The Happiness Collector

by Crystal King

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Contemporary Fantasy; Romantic Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

In this stunning contemporary fantasy novel for fans of V. E. Schwab and Kaliane Bradley, a historian’s dream job in Italy takes a dark turn when she discovers her employers aren’t exactly human…

After losing her book deal and her academic position, historian Aida Reale needs a new career, and fast. After all, she and her fiancé, Graham, have a wedding to pay for. So when a friend recommends her for an extremely high-paying position at a company called MODA, it’s almost too good to be true. Plus, she’ll get to live in Italy, in a gorgeous palazzo!

Aside from a snooty assistant, a daunting NDA and some very stringent rules about the use of personal technology, working for MODA is a dream come true—at least at first. But the more research Aida conducts for this elusive company, the more things feel off. Not only does her relationship with Graham suffer, but it seems like every site she visits either vanishes or is struck by tragedy soon after she’s been there.

It’s only after a mysterious woman approaches Aida and Luciano, her devastatingly handsome and equally concerned MODA colleague, that they learn the truth—they are just mortal pawns in a game between gods. Now Aida must find answers to the question she's been avoiding: What's really happening to all the happiness she's been collecting…and can she stop the gods’ plans before it’s too late?

Release date: December 2, 2025

Publisher: MIRA Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Prologue

Rome, Italy

1986

A man in a bejeweled black cat mask sidled up to Effie. “You look so happy,” he said in English.

“Always,” Effie replied, used to such compliments. Her own white lace half mask revealed her smile, her best feature, standing out against the deep copper of her skin. Behind the man, the ballroom glittered with the bold fashion of the era—puffy sleeves, cinched waists, and double-breasted suits in daring colors—a perfect backdrop for the annual masquerade ball hosted by a prestigious Roman arts association. She loved masquerades and had attended at least one every year since her first in Venice, lifetimes ago.

The man was slightly taller than her, pale, but with hair the same obsidian color. His eyes—a crystalline blue—mirrored her own rare shade. How curious, she mused.

“I’m Effie,” she told him.

“Damon,” he said, holding out a hand.

He had a firm warm shake. “Damon. That’s an old name.”

“Perhaps I’m an old soul.” He chuckled. “Care to dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Effie let him take her arm and lead her to the center of the crowd, where they joined the other masked dancers gyrating to a Blondie song. The deejay played the popular Italian bands Litfiba and Diaframma, but the hits in English made the crowd most ecstatic: The B-52s, Erasure, and Duran Duran. He was a terrible dancer, worse than most everyone else on the floor, but Effie didn’t mind. He seemed happy, and that made her happy. She loved the vibe of a club, and there was something magical when everyone was masked, bodies twisting and flowing together with the rhythm.

No one seemed to care about Damon’s awkwardness—not a soul gawked or laughed at his strange movements—although Effie was sure some of that was due to his proximity to her. People couldn’t help themselves when she stepped into their periphery. They let their guard down, smiled and laughed more; they loved each other and felt pure, unbridled joy in whatever they were doing. She couldn’t see Damon’s face, but she was sure there was a smile under the cat mask.

After New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle,” Damon took Effie by the hand and led her back to the bar. “I bet you could dance all night. You make me think I could too. But I definitely need a break.” He motioned to the bartender. “Prosecco, per favore.”

Effie grinned. Prosecco didn’t affect her at all, but she delighted in the way each bubble hit her tongue. And she loved Damon’s gallantry. She tried to imagine him pounding down a beer and couldn’t.

“To a wonderful night full of surprises,” he said as they clinked glasses.

“It’s not easy to surprise me.” And truly, it wasn’t. She had witnessed every imaginable courting ritual, their nuances replayed through the ages in endless variations. Yet she found herself amused rather than startled by these familiar displays. She could already see the evening’s end in Damon’s hopeful eyes. But instead of the conclusion he envisioned, she would lean close, her breath a gentle murmur of bliss in his ear, steering him into a car—alone. He would wake in his own bed, cradling a delightful but entirely fabricated memory of their night, unharmed and blissfully ignorant.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he said.

“No challenge.” She

laughed. “Just truth.”

