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ChapterOne
I stood in the middle of my Los Angeles apartment, the morning sun casting fragmented shadows through the blinds, dissecting the chaos of blueprints and papers strewn across my rustic second-hand coffee table. The well-worn wood was barely visible beneath the layers of fabric swatches, paint chips, and scribbled notes. Mugs of half-drunk coffee from yesterday (or was it the day before?) served as paperweights, a testament to the countless nights spent poring over every detail of my projects.
Really, my entire apartment bore the marks of a life tethered to ambition. Once a pristine canvas of minimalist design, the walls now bore the weight of architectural drawings and mood boards, their corners curling slightly as if reaching out for acknowledgment.
But I wasn’t thinking about thebiggestproject of my career like I should have been. No, no, I was too preoccupied with the forwarded Instagram post mocking me through the space and time of the InterWeb.
I had to do a double take when my best friend Willow sent it to me, of course, because of the ridiculous costumes. But no, that was Charlie, my boyfriend, dressed as a—was that a wrestler?? Had to be. Who else wears gold leotards?—holding a young woman in a goldlamébikini. I tilted my head and studied her again. Blonde, like me, but much more straight-out-the-bottle platinum than the mosaic of honied shades I pay a Hollywood salon way too much for. And if I’d ever wondered how much filler one mouth could take, I think she might hold the answer. I thought I recognized her from a recent company event I’d attended with Charlie. Kate or Katie or Kassy or something banal.
The annual sales conference in Austin, TX ladies and gentlemen. (Honestly, what kind of grown-up adult work event does costume parties? Or was that just my mounting bitterness talking?)
I stared at the photo, both of them glassy-eyed, cheeks pressed together, his hand on her glittering backside. She definitely filled out that bikini—I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing. I looked at the profile name. @Kissykatie. I wondered if Charlie knew she’d posted this. He wasn’t on social media, lucky jerk. It was sopathetic to post your life online,he often touted. Oh, sweet irony.
Now, I had to decide what to do with that information. I was both shocked and also not really. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you want to wake up the day you’re leaving for two weeks in Prague. But there was part of me that also realized it was very in-character for him. There had been so many red flags over the past six months Charlie and I had been dating. Too many unanswered texts when he was supposed to be lounging at home. Too many incoming late-night texts when he was lounging with me. I should have known better than to get involved with someone just like my dad—social psychology is such a wench sometimes.
The ruthless hustle and bustle of L.A. streamed in from the streets below—a city that seemed determined to live in eternal chaos. The cacophony of car horns, the distant wail of sirens, and the relentless murmur of a city that never truly slept seeped through the half-open window, an uninvited yet familiar soundtrack to my conundrum.
I set down my phone, feeling weirdly numb. I was hurt. I was embarrassed. But maybe I always knew it would end like that. That’s how relationships went, wasn’t it? They never ended well, especially in the City of Angels, so why bother?
I sipped my black coffee and stared down at the scattered papers outlining the Novák Hotel on the outskirts of Prague’s Old Town. I needed to focus on what mattered—this project. I’d been studying the whimsical structure for weeks now, getting to know every nook and cranny. I drained my coffee mug and instantly craved more. As I did every second of every day lately. Was that a sign I was overworked? I navigated the organized chaos of my apartment, feeling the soft, worn planks of the hardwood floor beneath my bare feet. It was a spacious loft in a converted warehouse, boasting high ceilings and an industrial charm that had been the deciding factor in my decision to rent. But now, the exposed brick walls and ductwork seemed to close in on me. My entire life here in Los Angeles—the physical manifestations of my dreams and ambitions—was closing in on me as of late.
The kitchen was the one space untouched by the disorder that had claimed the rest of the place. A nod to both functionality and design, the pristine marble countertops reflected the morning light, and the chrome of high-end appliances gleamed. It was a space crafted for culinary adventures, yet most nights, it merely housed takeout containers and facilitated quick, solitary meals.
I refilled my coffee and went back to the main room. The sun climbed higher, its rays reaching further into the room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It was a reminder that despite the chaos, there was a certain beauty in the madness.
I glanced at the clock and sighed. It was time to pack for my red-eye out of LAX that night.
My suitcase lay open on my bed like a small island of order amidst the clutter. I meticulously folded each piece of clothing, mentally checking off items from my list. I had two weeks to plan for. Two weeks in the middle of a Czech December—a situation I had no idea how to plan for. I craved control, and even my travel itinerary wasn't spared my compulsive need for organization, so the idea of the unexpected was setting me on edge. I always longed to be one of those free-rolling travelers who could hop a plane with a backpack and a dream and follow the wind. But alas, I was wired far too tightly for that.
I stared at my newly purchased winter gear—puffy coat, shearling-lined snow boots, thick gloves—all recommendations from a popular travel blog. What a departure from the endless summer I lived in. Even in the dead of winter, I usually got by with a light sweater. I was still trying to reconcile the almost comical contrast between the sun-kissed streets outside my window and the snow-dusted cobblestones of Prague that awaited me.
The sound of the front door to my apartment swinging open broke my trance. Willow, my whirlwind of a best friend, breezed into the room clutching an extra tall to-go coffee, which I imagined contained her signature oat milk latte sprinkled with cinnamon.
“I guess we no longer knock,” I said dryly.
“I’m trying to teach you a lesson about leaving your door unlocked. You’re a lifelong Los Angeleno. You should know better, Sienna dear.”
I sighed melodramatically. “It’s just that life gets so boring. Maybe I was hoping to battle an intruder.”
She eyed me up and down as though assessing my merit. “Hmm. I don’t think those little arms would stand a chance.”
I pretended to be affronted and flexed my bicep. “These are Pilates’ arms, thank you very much.
She smirked and eyed the clutter on my table. “Working right up until the last minute, I see.” She picked up a blueprint and squinted at the intricate lines before shaking her head and playfully brandishing a snow globe of Prague in my face. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
I playfully batted away the snow globe, which had, in fact, been a gift from her when I told her I had landed the assignment. “Stop that. I’m trying to focus.”
Willow sighed and set down the globe. “How are you? You know, about Charlie?”
I fiddled with some papers, unable to look her in the eye.
“Sienna—”
“I’m fine,” I said sharply. I exhaled. “I mean, I guess I’m fine. I just—why? You know? Why do people do stuff like that? Lie, cheat?” I shook my head. “Relationships are pointless.”
“Nooo, you just chose a bad one. Not all guys are like that.”
“I’ve yet to see contrary evidence. Prove it.”
