Harper POV
"Does this look too much?" Mona holds up a string of twinkling lights, her face flushed with excitement and exertion.
I step back from the dining table where I've been arranging white roses and peonies—Mona's favorites—and study her handiwork. Her downtown loft is already transformed, every surface gleaming, candles flickering on every available shelf and counter. The lights would be the perfect finishing touch.
"It looks magical," I tell her honestly. "Like something out of a fairy tale."
She beams at me, and I'm struck again by how radiant she looks. I've known Mona for six years, seen her through breakups and promotions and family drama, but I've never seen her like this. There's a contentment to her happiness that goes deeper than the usual giddy excitement of new love. She looks settled, certain, like she's finally found where she belongs.
"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," she says, starting to string the lights along the exposed brick wall. "Having an engagement party. Being engaged. Sometimes I look at my ring and think it's all a dream."
I climb onto a chair to help her reach the higher spots. "How does it feel? Being engaged?"
"Scary," she admits with a laugh. "But the good kind of scary, you know? Like standing at the edge of a cliff but knowing you're about to fly instead of fall."
I do know, actually. That's exactly how I felt that night in Vegas—terrified and exhilarated all at once, ready to jump into something completely unknown.
"I'm so happy for you, Mo," I say, and mean it completely. "You deserve this. You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are."
She stops stringing lights to look at me, her expression suddenly serious. "Thank you. For being so supportive, for helping with all this. I know you're still dealing with your own stuff, and I..."
"Hey." I climb down from the chair and squeeze her hand. "This is exactly what I need right now. Celebrating something beautiful instead of dwelling on something ugly."
We work in comfortable silence for a while, putting the finishing touches on her perfect party. The whole week has been like this—shopping for flowers and wine, planning the menu, fussing over every detail. It's reminded me why I love event planning, why there's something deeply satisfying about creating magic for the people you care about.
"Nervous?" I ask as she adjusts a candle for the third time.
"Terrified," she admits. "What if people don't like him? What if you don't like him?"
"Mona." I put my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "You're glowing. You've been glowing for weeks. Anyone with eyes can see how happy he makes you. That's all that matters."
She takes a shaky breath. "I just... I've kept this separate for so long. My life with him, my life with everyone else. Tonight they come together, and what if they don't fit?"
I understand her fear more than she knows. There are parts of ourselves we keep separate, private, protected from the world's judgment. The thought of those worlds colliding can be terrifying.
"They'll fit," I promise her. "Because you're the common thread, and you're amazing. Trust that."
Two hours later, I'm standing in front of my full-length mirror, second-guessing my outfit choice. The dress is new—a midnight blue wrap dress that skims my curves without being too revealing. It's elegant but not trying too hard, sophisticated but approachable. Perfect for meeting my best friend's fiancé.
So why do I feel so nervous?
I've been on edge all day, a fluttery anxiety in my stomach that I can't quite explain. It's not about the party itself—I've planned and attended hundreds of events. It's something else, something I can't name.
Maybe it's because this feels like a test. Mona has built this man up so much in her mind, made him so important to her happiness, that meeting him feels weighted with significance. What if I don't like him? What if he doesn't like me? What if I say something wrong and somehow damage their relationship?
Or maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe I'm nervous because meeting Mona's perfect love story forces me to confront the wreckage of my own romantic life. It's hard not to feel like a cautionary tale when you're surrounded by other people's happiness.
I check my phone—fifteen minutes until I need to pick up Mona. She insisted I come get her so we could arrive together, a united front for whatever the evening brings.
Stop overthinking, I tell myself firmly. This is about Mona. Just be happy for your friend.
"You look gorgeous," Mona says as she slides into my passenger seat. She's wearing a cream-colored dress that makes her skin glow, her dark hair swept up in an elegant bun. She looks like a bride already.
"So do you. How are you feeling?"
"Like I might throw up," she says with a nervous laugh. "But also like I might float away from happiness. Is that normal?"
"Completely normal." I pull away from her building, heading back toward her loft. "Just remember to breathe."
The drive is short, but Mona fills it with nervous chatter about last-minute details. Did she buy enough wine? Should she have hired a caterer? What if people don't mingle? I make soothing noises and promise that everything will be perfect, but her anxiety is contagious. By the time we park, my hands are slightly shaky.
"Ready?" she asks as we climb the stairs to her loft.
"Ready," I lie.
The party is already in full swing when we arrive. The space looks even more magical with people in it—friends and coworkers clustered around the kitchen island, someone laughing by the windows, the soft jazz music creating the perfect backdrop for conversation. It's intimate and warm, exactly what Mona wanted.
