Read Online It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After by Andi Dorfman - Free Book Online Page A

hot stove and instead indulge in however many carbs you want and nobody can say shit to you about it.
    Feeling a flicker of self-righteousness, I pour the popcorn into a bowl and assume my position in front of the television. As I watch Olivia Pope take names and kick ass, I realize that what once was my all-time favorite hour-long pleasure now leaves me on the verge of tears and feeling even more depressed than I was moments ago. My eyes well up as I watch the relationship between the main characters, Olivia and Fitz. It’s the most fucked-up relationship in the world. I mean, good Lord, Fitz is the freaking president of the United States who is married to crazy First Lady Mellie (aka “Smellie Mellie”), and Olivia is the badass lawyer/head bitch in charge/wearer of all white hats/power player of Washington, D.C. They can’t be together, it’s political suicide, and yet they can’t be apart. I can’t help but look at the two of them and, despite how insanely complicated their relationship is, think, That is love right there. God, I wish I had that kind of love. I mean, when Fitz looks at Olivia with those sexy presidential eyes as she tells him, “I am not a prize,” and when her voice cracks when she whispers, “I want to make jam, I want Vermont,” I lose it. Their love puts the Hope in hopeless and the Rome in romance (despite being nowhere close to Italy). And every tumultuous conversation between them includes Olivia berating the most powerful man in the world, but in a loving way, leaving him speechless before she storms off with her Prada bag and infamous Olivia Pope grin.
    While I’ve never had a Prada bag, I have, once upon a time, had that grin . . .
    I had it the first time I ever saw Number Twenty-Six. There I was, on yet another chilly California night, this time in March, standing in front of the same infamous mansion where I had met Number One. But it felt different this time. For starters, I had spent the weeks leading up to this first night in a sprawling mansion of my own, with access to my phone and the Internet instead of sequestered in a secret hotel. This time, instead of haphazardly stuffing clothes into TWO suitcases, I was supplied with a glamorous wardrobe by my very own stylist. And though it was the same mansion as last season, it seemed bigger than I remembered. It felt glitzier and, most of all, this time it felt filled with hope rather than fear. Now I was the woman calling the shots, and twenty-five men were going to compete for me.
    I was dressed in a hand-beaded floor-length gown that my stylist and I had selected. Custom-tailored to enhance some assets God forgot to give me, the nude-color dress was worth more than any car I will ever own, or even have a high enough credit score to lease. Rivaling the valuable gown were real diamonds dripping from my ears and wrists. I had never felt more expensive in my life as I stood with lights fixed on me and cameras in place as the handpicked men waited down the driveway in shiny black limos. All of them vetted just for me. All of them—well, most of them—ready, willing, and able to fall in love, just like me. My heart was pounding hard enough to make me worry that the sequins on my chest would give way at any moment, and the sky-high stilettos were already making my calves ache, but all of my feelings were drowned by an overwhelming sense of excitement as I wondered, Is this really my life? Am I really about to meet my future husband mere moments from now?
    I took a deep breath as the first limo arrived. One by one the men stepped out, walked toward me, and introduced themselves. Each was hotter than the next. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the adrenaline, but I had never seen a group of such hot-ass men in my life. Some of them made cheesy entrances, some brought gifts, others were fairly normal, and all were nervous as hell. I greeted them and made small talk in an attempt to ease their nerves before guiding them inside.