“I’ll take the challenge anyway.” Damon fumbled in his suit jacket for an awkward moment and pulled out a jewelry box.

“You aren’t asking me to marry you already!” It had happened before.

“No, I’d like you to model a necklace for me.”

She raised an eyebrow at Damon. “Model a necklace?”

Damon nodded, his cat mask glinting in the strobe lights. “I’m a jeweler, you see, and having a beautiful woman model my pieces helps them sell even better in the store. You’d be doing me a great favor, Miss Effie. Turn around. Let me put it on you, and I’ll take some photos. The surprise will come when you see yourself adorned in my creation. The bartender has been holding on to my camera for me.” He motioned to the bartender, who pulled a Polaroid camera off the shelf behind him and handed it to Damon.

“Well, well, how could I say no to that?” She gave him a brilliant smile and turned around, pleased at this turn of events—she was truly surprised, and delighted. She lifted her long hair to expose her neck.

Damon draped the thin necklace across her skin, the metal feeling strangely warm when it touched her. He clasped it, then turned her around. Standing back, he began snapping photos with the camera, setting the Polaroid photos on the table in front of her to develop.

Effie smiled for the camera, but something felt wrong—the necklace. It was growing hot against her collarbone. She reached up to touch it, and her smile died.

Damon picked up the first photo and began waving it in the air to help it develop faster. Finally, he held it toward her. She beamed within the fuzzy image, and there, as Effie had feared, she saw a thin gold necklace with two small adders biting a gold ring. Their heads each adorned with a large emerald, their eyes rubies.

For the first time in many an eon, all mirth died within her. The lights in the club darkened, and the music shifted to a dolorous Bauhaus song: “Stigmata Martyr.” There was a crash behind the bar as a server dropped a tray of wineglasses. The world seemed to shrink so it only encompassed Effie and the man. The people beyond them were suddenly irrelevant. Panic took hold of Effie, and she reached for the necklace’s clasp.

“Don’t bother,” the man said. “You know it won’t work. You’re familiar with Harmonia’s necklace.”

 god had approached. But how could someone other than a god have this necklace?

Then she felt it. Her brother’s presence. He stepped out of the shadows, wearing the same cat mask as the man who had her model the necklace.

Her brother gave her a broad smile. “It’s good to see you again, sister. You remember Pandora, don’t you? Like her, my messenger is wrought from gears and dreams.”

Effie’s voice sharpened with her curse. Where had he found an automaton?

“Now, now,” her brother chided, “such language doesn’t suit you. The necklace? Merely a precaution. Consider it insurance. Sending my messenger with it was the only way to ensure you’d accept my invitation.”

He was right. She would never have accepted a gift from a god she didn’t trust, especially her brother. The necklace was burning hot. It wouldn’t mar her skin . . . would it? This was no invitation—it was a kidnapping. “Who wants to meet with me?”

He held out an arm. “I’ll take you there. Come.”

“Do I have a choice?” She seethed. She wasn’t sure she had ever had cause to seethe before. It made her stomach roil uncomfortably.

“Of course, sister of mine. You always have a choice. But, as you know, choices have consequences.”

Effie knew the consequences of wearing Harmonia’s necklace. It had turned the goddess Harmonia and her husband, Cadmus, into serpents. Later, when it had passed to Queen Jocasta of Thebes, she wound up marrying her son Oedipus. And less known to most, after wearing the piece, Anne Boleyn and Marie Antoinette both lost their heads. She had to get the cursed thing off—and fast.

She gritted her teeth and let her brother lead her out of the club, the masked automaton trailing in their wake.

1

December 2018

Aida stared at the email from her publisher hovering on her laptop screen like a digital albatross, the cursor blinking expectantly for a response she didn’t have.

Dear Ms. Reale,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that due to a financial setback, Ovidian is ceasing operations immediately. Unfortunately, this means we will not be able to move forward with the publication of your book. We understand how much work you have put into this project, and we deeply apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Aida wanted to throw the laptop across the room. Why did they choose to send this email on Christmas Eve, of all days?

