Page 36 of Runaway Bride's Guide to Love

My heart aches listening to her talk about him. I swear every story she tells me about their relationship just makes it worse. “Can I ask you a question?”

She nods as she takes a big bite of the sundae.

“Why did you stay? Why did you want to marry this guy?”

I’m probably out of line for asking. I might have said we’re friends—and we are—but I’ve also known this woman for less than forty-eight hours in totality. She doesn’t have to tell me shit.

Yet, I want to know. I want to know why this woman—this beautiful, brave, strong, woman—would want to be tied down to what sounds like the most insufferable and dickless man on the planet.

“Just jumped right to the million-dollar question?”

“I like to aim high.”

My response doesn’t brighten her mood. If anything, I watch her slip deeper into the couch, her eyes drifting down.

“I thought I loved him,” she begins. “And I did. At least at one time. But love made me blind. Or stupid. I haven’t decided which one. All I know is that I wanted to be married so bad that not only did I lose myself, but I made excuses for his shitty behavior.”

She trails off, and I give her ankle a squeeze. It’s all I can think to do to show her that she can take her time. I’m here as long as she needs me.

“I wanted the fairytale,” she continues. “Devoted husband. House with the wrap-around porch. Maybe a porch swing? Two-point-five kids and a husband who would dance with me in the kitchen. I think as time went on that’s what I was in love with—theideaof that life. I had felt like all my friends had it, and I wanted it too. I loved Duncan because he was the man Ithoughtwas going to give me that life. And I wanted the life. Some part of me still does. But when you catch your fiancé getting flogged with his dick out, wearing nothing but a tie and black dress socks, that’s one red flag you can’t ignore.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t help it. “I’m sorry, Tiger, I know that situation isn’t funny.”

“Don’t feel bad. The flogger thing is funny.”

“You’re right, the flogger thingisfunny. But the rest? Don’t feel like you have to put on a brave face. Grieve the loss of the relationship. Take the time you need. And for the first time in a while, be completely selfish. You’ve earned it.”

She nods. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to. My sisters helped me see that before I left.”

“That’s good.”

“And I’m getting a little better each day, at least with coming to terms of how we got here. Though now I’m getting angry. Which is great.”

“Great?”

“Oh yes,” she says, a wicked smile coming across her face. “I want to break shit.”

“Breaking stuff is fun. I’m always down to do that.”

“Really?” The excitement in her tone is a one-eighty from where it was a minute ago. “Because I want to find one of those smash rooms.”

“Smash room?” I echo, suddenly feeling like I’ve walked into something I might regret.

“Really? You’ve never heard of a smash room?”

I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Oh, we’re going to one.” Stella puts down her bowl of ice cream and grabs her phone from the coffee table, her fingers flying as she brings up a picture for me to see. “They give you a sledgehammer and baseball bats and goggles and a padded room where we can just break shit.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. Aren’t you in town for the week?”

“Yeah.” I swallow the admission that I was going to move up my exit date. “That was the original plan.”

“Original? Are your plans changing?”

Yes…no…I don’t fucking know anymore.

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