2. Monroe

TWO

MONROE

"I hate you," I say to my best friend Grace as I lean on the doorjamb to her almost empty office. "I hope you and your sexy husband have a hundred Lego-loving children who leave them all over your giant mansion, so you step on one every time you walk."

"That was oddly specific and really mean," she says with a grin. "But Tan is definitely sexy."

Grace got married to her brother's best friend, and quarterback for the Boston Blizzard, after their Super Bowl win a couple of months ago. I may give her shit because she's packing up and leaving the boutique to work full-time as a fashion designer, but I couldn't be happier for her. Just last year, she was in a shitty relationship with an absolute douche nugget because she had given up on ever getting a second chance with Tanner. Thankfully, he got his shit together and returned to Hope Harbor to fix what he had broken, showing Grace what she truly deserves. It may seem like they got hitched in a hurry, but after spending five years apart, who could blame them for wanting to start their life together?

It's been amazing watching them rekindle their love, but standing here as she packs up her office? I have to admit I'm a little sad. Not because she's moving. I know she'll be less than an hour away and I can see her as much as I want. It's bittersweet for me because Grace was my very first friend when I moved to Massachusetts from California two years ago. Actually, she's kind of my only friend.

I go out. I hit the clubs in Boston on the weekends. But I wouldn't necessarily consider the group of girls I do that with my friends . They're more like acquaintances who have the same goals as I do when we're out.

Drink. Dance. Find a hottie to take home.

Rinse and repeat.

That may sound boring and monotonous to some people, but not me. For twenty-four years, every move I made was with a purpose—and it was never for myself. So, when I hit my breaking point and left home, I decided everything I'd do from there on out would be for me, and no one else. For now, that means clubbing on my nights off and banging whoever I want whenever the mood strikes. If there ever comes a day when I get sick of it and decide to settle down, it'll be on my terms .

"Hey, girls," Claire says in a somber tone. She owns the boutique, and as long as I've known her, I've never seen her without her signature ear-to-ear smile. I can tell she's holding back tears, so Grace and I give her our full attention.

"What's wrong?" I ask, helping her over to the chair. She settles in and takes a deep breath before she looks up, wiping the tears that have started to fall down her cheeks.

"I just got back from meeting with my accountant. I may have underplayed some of the numbers to you guys recently. Praya is officially so far in the red, I don't think we can even afford another month of the mortgage here."

Grace stands, rushing over to Claire as she breaks down. I know I should do the same, but I'm frozen in place. This job is the only reason I'm able to take care of myself independently. When I left Rolling Hills, my parents cut me off financially, which I completely expected and had prepared for. After I graduated college, I immediately went to work at a marketing firm in Los Angeles. I stayed under their roof, abiding by their strict rules for as long as I could, pocketing every single dollar I could spare in an account they didn't know about. Even though I hoped to be able to save more, they left me with no choice when they practically sold me away to the richest bachelor they could find.

I know what you're thinking. An arranged marriage? What is this, the eighteen hundreds? And yeah. That's what I said too. Actually, my exact words were "Well, blessed be. Thank you for bestowing upon me a man to show me my place in this world." My dad rolled his eyes, told me I'd never keep a man happy with such a poor attitude, and informed me that I'd be marrying Conrad Astor by the time I was twenty-five if I wanted my share of the Decker family fortune.

I gave it a try. I dated him for as long as I could stand him. But the thing about rich, trust-fund nepo babies like him—they're raised by generations of men who teach them the most closed-minded ways of life. "Women should be seen and not heard." "A wife's place is in the home." "The man is the head of the family. Women aren't our equals."

A girl like me can only tolerate the Stepford Wives bit for so long before she loses her shit.

So I left. Like a literal thief in the night. I packed up everything I could fit into my small BMW and drove as far away as I could. I had enough money saved to make it to the East Coast, where I had landed a job as the marketing manager here at the boutique.

I still talk to my parents. Well, I still talk to my mom. My dad refuses to speak to me until I come back and marry Conrad. I think he'll come around eventually. I'd like to believe he just wants the best for me, but he doesn't realize the damage that always having to be perfect was doing to me. I'm afraid to think of where I'd be right now if I hadn't decided to leave when I did.

"So, what now?" Grace asks. "I know I'll be in Boston, but if I can help in any way, I will."

Claire shakes her head. "I'm afraid it's time girls," she says, defeat evident in her tone. "It's time to close our doors. I'm eighty-two years old. I should've retired long ago, but I just love this boutique so much. I wanted to do it until I couldn't anymore. I had no idea it would be the economy that took us out rather than me croaking."

Grace lets out a quiet chuckle, wrapping her arm around Claire and squeezing her frail body. It takes me several seconds to snap out of my haze, but I look their way as Grace widens her eyes as if to say hello, hug her , prompting me to walk over and join in on their embrace. But internally, I'm freaking the fuck out.

If I don't have a job, I can't pay my bills. If I can't pay my bills, I have to go crawling back to my parents. And that can't happen. Thankfully, I'm good at what I do, so I'm sure I'll find something else, but who knows how long that could take?

I step back, trying my best to remain sympathetic while also attempting to gauge the category of shitstorm I may be in. "How much longer do we have here?" I ask.

"Well," Claire begins. "I spoke with a realtor, and they have someone who's looking to open a day spa. They think this space would work really well for it, and if I let them start making their renovations on the first of the month, I won't have to miss a payment while we go through the process of selling the building to them. So, I agreed."

"That's in ten days," I say, completely shocked. I'm trying to be sympathetic to Claire, considering she's losing her life's work, but I feel like my throat is starting to close up from the anxiety of not knowing what I'm going to do for money. I'll do anything if it means not having to slink back to my parents and Conrad, but a week and a half isn't nearly enough time to line something up.

"I know, honey. I'm so sorry," Claire says as Grace and I back away, giving her some space. "If it puts you in a bad spot with money, I'm sure I can find a way to help you out."

"No," I reply, feeling terrible for worrying her. "I'll be totally fine, Claire. I've been dying to get into freelance marketing so I can travel more. I was scared to make the leap, but I guess this is my sign to give it a shot." It's not a lie. I have been wanting to go out on my own, but I had a good thing going here at Praya. I'm far away from home, in a small town where nobody would even think to come find me—not that they've tried—and I've made enough money to take care of myself without needing any help. Not to mention, I love the ladies here. Claire and her sales manager, Etta, may be in their eighties, but I consider them to be some of my closest friends. And Grace is the most important person in my life. Up until she said she was resigning as our head fashion buyer to design clothes full-time in Boston, I had no reason to even consider leaving here.

But now? Maybe I could find a way.