Читать книгу Unconditionally Mine - Nadine Gonzalez - Страница 15

Chapter 7

“Check us out.” Brie pointed to the reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. “We look like a ’90s girl band.”

Sofia was sandwiched between Leila and Brie at the sinks. In their bright lipstick and little black dresses, they matched. Leila was the pretty one, Brie the wild one and Sofia the surly one who wouldn’t make it as a solo artist.

It was a Thursday night and they were gathered at the penthouse of a Brickell high-rise to preview an ambitious new Miami real-estate project. The condominium tower, slated to go up in a few months, would transform the skyline and rival any building in Dubai. It would feature a helipad, a marina and five floors dedicated to amenities. Nick and Leila had come to scope out the competition. Brie had come for the free drinks. And Sofia had come to avoid another night watching TV alone at Miguel’s place, although her stated objective was to recruit new clients.

The trio parted ways outside the ladies’ room with plans to touch base in one hour or so. Leila joined Nick. Sofia was on her way back to a secluded spot on the balcony where she’d spent most of the evening “admiring the view” when Brie grabbed her by the elbow. She shoved a glass of champagne in her hand. For the first time in Sofia’s life, the sight of sparkling bubbles made her sad. Even this event, as glamorous as it was, so glamorous she really should be taking notes (an oyster bar, a vodka tasting station...), had left her indifferent.

“Take a sip!” Brie ordered. “You’ve been lost in your feelings all night. You need to loosen up.”

Brie wasn’t so much Leila’s assistant as much as the bossy little sister Leila had never had. A pretty girl with deep brown skin, hair that changed seasonally—presently cropped short and dyed blue—and a vivacious spirit, she was always the life of the party. Her birthday was no exception. The fact that her birthday was long over made no difference. They’d celebrated two nights ago at a Heat game, but Brie had claimed the entire week as her own.

Sofia offered the standard excuse. “It’s nothing. I’ve got a headache.”

It wasn’t a lie. Since her life had turned into performance art, Sofia wasn’t her best. She was moody, sluggish, bloated and prone to migraines. To make matters worse, there was no one to blame but herself. She’d cooked up the scheme that now consumed her. There were a million ways she could have ended things with Franco, and she’d chosen the single most complicated one. It was against her nature to lie and plot like this. She was a sharp shooter, direct and honest to a fault. The surprising end of her engagement had drawn out a side of her she did not like.