Page 26 of Runaway Bride's Guide to Love

“I’ll believe you,” I say. “But Maeve’s right. How do I get my groove back? Because now that all of this is out there, I feel even more lost than I was an hour ago.”

Silence falls over the room before Quinn throws her finger in the air, like an actual lightbulb just clicked on in her head. “You go on your honeymoon.”

“What? I’m not doing that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not,” I say with authority. “I already feel like shit and pathetic. Now you want me to go on my honeymoon alone?”

“One, it’s not pathetic, it’s empowering,” Ainsley says.

“Two,” Maeve continues. “It’s not like you were going on some super inclusive, romantic honeymoon where you have to be reminded of what didn’t happen. You’re staying at a vacation house owned by your brother because your fiancé wanted to drive to fucking Florida.”

“So don’t think of it as a honeymoon,” Quinn says. “Just think of it as a solo vacation. Which is badass. You took the time off work, and it would be better if you didn’t jump right back into that swamp. Get away from here for a few weeks. Lay on a beach, read a filthy book featuring blue alien dicks with a horn in just the right place, get a tan. Hell, maybe get laid.”

“Quinn!”

“What? I’m just saying rebound sex isn’t a bad idea.” Shegives me a wink. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Am I right?”

“Ignore that last part,” Maeve scolds. “But she’s right. Pack your bags. Book a flight. Get out of here and clear your head. I think it’ll do you some good.”

I think about it for a minute. “I’ve never traveled by myself before.”

“Even better,” Ainsley says. “This will give you the time to find yourself. Not Stella who thought she was going to be the future Mrs. Duncan Hughes. Or Stella who thinks she needs to follow the pack. But find out who Stellareallyis. And more importantly, what Stella really wants.”

I look at my sisters, who are giving me nods and looks of encouragement.

They’re right. I do need this. I need to get out of here. I need to find myself. I need to figure out what’s next. And I can’t do that here.

I need to get my groove back.

“All right, then, that settles it,” I say, rolling out of bed for the first time in hours. “Destin, here I come!”

8

emmett

There aresome phrases I never thought I’d say in my life. To this day these are ones that are holding strong:

Roll Tide. (Over my dead Tennessee Volunteer body.)

I like my bacon floppy. (Crispy or I don't want it.)

I'll hire someone to fix that. (It'll be a cold day in hell before I let a stranger fix anything that belongs to me.)

Until today, “I can’t wait to go to Florida” was on there.

Not anymore.

Because I can’t wait to get the hell out of this town. Even if it’s just for a few days.

When Simon asked me last week to head to Destin to check on our rental properties, I admittedly pushed back. We have locals who we keep on retainer to check on things. Simon insisted I needed to be the one to check out any storm damage.

Now I’m glad he did.

It’s been roughly three days since my night with Tiger that somehow fucked me up more than I care to admit. So, yeah, maybe a change of scenery will do me some good. Even if it’s at the beach.

I hate the beach. Too much sand. Too many people. And frankly, I don’t fuck with sharks.

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