Page 8 of Runaway Bride's Guide to Love

But now I’m not so sure.

Because I can’t see me kissing him at the end of the aisle. Ican’t see us celebrating tonight at the reception. I see portions of good times, but as soon as I see those they are replaced by last night, when he told me that he lost all our money. And that he’s never sent me flowers. Or given me an orgasm without the help of my own hand.

I’m confused. I don’t know which way is up. Which is the only reason I decide that there’s one way to put an end to this mind fuck.

“I need to see Duncan.”

“What?” Ainsley exclaims as the rest of my sisters let out audible gasps. “It’s bad luck for you two to see each other!”

“I’m wearing this dress, can my luck get any worse?” I leave out the part where we’re also broke, so clearly luck has already taken a backseat. “I’m not scared of a superstition.”

“Stella,” my mom begins as I go to my bag and grab my cell phone and the keycard for the honeymoon suite. It’s where Duncan and I are staying tonight, but today it’s where him and his groomsmen are getting ready. “Are you sure?”

I nod, suddenly feeling more confident about this decision than any I’ve had to make for months. “I am. This is probably just cold feet and wedding nerves. Once I see him and talk to him, everything will be much better. I just know it.”

“If you say so,” Maeve says, though her tone doesn’t sound very confident. “If we don’t hear from you in thirty minutes, we’re going to assume you ran away.”

I laugh as I unlock the door. “Don’t you worry, big sister. Even if I wanted to, these red bottoms were not made for a sprint. They were made for getting married.”

guide to love rule #26

Communicate your kinks with your partner.

How else are you supposed to know he likes

to be spanked?

3

stella

I might have grownup a lot since being with Duncan, but one thing I don’t know I’ll ever grow out of is acting—or speaking—without thinking.

Sometimes I’m able to catch myself. Others not so much.

Like right now. Now is other times.

All I knew in the moment was I needed to see Duncan. I didn’t think about how I raced out of the room in my hideous wedding dress. I didn’t think that guests of the hotel, along with guests of the wedding, were going to see me get in the elevator. Heck, I barely remembered to grab my cell phone and shove it into the pockets I had sewn in.

If I’m going to wear an ugly dress, let’s at least make it practical.

“Getting married?”

I’m startled by the voice that’s apparently inside the elevator with me. I turn to see a woman, probably in her fifties, looking at me up and down. And is she serious? Why else does she think I’d be wearing a dress that literally takes up half the occupancy of this space?

“Yes,” I say with a very fake smile. “About an hour from now.”

“How nice,” she says. “Your dress is beautiful. Looks just like the one I wore when I married my first husband.”

My smile goes from fake to mortified, and I’ve never been so happy to have the elevator stop on a floor. Hers, thank God, because I need her to exit so I can internally scream, which is probably going to become an external scream the second the door closes.

“Ahhhh!!!” Yup. External. “What am I doing?”

I’m pacing back and forth in the elevator—which is three steps each way—as that question rolls through my head. I don’t even know what I’m specifically asking about. The dress? The wedding? Duncan? It feels like that question covers all of those topics at the same time.

I hate this feeling of indecisiveness. That’s not me. I’d like to say that one of my strong qualities is I know what I want and I go for it. I might not always get it, but I’m not afraid to shoot my shot. I want a pair of shoes? I buy them. I want to settle down and find a husband? I did it.

Just don’t ask me what I want for dinner. I’ll never know the answer to that question.

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