"Harper!" A voice calls out, and I turn to see Jessica from work waving at me. "You look amazing. This whole setup is incredible."
I smile and accept her hug, falling into the familiar rhythm of social interaction. This is what I'm good at—working a room, making conversation, ensuring everyone feels comfortable. For a few minutes, I almost forget my nerves.
"Have you met the man of the hour yet?" asks David, one of Mona's college friends.
"Not yet. I'm waiting for the official introduction."
"He seems great. Very charming, but in a quiet way. You can tell he absolutely adores her."
Something warm spreads through my chest at that. This is what matters—that he loves Mona the way she deserves to be loved.
I'm chatting with a group by the window when I hear Mona's voice cut through the conversation.
"Excuse me, everyone! Can I have your attention for just a second?"
The room quiets, all eyes turning toward Mona, who's standing by the fireplace with a champagne flute in her hand. She's practically vibrating with nervous energy, but her smile is radiant.
"I just wanted to thank you all for being here tonight. You're our closest friends and family, and having you here to celebrate with us means everything." She pauses, looking around the room at all the faces turned toward her. "I know I've been secretive about this relationship, and I appreciate your patience with me. But I couldn't wait any longer to share this incredible man with all of you."
My heart starts beating faster for reasons I can't explain. There's something about this moment, about the way anticipation has suddenly thickened in the air, that makes my palms sweat.
"Everyone," Mona continues, her voice bright with happiness, "I'd like you to meet my fiancé."
She reaches for someone's hand, someone standing just out of my line of sight behind a cluster of people.
"This is Nico."
The group in front of me shifts, and suddenly I can see him clearly.
Time stops.
The champagne flute slips from my nerveless fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a crash that seems to echo in the sudden silence. Crystal explodes across the floor, golden liquid spreading in a pool around my feet, but I barely notice.
It's him.
Dark hair that I've run my fingers through. Strong jaw that I've traced with my lips. Those same impossibly dark eyes that looked into mine as we moved together in the golden light of a Vegas hotel room.
Ni. Nico?
Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
He's staring at me with the same shock I must be showing, his face gone pale beneath his olive complexion. I watch his lips part slightly, see his chest rise and fall with what might be panic or disbelief or both.
The man I made love to in Vegas—the stranger who saw me more clearly than anyone ever has, who promised me magic and delivered it completely—is standing in my best friend's living room with her ring on his finger.
"Oh my God, Harper, are you okay?" Mona's voice seems to come from very far away. She's rushing toward me, concern replacing the joy on her face. "Did you cut yourself?"
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stare at Nico, at the man who was supposed to be a beautiful memory, nothing more.
He hasn't moved, hasn't looked away from me, and I can see the same devastating realization hitting him that's currently destroying me from the inside out. This can't be happening. This cannot be happening.
"I'm sorry," Mona is saying, kneeling to pick up pieces of broken glass. "I should have warned everyone I was about to make a big announcement. I didn't mean to startle you."
"I just... I'm sorry, the glass, I should help—"
But I can't stay here. Can't stand in this room with Mona's happiness and Nico's stricken face and the weight of what we've done pressing down on me like a physical thing.
"I need to..." I back away from them both, my voice breaking. "Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom."
I flee toward the back of the loft, pushing through the crowd of concerned faces, ignoring the worried voices calling my name. The bathroom door slams behind me, and I turn the lock with shaking fingers.
Only then do I allow myself to fall apart.
I sink onto the closed toilet seat and bury my face in my hands, sobs tearing from my chest with a violence that terrifies me. This isn't possible. This can't be real. The universe isn't this cruel, this twisted, this impossibly unfair.
But it is real. Nico—my beautiful, mysterious man is engaged to my best friend. The man who made me feel alive again, who showed me what it meant to be truly seen, belongs to someone else. To Mona.
And I might ruined everything.
The sobs come harder now, racking my entire body. Through the bathroom door, I can hear the party continuing—muffled conversation, someone asking if I'm all right, Mona's voice explaining that I must have had too much champagne.
If only it were that simple.
How am I going to look at Mona's glowing face and not see the betrayal I've already committed? How am I going to shake Nico's hand and congratulate him on his engagement when I can still feel his touch on my skin?
How am I going to live with this?
A soft knock on the door makes me freeze.
"Harper?" Mona's voice is gentle, concerned. "Honey, are you okay? Do you need anything?"
I close my eyes and try to find my voice. "I'm fine," I manage, though it comes out thick and broken. "Just... give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need. I'll get you some water."
Her footsteps retreat, and I'm alone again with the devastating reality of what my life has become.