The news was particularly devastating. After numerous rejections from academic publishers, three months ago she had finally secured a contract with Ovidian, a small but respected publisher known for its niche focus on history and art. Her book about food featured in Italian tapestries was supposed to be her breakthrough, a scholarly work that would boost her reputation. Instead, the sudden closure of her publisher meant her manuscript, which had taken years of research and writing, was now in limbo.

As if that wasn’t enough, she had just completed her final semester of teaching. At the end of the spring semester, the university announced her department would be downsizing due to budget cuts, reducing faculty and course offerings. With the semester over and no new job lined up, Aida was officially unemployed. She had spent the summer and fall applying for positions, but the competition in history departments was fierce, and the loss of her book contract was another blow to her prospects. Now, the reality that she might not have a job in the new year loomed large.

The comforting scent of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, where Graham was attending to the holiday details she couldn’t muster the energy for. “Where are the goblets?” he called out.

“Top shelf in the pantry,” she said, eyes still glued to the screen. “Red box. Can’t miss them.”

A few minutes later, the soft shuffle of feet announced her fiancé’s presence in the doorway of the living room. He had five years on Aida’s thirty-four but looked much younger. With his wavy brown hair and blue eyes that had a boyish charm, he could have just stepped out of a holiday rom-com. He held a glass of mulled wine. “What’s wrong, love? You look like the world just ended.”

“Ovidian is shutting down. They won’t be publishing my book. I don’t know what I’m going to do. This was supposed to help in my job search, but now . . . And with the wedding coming up, how can we afford it?”

Graham’s expression softened, and he immediately crossed the room to sit beside her, handing her the wine. “Oh, Aida. I’m so sorry. I know how much this meant to you.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “But listen to me, we’ll get through this. The job market is tough, I know, but you’re brilliant, and there will be another opportunity out there. As for the wedding, I’ve told you a hundred times that we’ll make it work. We won’t let this ruin everything. We’ve come too far, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll think outside the box.”

Aida leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace easing the tightness in her chest. His words were like a balm, soothing the jagged edges of her anxiety. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” Graham replied softly, running his fingers over her necklace with a little silver star pendant, an engagement gift he had given her that she wore daily. “We’re in this together, for better or worse, remember?”

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. “It just feels like everything I’ve worked for is slipping away.” 

e quiet moment. Aida reluctantly got up to answer it, expecting Graham’s parents to have arrived early. But instead, she found a luxurious black envelope with golden embossing placed meticulously on the welcome mat. No courier in sight, no sign of who had left it. No stamp or address, just Aida’s name printed in gold block letters. When she picked it up, it was quite cold—whoever had delivered it had not kept it in a purse or a coat pocket. There was only a neat line of footprints in a dusting of snow. They came from one direction, up to the town house, then back down the walk and off in the other direction.

Returning to the living room, her curiosity piqued, Aida broke the wax seal and opened the envelope with a sense of anticipation she hadn’t felt in a while. The invitation inside was printed on luxurious paper, embossed with gold lettering that caught the glow of the Christmas lights.

Lady Ozie requires your attendance in the Seaport on December 30th at 11:00 a.m. to discuss a matter of importance to your future. A car will be sent to collect you.

Aida stared at the paper. The elegance of the invitation and the sheer audacity of receiving it on Christmas Eve made it feel like something out of a fairy tale.

Graham peeked over her shoulder. “What’s that?”

“A joke, I think.”

“A joke? Who would do that?”

“It must be a scam. There’s no return address, phone number, or email.” She handed it to Graham.

He looked it over, an eyebrow raised. “Is Lady Ozie related to Ozzy Osbourne?”

Aida chuckled at the ridiculousness of the idea. But more sobering, why would this “Lady” think anyone would agree to hop into a strange car without any other information? Imagining her face on episodes of shows like Unsolved Mysteries or 48 Hours, she shuddered. Aida plucked the invitation out of Graham’s hand and picked up her laptop.

“I think it’s Oh-Zee, not Ah-Zee. Let me put this away and I’ll help with dinner.”

She had just set her laptop—and the invite—on the desk in the alcove off the bedroom when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Digging it out, she saw the text was from Felix, a tour guide in Rome who had quickly become a friend after she met him several years ago when she was researching her book and needed information about specific Renaissance period locations in the city. When he learned she was no ordinary tourist and not only spoke the language but had a strong understanding of Italian history and culture, he had quickly taken to her and happily guided her through the city, sharing his expertise and connecting her to scholars she might not otherwise have had easy access to.

