Page 1 of Snowed In
PROLOGUE
MEGAN
I wish I wasn’t wearing heels.
I wish I wasn’t wearing a wedding dress either, but I really wish I wasn’t wearing heels. It’s very difficult to run in heels. It’s also very difficult to run when your fancy new bridal bra is digging into your skin, and your scalp is being pulled by a hundred million hairpins.
I wish I hadn’t decided on an updo.
I wish a lot of things right now.
Mostly I wish that Aunt Susan would get off thefreaking phone.
I peek around the corner, watching her pace along the hotel hallway. She’s wearing a bright pink dress and an elaborate white hat and, for some reason, has made it her mission to hold her very important conversation right in front of the elevators.
Why is she even here? Shouldn’t she be at the church? I should be at the church, so she should definitely be at the church, but no. She’s here. Talking loudly down the phone and blocking my escape route.
Escape route. Jesus. Try to be more dramatic, Megan. I dare you.
Aunt Susan laughs, turning my way, and I rest back against the wall, hiding from view. Maybe she’s a sign. A bright pink sign telling me that this is a stupid decision and I should just return to my room and wait for the photographer. We spent a fortune on the photographer. We spent a fortune on the whole day but especially on the photographer.
Not as much as we spent on the food, though.
At least the food can still be eaten, right? It would be a waste otherwise. And we paid for it weeks ago.
I should have left a note on the mirror.
Sorry about ruining the day, but please enjoy the crab cakes!
Just thinking about it has me glancing back to the room, but then Aunt Susan laughs again, and it’s so loud and sudden it’s like a glass of cold water to the face. No. I’m not going back. I’m not going back because I have to go.
I have to go. I have to go. I have togo.
I straighten from the wall, imagining myself full of resolve and determination and not coffee and nausea as I leave the elevators behind and take off for the employee stairwell I passed earlier.
I swear I didn’t know what I was going to do when I woke up this morning. I’m not this person. This rash, last-minute person. I’m usually pretty calm, pretty practical, but I justcan’t. I can’t marry Isaac. And surely, it’s better to come to this decision now than in six months. Better now than a lifetime of knowing I made the wrong choice.
It was Uncle Ted who made up my mind. Uncle Ted, who, an hour ago, came into the room with the rest of my family and handed me an unsealed envelope. The same kind of envelope he gave me at my communion, my confirmation, and every birthday and Christmas since I was a kid. One that contains a card in his neat, flowing script, accompanied by several crisp bills tokeep me going.
As soon as he gave it to me, I made my decision. Maybe I was even waiting for it. Because I knew if I went too soon, if I broke this whole thing off with time to spare, everyone would just talk me back into it.
I have only my backpack with me, a ratty old school bag that horrified Mam, but I insisted on bringing for sentimental reasons. It holds nothing more than my phone, my purse, and the clothes I traveled to the hotel in, but there’s no time to change. No time for anything other than to just leave.
Easier said than done.
Turns out, when you’re a bride on your wedding day, you can’t even go to the bathroom without three people helping you, and it took a lot of needling andI just want to take a momentsto get everyone to leave me alone. I probably only have five minutes tops before someone comes to find me, and I am in a big white dress. I’m pretty findable right now.
I thud awkwardly down the stairs, clinging to the handrail for support, and after what feels like an hour, but is probably only a minute, I emerge into a near-identical hallway and follow the neon green exit sign pointing to the back of the building.
There’s no one else around.
I was banking on this. All the guests are at the church next door, and most of the hotel staff are in the lobby to cheer me out as I leave. There are pictures of them doing it on the website. One of their wedding package perks. I thought it looked nice when I saw the images, but now the idea makes me pick up my pace, bundling my skirts into my fist when they catch on my shoes.
I should have planned this better. I should have brought sneakers. I should have told someone.
I should have thought about whether or not this exit was alarmed.
The thought hits me as soon as I burst through the double doors, and I wince as I wait for a siren to blare or lights to flash. But nothing happens. They fall shut behind me with a shuddering clang, and that’s it.
