My mother reaches for my arm. “Darling, I tried to tell you it was a bad idea,” she says, getting the first word in, beating me to it.
“Don’t, Tracy,” Emerson hisses at my mother. “Don’t you dare.”
Like I’ve inhaled secondhand strength from my friend, I seethe.
My mother gets my fiancé and the last word?
My gaze drifts down to her fingers on my arm.
She is touching me.
She was kissing the groom.
No fucking way.
I recoil, jerking my arm away from her like she’s diseased.
“We’re in love,” my mom declares, gazing into the green eyes of the artist I was about to marry.
He shrugs in surrender, his crow’s feet crinkling, giving away the five years he has on me. “It happened so quickly. I didn’t even expect it. I barely had time to think of what to say.” Silvio meets my gaze. “But I wanted to tell you, love. Truly, I did.”
Love?
He’s calling me love, like he always has?
I snap out of my surreal, sluggish haze.
I laser in on the slithering tuxedoed snake of a man. “I’m sure it was difficult to find the time to say four whole words—I’m fucking your mother. But maybe in the ten minutes it took you to tie your bow tie, you could have called me and delivered the news.”
I inhale sharply, gearing up for another round of zing, and swing my gaze to her. She’s no garden-variety snake. She’s an anaconda. “By the way, wear the white ribbon. I bet it’ll look great on your wedding day.” I thrust the bouquet at her. “And feel free to use these sunflowers. I get why you wanted them so badly, and since they smell like crap, they’ll go great with your secondhand groom.”
I turn on my heel. Emerson wraps an arm tightly around me. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers, and I’m so damn grateful for her because I don’t even know which direction to go.
My eyes sting.
Tears prick at the back of them, threatening to let loose geysers.
I grit my teeth.
I will not let them hear me cry.
I will not let them see me fall apart.
Oh hell.
The waterworks are coming, and I can barely hold them off.
Thank God Emerson is here.
I yank up my skirt and we run like the Legion of Honor is on fire.
Through the hallway, toward a side door—somewhere along the way Jillian, Olive, and Skyler join us. Jillian’s on the phone, giving instructions about the car.
When I reach the exit, my friends are still running by my side. We race down the long entryway steps, and I don’t even risk a glance at the lawn or rows of folding chairs. I can’t bear the thought of guests gawking, pointing. I must look like a runaway bride, only the opposite is true.
A few more steps, and I’m nearly there. My father waits for me by the limo, right at the edge of the car park.
I stumble into his arms, and I fall to pieces.
Go.
Just go.
That’s literally the only thing I can say, over and over.
We pile into the sleek vehicle—my dad, my sister, Emerson, Jillian, Skyler.
My crew.
But Jillian stops before she gets in, her hand on the door. “Katie, why don’t I take care of all that?” She gestures to the lawn.
Ugh.
The freaking guests.
All those guests milling about in their pretty clothes, waiting for a ceremony. They’re here for my stupid wedding that isn’t happening. Soon, they’ll be able to whisper about the time they went to a wedding where the bride was stood up at the altar.
“Thank you, Jillian. That would be great,” my father says, answering for me.
“I can help too,” Skyler offers.
A sob wracks my throat and I nod savagely. “Just take care of it, please.”
“We’ll take care of all of it,” Jillian assures me, going full badass, problem-solving babe as they stay behind to clean up the mess my mother and fiancé made of my wedding day.
We peel off, away from the gorgeous art museum, high on the hill. As the Golden Gate Bridge looms closer, another burst of tears rains down my cheeks. I can’t believe what just happened.
I truly can’t.
My dad’s seated next to me, and he rubs my back gently. “Honey, I’m so sorry. But you’ve got to know—none of it is your fault.”
My heart clutches, and even through the tears, I do know the truth. “You’re totally right,” I say between sobs.
“Good. Glad you know that. Now, where can we take you? What do you need? Do you just need to cry it out some more?”
Those are all great questions.
I have no idea what to do next.
My heart thuds heavily. My hands are clammy. Hurt rages, clouding my thoughts. “I don’t know,” I whisper with a shrug.
“We can just drive,” Olive says from the seat across from me.
I look up, meeting their gazes. These people who are here for me. My sister, my best friend, my dad.