Buon Natale, amica mia! I think someone may reach out to you soon about a job. Rich client of mine, a Lady Ozie.

Aida stared at the envelope in front of her. The gold lettering shone in the gleam of the holiday lights in the window.

A job? Is this a joke? she texted back. Although she desperately needed a job, this seemed too strange to be true.

Felix took a moment to respond and then it wasn’t by text. When Aida’s phone flashed with his video call, she took it immediately.

“Cara! It is much better to see your lovely face. You cut your hair!” Felix smiled through the small rectangle of her phone. His russet locks were tousled and fell over one eye.

“I did!” Aida held her hand up to show off her new shag cut. “I almost went pink but thought it might make me look too young.”

“Ha! You don’t need the pink. The blond looks good on you,” Felix remarked, before briefly pausing to address someone in the room. After the sound of a door closing, he resumed. “My handsome Christmas present,” he joked. “But he doesn’t need to hear this.”

Aida grinned, glad to know he wasn’t alone on the holiday.

“So, this Lady Ozie,” she began. “I received an invitation from her today and I was just about to throw it away. I thought it was some 

kind of prank.”

Felix’s expression grew serious. “No, no, Aida, it’s not a joke. It’s a real job offer. So, this is the thing. I’m not sure if I’ve met Ozie—if I have, I never knew it. One day, I received a letter praising the expertise of my tours and asking if I would give specialized private excursions to anyone who came to me and was referred by her. But I’m not to talk about them to anyone. I’ve been sworn to secrecy about the whole thing. It’s all quite clandestine.”

Aida raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking to me though.”

Felix chuckled. “Indeed, but only because I’ve referred you to Lady Ozie. Despite the rather unnecessary shroud of secrecy, she compensates me at quadruple my standard rate.”

“Wow, that sounds like a nice arrangement. Do you do a lot of tours for her?”

He shrugged. “For the rates she pays, one might expect A-list clientele, but it’s only been a historian from South Africa—a Mr. Johannes Khumalo. The tours I gave him were specialized, primarily more obscure locations. I had to prepare pretty well beforehand, making sure I could get access and that I had all the information he might need.”

“What types of locations?”

“There have been so many, I can’t remember them all. Most recently, Princess Isabelle’s apartment in Palazzo Colonna—a room of extraordinary beauty—and the optical illusion frescoes of Trinità dei Monti convent. Before Lady Ozie’s team canceled, I was preparing to show him the secret rooms of Saint Philip Neri in the Santa Maria in Valicella church. Neri is considered to be a saint of happiness. The spirit of God was said to visit him with a flame that made his heart grow double in size, and he was filled with warmth and thereafter preached joy to his congregation. But not many people have heard of him.”

“A saint of happiness?” Aida could use a bit more happiness in her life.

“That’s right. According to him, ‘A joyful heart is more easily made perfect than a downcast one.’ He believed we should aspire to be joyful and happy.”

“Well, don’t most people aspire to that?” Aida asked. “Unfortunately, the world is pretty good at ripping happiness and joy right out of our hot little hands.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep aspiring to it, no matter how bleak things become. Besides, you don’t really believe that. 

You are the most optimistic person I know,” he said.

Aida didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that her optimism wasn’t exactly brimming over these days. Her money was trickling away, straining under the cost of her upcoming wedding to Graham at the end of May. He was a teacher and certainly didn’t make bank, and now that she was out of a job, her uncertain future didn’t exactly elicit joy.

Felix prattled on. “But back to the historian. The tours I have arranged for him are to strange and beautiful places that most tourists wouldn’t ever know about.”

One of the things that Aida had always loved about Felix was how animated her friend grew when he waxed historical. “So, what does this have to do with me?”

“I had a call very early this morning from Lady Ozie’s assistant. Apparently, the historian is no longer working for her. She was asking if I could recommend an expert on Italy who may need work. Of course, I thought of you. It’s a three-month gig to start, then if the person works out, they will offer a five-year employment contract. I know it might be a stretch for you two . . . moving overseas, but figured it might be worth looking into it.”

