OVERLOOKED TO IRRESISTIBLE

Chapter2: The gallery openings

"Hi, Ethan."

Aria was proud of how normal her voice sounded, like her heart wasn't trying to break through her ribcage. Like six years hadn't just evaporated the moment he said her name.

"When did you get back?" Ethan pulled her into a hug before she could prepare herself. He smelled different. More expensive. But the way he hugged, too tight and too long, that was the same. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

Home. Like New York had been waiting for her this whole time.

"It was kind of sudden," Aria said, stepping back to put distance between them. "I got a job at Meridian Gallery. Started this week, actually."

"That's incredible." Ethan's smile was genuine, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You always said you'd end up in the art world. I'm glad you made it happen."

A waiter passed with champagne, and Ethan grabbed two glasses, handing her one even though she already had one. She took it anyway because her hands needed something to do.

"What about you?" she asked. "Still working for your dad?"

"Yeah. Blackwell Investments." He said it with a slight grimace. "It's not exactly saving the world, but the money's good and my father's finally stopped threatening to disinherit me."

There it was. That self-deprecating humor he'd always used when talking about his family's expectations. Aria had forgotten how much she loved that about him, how he never took his privilege too seriously.

"I'm sure you're great at it," she said.

"I'm adequate at it." Ethan laughed. "But enough about boring finance. Tell me about California. Six years is a long time. You just disappeared."

"I didn't disappear. I went to college."

"And then stayed for three more years without visiting once." His tone was light, but something flickered in his eyes. "I thought maybe you were mad at me or something."

Aria sipped her champagne to avoid answering. Mad didn't begin to cover it. Heartbroken. Humiliated. Desperate to escape the girl she'd been, the one who waited around for scraps of his attention while he dated Sienna.

"I needed a fresh start," she said finally. "You know how it is."

"I really don't." Ethan moved closer, lowering his voice. "One day we were hanging out every weekend, and the next you were gone. I missed you, Aria. A lot."

The words should have felt good. For years, she'd imagined him saying exactly that. But now, standing here, all she could think about was Lauren's voice: They're finally getting engaged soon.

"I missed you too," she said, because it was true even if it was pathetic.

"So." Ethan's smile turned playful. "Tell me about San Francisco. Did you date any Silicon Valley tech bros? Break any hearts?"

"A few." Aria surprised herself with how easily the lie came. "Nothing serious though. Work kept me pretty busy."

That was closer to the truth. She'd gone on dates, had one relationship that lasted almost a year before fizzling out. But none of them had been Ethan, and that had always been the problem.

They fell into conversation easily after that, talking about art and work and mutual friends from high school. Ethan touched her arm when he laughed, stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. An hour passed like nothing.

"God, I forgot how easy this is," Ethan said, finishing his third glass of champagne. "Talking to you, I mean. Most people in my life just want to network or impress my father."

"That sounds lonely."

"It is." He looked at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. "We should have dinner. A real one, not just running into each other at gallery openings. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Tomorrow. Dinner. Just the two of them.

Aria's mind raced. This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? A chance to reconnect, to see if maybe things could be different now that they were adults. But Lauren's words kept echoing: He's still with Sienna.

"I'd like that," she heard herself say.

"Perfect." Ethan pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. I'll text you a place."

She recited her number, watching him type it in. His phone case was leather and monogrammed. Expensive, like everything else about him now.

Ethan's phone buzzed immediately after he saved her contact. The screen lit up with a text preview: "Sienna: Where are you? You said you'd be home by 9."

His expression shifted, something guilty flickering across his face. He quickly locked the phone.

"I should actually get going," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Of course." Aria kept her voice light even though disappointment crashed through her. Of course he had to leave. Of course Sienna was texting him. Nothing had changed at all.

"But I'll text you tomorrow about dinner, okay? I really want to catch up properly." Ethan squeezed her arm, his touch lingering just a second too long. "It's really good to see you, Aria. You have no idea."

He disappeared into the crowd before she could respond, leaving her standing alone with two glasses of champagne and a familiar ache in her chest.

Aria drained both glasses and was reaching for a third when a voice behind her said, "Drinking alone at gallery openings. Bold choice."

She turned to find a man watching her with amusement. Tall, dark hair, probably early thirties. His suit looked like it cost more than her monthly rent, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who'd never been told no.

"I'm not alone," she said. "I'm networking."

"With the champagne?"

"It's a very good listener."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm sure. How's the conversation going?"

"The champagne thinks I should go home and reconsider my life choices."

"Smart champagne." He stepped closer, studying the painting she'd been pretending to look at. "What do you think of this piece?"

Aria glanced at the abstract canvas, grateful for the shift to familiar territory. "Honestly? It's technically impressive but emotionally empty. The artist is showing off skill without saying anything meaningful."

"Harsh."

"True though."

"I happen to know the artist spent six months on this piece."

"Then they wasted six months." Aria met his eyes, refusing to back down. "Time invested doesn't equal quality."

He laughed, surprising her. "You're absolutely right. I've been staring at it for ten minutes trying to feel something, anything."

"That's the problem with a lot of contemporary art. It forgets that technique should serve emotion, not replace it."

"You sound like a curator."

"Junior curator, actually. I just started at Meridian Gallery this week."

"Ah." Something shifted in his expression, interest sharpening. "Charlotte Reed's gallery. How are you finding her management style? Terrifying or just deeply intimidating?"

"Both. You know her?"

"I've invested in a few galleries around the city. Charlotte and I have crossed paths." He extended his hand. "I didn't introduce myself. Rude of me."

Aria shook his hand, noting the expensive watch and calluses that suggested he did more than just write checks. "And you are?"

Before he could answer, someone called out across the gallery. A woman in a red dress waved at him urgently.

"Duty calls," he said, releasing her hand. "Enjoy the rest of the exhibition. And maybe go easier on the champagne. Your liver will thank you."

"I don't take advice from strangers."

"Smart policy." He smiled and walked away, disappearing into the crowd as easily as Ethan had.

Aria set down her empty glass and pulled out her phone to call an Uber. The gallery was getting too crowded, too loud, and she'd accomplished what she came for. She'd made an impression, talked about art, proven she belonged in these spaces.

And she'd seen Ethan.

The Uber ride home passed in a blur of streetlights and traffic. Aria stared out the window, replaying every moment of their conversation. The way he'd looked at her. The way he'd said he missed her. The way his face had changed when Sienna texted.

She was still thinking about it when she trudged up the stairs to her apartment, exhausted and slightly buzzed from the champagne.

A cream-colored envelope was taped to her door.

Aria's stomach dropped before she even opened it. She knew that paper stock. Expensive. The kind you used for important announcements.

She peeled it off and opened the envelope with shaking hands.

The invitation was elegant, gold-embossed lettering on thick cardstock: "Mr. Ethan Blackwell and Miss Sienna Hartley request the honor of your presence at their engagement celebration."

The date was next Saturday. At The Plaza Hotel.

Aria read it three times, the words blurring together. She turned the invitation over and found a handwritten note in Ethan's familiar scrawl:

"Please come. I know this is awkward, but you

're important to me. I want you there."

She stood in the hallway for a long time, holding the invitation and trying to remember how to breathe.