Prologue
Idescended the stairs of the Blasiago Luxury Hotel in my emerald Gucci stilettos and matching bag, popping perfectly against my plum-colored, tight-fitted Schiaparelli dress and long flowing wavy red hair. My diamond jewelry reflected against my pale skin. I had been tanning all summer, but never to a point of changing my complexion too much. I preferred my tan without the overbaked look.
Paired with my flawless makeup, I knew I was looking fabulous. The envious stares of the female guests, combined with the lustful glares from the surrounding men (even the ones with dates) confirmed as much.
The restaurant and bar were around the corner from the glamorous stairway—meant to give women a chance to show themselves off to the crowd before settling in for dinner. The walls were lined with lush greenery and fountains backed by neon lights. It was one of the most Instagram-worthy places on earth, but I didn’t join in with my friends when they stopped to take selfies in front of the most photogenic spots. My mother always taught me to maintain a certain level of mystery, so I steered clear of those kinds of displays. I preferred to wait to be tagged in others’ photos. It kept me from looking like I was trying too hard.
And my friends would never hesitate to tag me, even if I didn’t really know why they looked up to me so much. They were a collection of designers, models, actresses, and top tier executives of multi-million dollar companies. They had titles. I was nothing more than an heiress, even if I did fit in seamlessly with the rest of the group. Maybe it had something to do with how often I footed the bill on our extravagant outings. Or the celebrities I had on speed dial in my contacts list.
Fabulous look, fabulous place, fabulous friends. All with a fabulous price tag that I didn’t have to bat an eyelash at. It was just another night in my life. I had it all, right? Well…The problem with having it all for so long was that after a while, it started to feel like less. I was growing tired of all the same old places and people. Even if we were jet setting around the world—never wearing the same thing twice, much less eating in the same place twice. It was all starting to look the same. It was all becoming too predictable.
These were the kinds of feelings my mom never warned me about. As an upper class socialite who never worked beyond organizing charity events for the fun of it, my mom raised me well. She taught me everything she knew—how to be graceful, alluring. She taught me how to spend money well (which according to her just meant spending a lot of it and always treating yourself to the best money could buy) and how to exude an air of “rich and classy.”
Maybe if she was still alive, she could have told me what to do when it all started to feel empty.
Not that my new feelings of discontentment slowed me down any. I let my friends cajole me into night after night, trip after trip, of flaunting our lives for everyone to envy. That night was no different. Until we settled into our VIP booth and were soon approached by what my friends deemed to be one of the hottest men on earth.
“Hey, aren’t you that Heartstring chick? Isabella?” He flashed his perfect white teeth. Judging by his muscular body and designer suit, I pegged him for a professional athlete of some kind.
“Isabella Landson,” I smiled tightly, extending my hand for him to kiss.
“Got a hot date lined up for tonight?” he grinned.
“Of course I do,” I yawned, already browsing the menu.
“Well, if it doesn’t work out…I’m right over there at that table.” He flicked a card out of his wallet and scribbled something on it before handing it to me. “And that’s the suite number I’m staying in.”
My friends whistled and howled as he walked away. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Phew, girl. He was hot!” Miranda commented, watching his butt from across the room. “What’s the deal with this Heartstring thing anyway?”
“I missed something,” Veronica leaned in, looking eager to hear more. “Heartstring? Like the dating app?”
“It was all Jack’s idea,” I groaned. “And believe me…when stuff like that happens, I regret agreeing to it more than ever.”
Miranda looked at the gorgeous guy, still smiling at me from his table, then back to me. “Oh sure. I feel so sorry for you,” she teased sarcastically.
My brother, Jack, had been a business consultant since college—and a good one too. The kind that got to fly all over the world to luxury resorts while he worked without spending a penny of our inheritance. At least he did until his old highschool buddy, Lucas Meadows, convinced him to come on at his company full-time. It helped that Jack wanted to shack up with Lucas’s sister, Jada.
“He doesn’t think I have enough to fill my time,” I explained. “So he ropes me into crap like this stupid campaign with Heartstring. He thought even if I didn’t find love or whatever, it’d at least give me something to do.”
“Yeah…so…how’s it going?” they asked with eager, expectant smiles.
I paused for a moment before replying, “It certainly gives me lots of someonesto do.”
They erupted in laughter and applause, swooning with envy. They would have loved to be put on a pedestal as rich single ladies—plastered all over the internet as Heartstring’s poster child for what people might find on the app. Me telling them what they wanted to hear only fueled their admiration for it all.
But the truth was, I hadn’t slept with a single person I met through Heartstring. For one, being such a prominent and featured user—I was terrified that I would be targeted by serial killers and date rapists. Even with Jack’s strict rules and protection to prevent such a thing, I had yet to meet anyone who could hold my interest for longer than dinner and a drink or two.
“So will you go see Mr. Hottie over there after dinner? Or are you holding out for one of your Heartstring dates?” Veronica asked.
I put on my classic indifferent and breezy expression. “Who knows what could happen. The night is young.”
“Cheers to that!” Miranda shrieked, lifting her glass in the air.
They cackled like hyenas as we toasted. Conversation quickly devolved into shallow talk about all the hot guys in the hotel bar that night, or stories from some of their recent one night stands. I used to be just as boy crazy as the rest of them. Until I had so many boys that they all seemed mind-numbingly boring.
As they talked, I found myself drifting off into the background. I silently sipped cocktails and tried to force a smile when they expected it. Deep down, I was bored. And even worse, I was lonely. It was one thing to be lonely when you were actually alone. But it was another thing entirely to be lonely while surrounded by people.
