The Worst Best Man
Page 30
My heart is drumming against my chest. So much of what Lina’s saying echoes the conversations we had. Weeks ago, I described Lina’s perfect match. That person would be full of life like Lina’s family. That person would adore Lina, make her take down her bun from time to time, get her frustrated, but only make her cry for the sappiest reasons. Natalia told me that person was Lina’s worst nightmare, and now I understand why. Lina wouldn’t be able to hide behind her tough exterior with that person. That person would see the real Lina—like I have. And yeah, Lina would be vulnerable, but she’d also be open to love.
The implication of all this reveals itself like a spotlight suddenly brightening all the shadowy corners in a dimly lit room. Andrew wasn’t that person. And that’s precisely why she wanted to marry him. She didn’t love him.
But even if Lina did love Andrew at some point, she certainly doesn’t love him now. She just said so herself. Love means breaking down your walls for the person who’s willing to scale them. Andrew never tried. But I did. Because I am that person for her.
In the end, it doesn’t matter if I’m Lina’s first, second, or fifteenth choice; what matters is that I’m the right choice. And the onus isn’t on her to prove that I come first in her life. No, the onus is on me to prove that I’m the best man for her. Every day. For as long as she’ll have me. If she’ll still have me.
Lina
I lift my bubbly in the air. “So let’s raise a glass to Paolo and Natalia. May your days be filled with love and your nights be filled with comfort.”
“And sex,” Natalia calls out before she takes a healthy swig and plants a loud kiss on Paolo’s lips.
The guests laugh and the DJ spins a pagode song that gets people out of their seats. This style of Brazilian music is mid-tempo and tends to attract those people who aren’t in the mood to shake their hips at superspeed in the way that samba requires.
I stroll over to my table as people rush past me to find space on the dance floor. When I reach Max, he stands and holds out his hand.
I take it without knowing what he wants or where we’re going. “Hey.”
“Can we talk?” he asks, not returning my greeting. His expression is tight and his voice is urgent. “Somewhere quiet?”
“Sure. There’s a rooftop garden. Want to go up there?”
His features relax. “That would be great.”
As we climb the two flights to the roof, I struggle to catch my breath. I poured a lot of emotion into that toast and now I’m drained.
Max pushes open the steel door leading to the garden and gestures for me to go out before him. Plenty of greenery fills the space and a few flower beds add a pop of color. The couches and chairs in the center of the garden are inviting, but I’m drawn to the ornate wrought-iron railing along the perimeter.
I drift over and Max follows.
“So what do you want to talk about?” I ask.
Max shakes his head, then peers at me. “I want to talk about the fact that I’ve been a pigheaded fool.”
Oh, all righty, then. I raise a brow. “Go on. The floor is yours.”
“I told you that I couldn’t be your second choice. Said there was too much history between Andrew and me to get past it. But I was wrong. Totally and completely wrong. It doesn’t matter if I’m your first or hundredth choice as long as I’m the right choice. And I am, Lina. I swear it. I’ll scale your walls to show you how much I care. And I’ll take every vulnerable part of you and handle it with care. I fucked up. I know this. But if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my days proving to you that I’m your person. Because I love you.”
Oh God. I’m going to bawl, and I don’t even care. The tears are there, waiting for my permission to drop. So I let them. Because Max loves me. This beautiful, smart, charming man who’s been attuned to me from day one loves me. And that’s worth a few tears.
He bridges the distance between us and caresses my cheek. “Let me in again, baby. Let me be the one who’ll have your back. The one who’ll never judge you. The one who’ll adore you, and get you to let loose.” He swipes his thumbs under my eyes. “The one who’ll only make you cry for the sappiest reasons.”
My heart is hammering against my chest as if it’s trying to answer for me. But I’m happy to let my voice do the heavy lifting here. “I’ll be honest: You’ve always scared me. By putting my trust in you and in our relationship, I’m exposing myself to the kind of hurt that I won’t recover from easily. But I think you’ve earned that place, and I’m ready to take that leap. Because you’ve challenged me to think about the shield around my heart and who deserves to get past it. I’m certain that you’re my safe space. That I can be exactly who I am with you, and you won’t judge me for it. You’ll actually love me for it. And I want to be that safe space for you, too. When you’ve had a terrible day or something’s gone wrong, I want you to think of me and my arms as your place of comfort. Because I love you, Max, and I want to be with you, too.”
He squeezes his eyes shut for several seconds. When he opens them again, they’re bright and glowing with affection, as if he’s envisioned what comes next and likes what he sees.
“And just so we’re clear,” I say. “You’re neither my first choice nor my second choice. You’re my only choice.”
“Lina.”
There’s so much emotion packed into that one word. It’s as though he’s added a new entry in the dictionary for it: Lina, noun: my love, my future.
And with a smile that makes my heart gallop, Max pulls me into his arms and sweeps his lips across mine. His mouth is both enticingly soft and masterful as we seal our new status with a kiss. We’re in love, and we’re together, and I couldn’t be happier to discover where we go from here.
Remembering where we are, I settle further into his embrace and say, “To be continued, right?”
He presses his lips against my forehead. “To be continued forever.”
