Do you believe in love at first sight, or just believe it to be a myth based upon hopeless romantics working to perpetuate it? Is it really possible to use an algorithm to find your soulmate or is it a way of talking approximately compatibility? I used to believe that love was a feeling, I did not think it could be weighed or measured. However, that was until I met Marcus Richardson, a man who thought he could simplify the equation of love. I was a ghostwriter of wedding vows, but I was hired to make Marcus sound romantic, and what I got was the front row seat to the most unlikely love story of the century. Sparks fly, tempers flare and we all discover one undeniable truth-the more we bang our head against the issue of love, the more obvious it becomes that Marcus has data but I have proof-the woman he couldn't be happier to have found wasn't the woman his algorithm chose. This is a one that's challenging everything he thought he knew.
Chapter 1 Just another love story
Sophia POV:
I step out onto the balcony railing and stand there leaning against it, listening to distant humming from wedding guests pouring out of the ballroom behind me. The Grand Rose Hotel's manicured gardens stretch over the city skyline and its golden lights flicker on the deep navy sky. I exhale and bring in the sweet and cool night air, cutting through the residue of roses and champagne.
My best friend and occasional voice of reason; Tessa Carter shows up to my side with two flutes of champagne in hand. She offers one with a smirk. "To another wedding saved."
The glass I take, and tap it against hers. Barely soothing the tightness in my chest, the crisp, bubbly liquid rises to my ridged throat. "I don't do love stories. I just write them."
Lying her hip on the railing, Tessa snorts. "Oh, please. You brought life into Ethan Wallace's vows tonight. That magic in there was some Nicholas Sparks-level magic."
I roll my eyes. "Not magic. Just good storytelling."
I watch as Tessa takes a sip of her glass and takes the red lip away from her mouth. It doesn't seem like nothing to you. "Most people would kill for the power to put raw, terrified emotions in a poetic form."
I shrug. "It's a skill set. Like accounting. Or plumbing."
Tessa has a dramatic gasp. "Did you just compare your skill to plumbing?"
"Same energy," I say. "They're both to become a fixer for other people's messes."
She shakes her head, amused. "You're impossible."
I smile small, but still, it never shows in my eyes. I, for example: was outside that ballroom, while everyone was inside, drunken and glowing under the soft chandelier lights, and I was outside just staring at the skyline and feeling like a fraud.
For these hundred guests wiping away their sentimental tears, for tonight I had made love feel real; for tonight I had done that for Ethan Wallace and Madeline Reed. But for me? It's just another job.
It is thrown open to reveal the ballroom doors and a gust of warm air that carries with it clinking glasses and laughter to the balcony. The group of groomsmen is stumbling outside, loose ties and red cheeks alike with the number of champagne refills.
A square-jawed, square-faced fellow, a finance guy, whom Ben earlier introduced himself as, spots us. "Sophia Chen, the genius behind Ethan Wallace's vows!"
I offer a tight smile. "Hardly a genius. Just a glorified ghostwriter."
His glass sloshes as Ben wobbles slightly. "Nah, seriously, those vows? Made half the room cry. I almost cried, hell, I have the emotional range of a goldfish."
Tessa leans in, stage-whispering. "You see? Nicholas Sparks-level magic."
Ben turns to Tessa. "And what do you do?"
Tessa flashes a wicked grin. "Anytime I see Sophia Chen start to drown in existential dread, I ensure that she does not drown in existential dread."
Ben blinks. "Uh... cool?"
Tessa pats his arm. "Very."
I shake my head as Ben stumbles back inside. "You have no filter, huh?"
Tessa shrugs. "Someone's gotta keep you entertained."
I furrow a laugh, through my stomach. The truth of the matter is, that Tessa Carter does keep me entertained. Keeps me grounded.
Inside the reception is lush red velvet and crystal, champagne-sipping couples on the dance floor, chandeliers bouncing back and forth aureate light. By the bar, a group was in animated discussion with well-dressed guests across the room. From here I even hear the conversation.
Data-driven compatibility.
The future of love.
No more heartbreak.
I groan, "- tell me they're not talking about-"
They are," Tessa confirms. "The Love Algorithm."
I roll my eyes. "Tech bro nonsense."
Victoria Sterling, the woman behind the algorithm, turns and glances over at me as if summoned. She's polished, poised, practically dripping in wealth, and is moving towards us with a kind of self-confidence that says she's never wondered about herself one day in her life.
"Sophia Chen," Victoria says, giving a faint smirk. "The vow whisperer."
"Victoria Sterling," I reply. "Romeo wasn't trying to turn romance into a math equation."
Her smirk widens. "Numbers don't lie."
"No," I say, tilting my head. "However, they do not tell the full story, either."
A man in a designer suit laughs. 'I guess I'm looking at the pot calling the kettle black.'
Tessa bristles beside me. "She doesn't fabricate. She translates."
Victoria sips her wine. "Warmer than that would be if love was predictable, right?" If that was removed, doubt, heartbreak, risk...?"
I set my glass down. "Let me ask you something. If there were algorithms involved, if there was data, then why in the world would people who 'are a perfect match' still break up?"
Victoria studies me for a long time before she finally nods at me the tiniest bit. "Touché."
"All right Sophia Chen, it's nice talking to you. You should try the love algorithm, who knows it might bring your perfect match to you."
After that, I don't feel victorious. I don't bother to change it, I just take another sip of the champagne.
As I leaned against the table at the bar, I watched her leave the wedding.
The night winds down. It's time to see if anyone might have left me a voicemail once more, and I turn to my phone. Then comes the last dance between the bride and groom, and now the guests are filing out.
A new email sits in my inbox.
New Client Inquiry: Marcus Richardson
The name means nothing to me. Just another groom in need of the right words.
However, I can't help but feel my stomach twist.
Tessa peeks over my shoulder. "Who's Marcus Richardson?"
I have no idea.
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