Aida’s heart ballooned at the kindness of the gesture.

“She called you on Christmas Eve?”

Felix nodded. “Well, one of her employees did. Everything about Lady Ozie is bizarre, but you know what a guide’s salary is like. She pays so well that I’d take calls from her at three a.m. if I had to.”

“Your Christmas present wouldn’t take kindly to that, I expect,” she teased.

He laughed. “Probably not.”

“Why didn’t you offer to take the job?”

“She’s looking for a historian with credentials, and I don’t have that kind of experience. Besides, I love the work I do and if she keeps paying me extra on the side, I’m happy.”

The prospect of meeting Lady Ozie and conducting hands-on research in Italy was intriguing. Living in Italy was certainly tempting. But it didn’t make much sense to give it any real consideration. Graham didn’t speak Italian, and what job opportunities could a high school physics teacher find there? 

enario and her curious side was keen to know more.

“It’s anyone’s guess. My amateur internet sleuthing has turned up nothing. I like to imagine she’s an eccentric duchess running a secret society of librarians,” Felix offered.

Aida snorted. “You’ve been reading too many novels.”

“Or binge-watching Netflix,” he countered. “What are your plans for Christmas? Where’s Graham?”

“He’s cooking dinner. I should go help him,” Aida said. Just then, the door behind Felix cracked open and a hushed conversation ensued.

“Bedtime,” Felix said, winking at Aida. “Hang in there, cara. And let me know if you meet with Lady Ozie!” He blew her a few air kisses and then ended the call.

---

“Who was that?” Graham asked when she finally joined him in the kitchen. Aida pretended she didn’t notice his irritation as Graham pulled the goose out of the oven and set the steaming pan on a nearby cutting board.

“Felix in Rome. He says hi,” she said. “You know that letter I just got?” She explained the situation to her fiancé.

Graham took off the oven mitts and looked at her. “It sounds really cool, but a job in Italy? I’m confused. Why would Felix suggest that? He knows we’re getting married in a few months, and that I teach.”

Aida shrugged. “I think because the trial period could give me a quick infusion of cash, even if I decide not to take it long-term. It does sound interesting.”

“Interesting? More interesting than me?”

She swatted him on the shoulder and gave him a conciliatory smile. “Don’t be silly.”

Her fiancé laughed and enveloped her in a hug. But as she stared over his shoulder at the steaming goose, she had to admit that a little piece of her wanted to do it. She pushed the thought away and hugged him tight.

The doorbell rang again, but this time it was Graham’s parents, Brennan and Miriam, with an armful of colorfully wrapped presents and a plastic-wrapped tray of cookies. Miriam was the first to step inside, her perfume filling the room with a familiar floral scent. She was a petite woman, her hair gone gray but carefully coiffed, her ensemble stylish in a conservative way.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Miriam said, her lips landing on both of Aida’s cheeks in quick succession. “You look a bit thin. Good thing I brought cookies.”

Aida suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, instead offering a tight smile. “I’m fine, Miriam.”

Brennan was next, a tall lanky man whose stern demeanor was etched into every line on his face. Unlike Miriam, he wasn’t one for effusive displays of affection, but he managed a slight smile and a nod in Aida’s direction. “Aida,” he greeted.

“Graham, darling,” Miriam cooed, turning to her son with a warm smile. “Thank you for hosting us.”

Aida felt a familiar twinge in her chest, the one that reminded her how much his parents didn’t like her, and regularly made subtle digs to make sure she knew it. They’d never approved of her—too academic, not enough connections, not enough money. It was strange and inexplicable, considering Graham himself had a job as a high school physics teacher and they weren’t exactly made of money either. But for some reason, to them, Aida wasn’t a good enough match, and they never missed an opportunity to make that clear.

“Our home is your home,” Graham replied, already angling toward the kitchen with the cookies.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Brennan asked, taking off his coat and scrutinizing the living room as if inspecting it for defects.

“We’ve got a goose, some sweet potatoes, green beans, and a chocolate mousse pie for dessert,” Aida listed off.

“A goose? My, aren’t we fancy?” Miriam remarked.

