I muffled my tears through my hands, head bent over my desk in my semi-private cubicle.

It didn’t make sense. I had won. Hunter had once again gone for my ideas over those of the Douchebros. Mr. Avery, my boss, had greenlit them too. I should have been happier than I’d ever been in my life. I was finally on my way to the top.

But all I could think about was what I had left behind.

I had steeled myself for the Douchebros’ heckling, and kept an un-amused smile on my face as they harangued me, letting their own immature complaints about a lack of sex and explosions in my concept speak for themselves.

But somehow I hadn’t steeled myself against Hunter’s cool indifference.

He had approved my concept while barely glancing up from his phone.

He hadn’t met my eyes once.

He had walked away in the middle of my attempt to thank him for going with my idea.

His rejection hurt like nothing I had ever experienced before. I felt as if my heart were ripping in two, as if I were drowning, as I were falling forever, as if I had already fallen and broken every bone in my body.

And now he was gone, back on a plane to Virginia, and I was stuck here in D.C. alone with my heartbreak, trying to cry discreetly so no one else would discover how upset I was.

I was counting the hours till I could escape work and go home to family dinner. That’s how bad it was.

* * *

My dad passed me the mashed potatoes with a silent look of commiseration as my mother chattered on. We were both doing our best to get by with the minimum amount of nods and ‘mm-hmms,’ and eventually she would notice and there would be scolding. But for now there was food.

Roast beef and mashed potatoes and braised greens and perfectly toasted rolls were arranged artfully on the best china, on a little pink checkered tablecloth that would’ve done Betty Crocker proud. And it was delicious. Almost enough to make up for the conversation.

“And how often do you find a straight man who’s into historical costuming, I mean really—”

Had I really thought this would be an escape? It was a commuted sentence at best.

Mom hadn’t stopped congratulating herself since she sat down. It was the same old song: I was a huge disappointment, but Paige was perfect and so was her new man, whoever this latest one was who was joining us for dinner soon, and he was going to be the one to make an honest woman of her, and we would all just pretend that Mom hadn’t said the same thing about every other man she’d set Paige up with since junior prom.

I swear, you’d need an archive to keep track of the polite fictions we keep current in my family.

“And so successful, why, Paige will be set for life—”

I wasn’t in the mood for this; not now when I was so heartbroken it was taking all the energy I had to keep from sobbing. I was sure this guy was like all the rest: blandly handsome, a mid-level job in a forgettable corporation, golf on the weekends and a second girlfriend in the Keys. For Paige’s sake, I would smile and pretend to believe that he could really be the one. Inside, my heart would be breaking for her, as well as me.

“I think Paige should go for an off-the-shoulder wedding gown, and daylilies will make excellent center pieces—oh look, there they are!”

The bell rang, and my mother sprang up to answer it.

In the silence that followed, my father topped up my mashed potatoes. I topped up his greens. We gave each other matching looks of resignation, prisoners with extreme cases of Stockholm Syndrome.

Mom bustled back in, grinning fit to burst. She gestured behind her.

“Darlings, let’s extend our warmest welcome to Paige’s new beau!”

I looked up, expecting Bland McForgettable—

And my heart turned to ice, and then smashed into a million pieces.

My beaming sister had come in arm-in-arm with Hunter Knox.