The sound of someone sniffling pulls us apart. I turn to see my mother, Tia Viviane, and Tia Izabel by the steel door. Tia Izabel dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. My mother, who’s wearing a triumphant smile, puts her hand out in front of Tia Viviane. My aunt grumbles while she fishes inside her purse, then she slaps a twenty-dollar bill in my mother’s hand.
My mouth falls open. “Mãe, you were betting on me?”
She shakes her head. “No, never, filha. I was betting on Max.”
He leans over and whispers, “Your mother’s a smart woman.”
She certainly is—and as to this wager, I can easily follow her lead. The odds may not have been in his favor weeks ago, but from this moment forward, I’ll bet on Max any day.
Acknowledgments
Writing rom-coms is never easy—what’s considered good humor is entirely subjective and sometimes dick jokes fall flat—but writing rom-coms when the world is on fire is especially hard. It’s an endeavor that requires discipline (because rationing your social media consumption is a must), an ability to focus for an extended time on spreading joy despite the sadness around you, and the enthusiastic assistance of a kick-ass support group that totally gets what you’re trying to do. Oh, and you need yummy snacks—lots and lots of yummy snacks. Note also that the people in your kick-ass support group often prevent you from falling down the social media rabbit hole (“Mom, are you on Twitter again?”), bring you snacks (“What? You’ve never had a Krispy Kreme doughnut? We must fill that gap in your foodie journey, STAT!”), and are themselves experts in bringing joy to your life (keep the hilarious GIFs coming, Sarah). All this to say, the people in my support group deserve a mountain of thanks for their part in putting this book in readers’ hands. So here’s to the amazing individuals, named and unnamed, who are in my support group, and to the following people, who deserve an extra-special shout-out:
My husband: As I write this, you’re driving the girls to school, two weeks after having foot surgery, because I need to get these acknowledgments to my editor this morning. That sums up the support you’v
e given me over the years. You’re one of the finest men (in both senses of the term) I’ve ever known, and I’m so blessed to have you in my life. Love you always and in all ways.
My older daughter, Mar-Mar, who kept me company when I was holed up in my office as I wrote and edited this book, held my hand as I wrestled the opening sentence into submission (yes, this was a thing), and contributed to the brilliant cover concept: Your check’s not in the mail, but you will be compensated—in snacks and hugs. I adore you.
My younger daughter, Nay-Nay, who volunteered to bring me coffee as needed, left Post-its with random facts in my office for reasons that still escape me, and cheered me up whenever I was feeling down: You are one of the sweetest girls I know, and yes, I’m totally biased about this, but I make the rules here. End of.
My mother: Mãe, I didn’t need to be reminded of all the reasons you’re my inspiration, but it’s nice to have them memorialized in a book. Eu te amo muito.
My superagent, Sarah Younger: I’m so lucky to benefit from your badassery. Thanks for being in my corner, knowing just how to handle every situation, and helping me grow as a writer and a person.
My fabulous editor, Nicole Fischer: Thanks to you, my word salad is now a book. See? I was right when I said you were a magician. Your guidance and patience are always appreciated, and your LOLs always make me smile.
My prima, Fernanda, who suffered through a million questions about Portuguese accent marks and spicy Brazilian foods: It means so much to me that you were willing to jump in and help at a moment’s notice. Love you, mulher!
My writing partner in crime and friend, Tracey Livesay: Our phone calls, DMs, and texts got me through some rough days. I hope I did the same for you. I’m so glad you’re my “oh honey no” person.
My Romancelandia compatriots—My #4Chicas posse (Priscilla Oliveras, Sabrina Sol, and Alexis Daria), Olivia Dade, the #BatSignal Ladies, and the #STET Crew: Thanks for checking on me, challenging me, and cheerleading for me. Mwah!
My beta readers—Ana Coqui, Soni Wolf, and Susan Scott Shelley: This book is stronger than it would have been had I not relied on your invaluable feedback. I can’t thank you enough.
Liz Lincoln: A million thanks to you for stepping in and being the extra set of eyes I desperately needed.
And finally, to all the wonderful people at Avon/HarperCollins who have championed and continue to champion my books: You’re the only A-Team I recognize.
The Wedding Crasher
Don’t miss Mia’s next sassy, sexy rom-com . . .
THE WEDDING CRASHER
Dean’s story is coming early 2021!
About the Author
MIA SOSA writes funny, flirty, and moderately steamy contemporary romances that celebrate our multicultural world. A graduate of the University of Pennsylvania and Yale Law School, Mia practiced First Amendment and media law in the nation’s capital for ten years before trading her suits for loungewear (read: sweatpants). Born and raised in East Harlem, New York, she now lives in Maryland with her college sweetheart, their two bookaholic daughters, and one dog that rules them all.
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By Mia Sosa
The Worst Best Man
Love on Cue
Acting on Impulse
Pretending He’s Mine
Crashing into Her
The Suits Undone
Unbuttoning the CEO
One Night with the CEO
Getting Dirty with the CEO
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
the worst best man. Copyright © 2020 by Mia Sosa. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
Cover design and illustration by Nathan Burton
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition FEBRUARY 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-290988-6
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-290987-9
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