-up of what I’m going to make, flicks on. First up is a cooking demonstration. All the ingredients to make garlic and tarragon butter beef skewers are set up in transparent glass bowls. It’s a recipe that is simple and easy, yet delicious. A dish I’ll be including in my cookbook.
Step by step, I tell the audience what I’m doing. Then something seems to happen to the speakers, because I can no longer hear my voice. There’s a muffling noise. Then a second later, gasps ring out through the arena. Confused with what’s happening, it takes me a moment to understand what’s coming from the speakers. Sounds that have nothing to do with cooking echo through the room. My brain isn’t comprehending how it’s possible. I glance into the wings. My mother is covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes, as wide as dinner plates, are staring at the screen behind me.
A producer comes rushing to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me toward backstage. “Don’t look at the screen,” she demands.
Of course, when she says that, it only makes me want to look. Tugging my arm free, I turn and stare up at the screen. The nausea I felt earlier before walking onto the stage is nothing compared to the waves rolling in my stomach and clogging up my throat. The sounds I’m hearing now make sense. A video is playing of a man jackhammering into a woman bent over a desk. A desk I know well because it’s in my home office. And the man having sex with the woman is my fiancé Darren.
I thought my life couldn’t get better.
I’ve just discovered it can get a hell of a lot worse.
Sitting on the king-sized bed in the penthouse suite of The Plaza Hotel, I flick the red rose petals off the plush bedspread onto the floor and drop onto the mattress, bouncing slightly. My best friend, Claudia Lockwood, sits on a chair next to the bed with a sympathetic look.
“How could Darren do this to me?” I wail into my champagne flute. Almost done with this bottle, I eye the Dom Perignon chilling in the ice bucket.Don’t worry, I’ll get to you soon. Ineed you to make me forget the chaos happening in my life.With Darren’s affair broadcasted in the news and social media, I might need more than two bottles. I scan the room and wince. After the news broke, I didn’t expect to find the room decorated with romantic honeymoon aesthetics. Another reminder of my humiliation. Well, I got what I paid for even though the wedding is dust. “Th-this should be my wedding n-night.” I hiccup.