“It was an old family tradition in my house,” Aida said. “Graham was excited about the challenge. But you know him. Everything he cooks is delicious.”

As she spoke, Aida couldn’t help but think of her own parents, who had passed away in recent years. They had been much older than Graham’s parents and couldn’t have been more different. Where Miriam and Brennan were 

 always judgmental, her parents had been joyful, welcoming, and free of pretense. Aida missed them most during moments like this, when she had to put up with Graham’s family’s constant scrutiny.

Miriam walked over to the Christmas tree, carefully arranging the stack of colorfully wrapped gifts at its base. As she straightened, her gaze lingered on the tree and the room’s decorations, a few with her and Brennan’s names on the present tags.

“Well, everything looks very . . . quaint,” she said, the word hanging in the air like a thinly veiled critique.

Aida bit her lip, a flicker of irritation rising. Miriam’s comments, as always, came laced with judgment, like she had something to prove. Choosing not to respond, Aida gently guided her in-laws toward the dining table, eager to escape the prickling atmosphere near the tree.

---

Unfortunately, the dinner table was a battlefield, with Aida’s attempts at humor falling flat amid awkward silences and strained politeness, while Graham’s jokes drew genuine laughter from Brennan and Miriam. Brennan dominated the conversation, boasting about his role as a municipal court clerk. Miriam, who had also been a teacher—of high school English—offered up stories of her former students who had recently published articles or secured high-paying jobs, each tale an arrow in Aida’s already-thinning armor.

“So, Aida, what’s new with your book?” Brennan asked, as if remembering to include her in the conversation.

“Yes, do tell. When will it be out? It will give you the needed credibility,” Miriam chimed in.

Aida hesitated, feeling cornered. The room seemed to shrink as all eyes turned her way, and she reluctantly responded. “It’s not good news. My publisher folded, so I’m back at square one.”

Brennan frowned, cutting into his goose. “Why can’t you find another publisher?”

“It’s not that easy,” Aida said, her voice tinged with frustration. She didn’t want to get into the details; they’d never understood the nuances 

 of her university career nor cared to.

Brennan seemed like he was going to say something else but thought better of it and took a long draft of wine instead.

Miriam, however, wasn’t ready to let it go. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her tone dangerously close to condescending. “Maybe you should focus less on the book and more on hitting the pavement to find—”

“The book was supposed to help make that easier,” Aida cut in, her voice sharper than she intended. “I am hitting the pavement. But my timing is way off. They’ve already filled faculty positions for spring at most places. Even if I found something tomorrow, I wouldn’t be starting until summer at the earliest, and more likely, the fall. I thought I might find an adjunct position, but I haven’t had much luck. I may try to find something temporary to tide me over while I keep looking.”

“It’s a good idea,” Graham said, putting his arm protectively around the back of Aida’s chair. “But mostly so you keep your mind occupied. Job hunting is such a downer. Maybe Felix had the right idea suggesting something to you.”

“Felix? The tour guide friend of yours in Rome?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, that’s him,” Aida confirmed.

Miriam reached for the bread basket, her expression carefully blank. “I’m sure a tour guide is full of useful career advice.”

At the slight to her friend, Aida clenched her fists beneath the table. She forced herself to relax. “He knows someone who might be able to offer me some temporary work. A bit like a research fellowship.”

Brennan straightened and laid his napkin on the table. “I suppose Graham is right. It is a good idea. You shouldn’t expect Graham to support you both on a teacher’s salary.” He gave a conspiratorial nod toward her fiancé.

The sting of Brennan’s words was sharper than she’d like to admit. Before she could give the heated response on the tip of her tongue, Graham’s voice cut in, firm but calm. “Actually, we’re doing just fine. Aida’s been working really hard, and I’m confident her book will find a new publisher. It was accepted once, so it has a strong chance.” He gave Aida’s hand a reassuring squeeze under the table.

Miriam smiled approvingly at Graham, the warmth

in her expression reserved entirely for her son. “Well, aren’t you lucky to have someone so responsible looking out for you?”

Aida seethed.

Miriam waved her fork at Aida. “Maybe you should hold off on the wedding.”

Simultaneously, Aida and Graham both responded with an emphatic, “No!”

