A bright blue flash stopped me in my tracks. Followed quickly by another.
What the fuck?!
I stumbled back a step, blinking quickly to clear the shadowy dots that were peppering my vision. When it finally cleared enough to see, I spotted a middle-aged man kneeling on the ground just a few paces in front of me.
He was paparazzi. There was no doubt about it.
Baggy clothes. Rabid, yet lifeless eyes. Sunburned neck—except for the thick swatch of skin that lay under the strap of his camera.
For the second time that morning, I glanced instinctively behind me. Then reality smacked me upside the head, and I suddenly froze.
The guy was here for me.
....fucking bizarre.
“Miss Wilder! When’s the big day?!”
Yeah—fucking bizarre.
Imitating what I’d seen my clients do a thousand times, I held up a protective hand, lowered my face, slipped on my sunglasses, and pushed past him. On the way by, I loudly asked someone which direction Chanel was. Hopefully, that would throw him off my trail.
Sure enough, a few blocks up—he darted suddenly to the side and vanished down a docking-bay alley. Hoping to spring up in front of the store to get the best possible shot.
Little did he know, I had already reached my destination.
“...safe!”
I actually whispered it out loud as I yanked open the glass doors, and closed them quickly behind me. The smell of a thousand over-priced clothes wafted up around me, accompanied by the faint sounds of a pop singer straining at the edge of her range.
My eyes closed with a sigh of relief. I was home.
No one who either worked or shopped at the store paid much attention to my hasty entrance. They had all grown accustom to such things by now. There wasn’t a day that went by when some celebrity or another wasn’t ducking into the store—rushing out the back entrance again to escape the hounding press. I just wasn’t used to that person being me.
Not for much longer, I told myself as I started to browse around. Only until you buy this dress, act fake engaged, and then fake break up with the world’s most perfect man.
I moved at a leisurely pace, feeling both safe and content inside my bubble, but it still wasn’t long until I found something that looked promising. It was a bit conservative for my tastes, but what else did one wear to the yacht club? Plus, it was white. Like a bride.
The irony was killing me.
Literally. Killing me.
I snatched up the hanger with a martyred sigh, and headed for the changing rooms. A kindly woman opened the very first door, then stepped back as I settled inside. My clothes came off, the dress went on, and a second later, I found myself staring—wide-eyed at my reflection.
Yeah...like a bride.
A nervous giggle escaped my lips. Followed by another. I turned this way and that, swishing the fabric. Then that giggling turned into quiet but hysterical laughter.
What the hell was I doing? What the hell had I gotten myself into?!
Manic, hyperventilating tears popped into my eyes. My hands clamped over my mouth in an effort to muffle the sound. Things were looking bad all the way around, and realistically, I probably could have gone on for hours.
But the giggling stopped abruptly when a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Miss, I saw you slip those cufflinks into your bag.”
All the laughter drained right out of me, as my throat tightened up with a little squeak. I hadn’t taken any cufflinks! I didn’t even know that Barneys sold cufflinks! A chill ran down my spine, and I tried to turn around to defend myself, but I was scared stiff.
“I...I didn’t...”