Vanessa's dining room glowed like a postcard, candlelight flickering across the cream linen runner, gold flatware gleaming, and the polished oak table set with deliberate elegance. A chilled bottle of rosé rested in the center, condensation sliding down the glass. Soft jazz played low from a speaker in the corner, the kind of background hum that made a night feel endless.
It had been six years since Rebecca, Vanessa, Lydia, and Simone had found one another on a summer trip to Santorini. Different cities, different jobs, different men had crossed their paths since then, but through it all, they'd built something unshakable. They called themselves the circle. Sisters by choice. A family stitched together with wine, secrets, and laughter.
Vanessa, the hostess, wore a burgundy silk wrap dress that shimmered each time she moved, her dark hair twisted into a sleek bun that showcased her pearl drop earrings. The faint scent of jasmine trailed after her as she set down a platter of roasted salmon.
Rebecca had dressed in a jade-green jumpsuit that hugged her waist and flared at the legs. Gold bangles stacked on her wrist chimed softly whenever she lifted her glass, while tiny diamond studs winked beneath her bouncy curls. Her perfume, warm with vanilla and sandalwood, lingered like a secret.
Simone was impossible to miss, as always, sequined top tucked into high-waisted leather pants, a bold red lip to match her stilettos. Her honey-blonde bob was styled sharp and glossy, layered necklaces glittering against her skin.
Lydia, more understated, had her braids swept over one shoulder, a cream turtleneck tucked into a pleated skirt. Gold hoops framed her face, and her calm presence was the steadying thread that tied them all together.
It was Simone, naturally, who spoke first, swirling her wine like she was on camera.
"So, influencing is still the wild west," she declared, flashing a grin. "I posted a reel yesterday, and some man commented asking if my boyfriend styles my hair. Like, excuse me? The man can barely style his own socks."
The women burst into laughter, Simone tossing her bob like a diva.
Vanessa arched a brow. "And how is Mr. Complicated?"
Rebecca chuckled into her glass, and Lydia's smirk widened.
"He's not complicated," Simone protested, grinning anyway. "Okay, maybe he is. But he's sweet. Even if he still takes three business days to reply to texts."
"Complicated is code for trouble," Lydia said, tilting her head knowingly.
"Trouble makes life spicy," Simone shot back, clinking her glass against Lydia's.
The table hummed with laughter. It was always like this banter layered with affection, no one spared, everyone seen.
"Speaking of trouble," Simone said suddenly, eyes sparkling, "remember Vanessa's ex? Mr. Perfect-on-paper? Finance guy with the shiny shoes?"
Vanessa groaned, covering her face with one hand. "Why must you drag me like this?"
"Because it's comedy gold!" Simone cried. "He had us all fooled. Sharp suits, expensive dinners, looked like he was about to put a ring on it. And then…"
Rebecca snorted. "Turns out the only thing he put a ring on was his secretary."
Even Vanessa laughed at that, shaking her head. "Fine, fine. I admit it. I dodged a bullet. Eric is ten times the man he was."
"And we love Eric," Lydia said warmly.
Simone wasn't done. She pivoted, eyes narrowing mischievously at Lydia. "But don't think you're safe, Miss Long-Term-Love-Affair. The one you waited on for, what, three years? Practically had Pinterest boards ready?"
Lydia groaned, laughing despite herself. "Don't remind me."
Rebecca leaned forward, grinning. "The man couldn't even commit to a Netflix password, let alone a ring."
The table howled. Lydia shook her head but laughed along. "True. But you know what? I'm glad he never proposed. Saved me from a lifetime of mediocrity."
Simone reached over to pat her hand dramatically. "Growth, sis. We love to see it."
The laughter lingered, light and rich, like the wine they sipped. It was these moments, this playful tearing down of the past, this fearless honesty that made their circle sacred.
Rebecca, though, found herself quieter than usual, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Kevin's face flickered in her mind, the way his jaw caught the morning light, the warmth of his voice when he said her name.
Vanessa noticed first. She leaned in, eyes narrowing. "You're awfully quiet, Becca."
Lydia tilted her head. "She's got that look. You know the look."
Simone pointed her glass at Rebecca like a sword. "Oh, spill. There's a man. I can smell it."
Rebecca shook her head quickly, laughing but flushed. "No, it's nothing."
"Lies!" Vanessa cried. "Rebecca Winters doesn't blush unless a man is involved."
The three of them pounced, cajoling, teasing, until Rebecca finally sighed, smiling despite herself.
"Fine," she said softly. "There's someone."
Cheers erupted. Glasses clinked.
"Who is he?" Simone demanded. "Do we know him? Do we approve? Does he have good hair?"
Rebecca laughed, cheeks warming. "He's… fine. Dangerously fine. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, the whole thing. And I think…." she hesitated, her voice dipping "I think there's something there. But… he's my boss."
The room went electric.
"Your boss?!" Vanessa gasped. "Rebecca, that's a disaster waiting to happen."
"But also… delicious," Simone added, grinning wickedly.
Lydia's voice was steady, thoughtful. "Be careful. Work and romance are a messy mix."
Rebecca nodded, acknowledging their warnings even as her heart raced. "I know. It's complicated. I can't afford complicated. But I can't ignore how I feel, either."
The teasing continued, laughter filling the night, but beneath it all, Rebecca's thoughts remained tangled in Kevin Lockwood. His voice, his gaze, the spark that lingered whenever they spoke.
As she leaned back into the comfort of her friends, their laughter wrapping around her like a shield, Rebecca thought about the bond they'd built over six years. They weren't family by blood, but by choice. They were the circle, the people who knew her best.
And yet, even here, surrounded by love, her heart drifted elsewhere to a man who represented both possibility and danger. To waters she knew were uncharted.