Aida’s heart surged with love. She had mentioned this same idea to Graham when she lost her job, but he understood that her fear wasn’t about the money, but about him not wanting to marry her because she couldn’t pull her own weight. Then, as now, he was adamant that they would find some way to make the wedding work. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she loved him for having such unwavering faith when she did not.

“We would lose too much money on all our deposits if we canceled now,” Aida tried to explain.

“We’re keeping the wedding,” Graham said, his tone clear that the decision was final.

Brennan gave a snort and raised his glass with an air of forced cheer. “Well then, to the future.”

Aida clinked her glass with the others, but the last vestiges of her holiday spirit dissolved as she drained the wine.

---

The following day, Aida showed her friends Yumi and Erin the mysterious envelope. Yumi was Aida’s bestie, a petite Japanese woman with striking features and dark expressive eyes that always seemed to be analyzing everything around her. Erin was her oldest friend, with fair skin and rich auburn hair that fell in soft waves around her face.

Aida and Erin had been inseparable as children. Their summers were spent racing bikes through the neighborhood, building forts in the woods, and whispering secrets late into the night during sleepovers. Erin had always been the one Aida could rely on—the friend who knew every little detail about her life, the one she could turn to without hesitation. Even after Erin moved away ten years ago, they’d managed to stay in touch, though mostly through social media. Their connection had become something of a shadow of what it once was—likes on posts, the occasional comment, but nothing compared to the tight-knit bond they’d shared

 growing up.

After Erin left, Aida met Yumi at a friend’s party. At first, Aida had been intimidated by Yumi’s sharp, analytical mind. But as the night went on, they bonded over a shared sense of humor and a mutual love for reality television and indie music. Despite their different paths, the two women clicked. Over time, Yumi became the person Aida turned to for advice, the one who grounded her when life felt overwhelming. Yumi’s pragmatic, no-nonsense approach to the world balanced out Aida’s more creative tendencies, and their friendship had only deepened over the years.

And now, Erin was back in Boston. When she called three weeks ago to let Aida know she had moved back, Aida’s heart had leaped. The joy of reconnecting with her childhood best friend had been immediate. She was grateful to have Erin back and excited to introduce her to Yumi, who had quickly taken to her.

The three were sipping drinks at a bar a few blocks from Aida’s house on a tab that Yumi had declared she was picking up. Yumi had a high-profile role at one of the big cybersecurity companies in Cambridge, a job she had snagged after showing off her amateur hacking skills.

“This interview sounds a little dangerous—and exciting.” Erin twiddled the straw of her mai tai. “What does Graham think?”

Aida sighed, conflicted. “We talked about it last night. Apparently, there is a trial period before they offer the contract, which pays well. He isn’t thrilled about my being away from him, but he thinks it could be good for connections and help me find a fresh perspective.”

Yumi’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you seriously thinking of going?”

“Maybe,” Aida admitted. “It might be the only way right now to have the wedding. Without some form of cash infusion, I think we’ll have to call it off and have a small civil ceremony.” She picked up the envelope and waved it around. “Plus, all of this is so weird. I want to know what the story is.”

Erin was more enthusiastic. “I think it would be 

 worth checking out. It sounds like it might be a cool job.”

“Hmm.” Yumi considered this for a moment. “If it’s only for three months, maybe Erin’s right—it will be worth it. God knows you need the money. It’ll be an adventure. But if you really want to do this, you shouldn’t go to the meeting alone. You are taking Graham, right?”

“It’s a job interview! Wouldn’t that be weird?”

Yumi rolled her eyes. “They sent you a freaky hand-delivered note on Christmas Eve that said a mysterious car would pick you up. No phone number, no website, no nothing. If it weren’t for Felix, you’d think it was a scam and a half. Wouldn’t you say that’s weirder? They could hardly blame you for wanting to be safe in this Hashtag-Me-Too world. Which means you need to take him with you.”

Aida flipped on her phone, scanning the calendar. She shook her head. “I can’t. Dang it. He’s helping one of his buddies move that day.”

Yumi patted Aida’s arm. “You know what, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine going alone. It can’t be bad if Felix suggested it,” Erin said.

Yumi shook her head. ...