Page 2 of Recklessly, Wildly Yours

I’m halfway out of the hotel suite when a text comes through from Tucker.

Tucker: Babe. Darren’s on his way to go over some tour bullshit before the wedding. I was gonna make it there before him but I’ve been held up so just start without me.

This text slows me down for two reasons. Firstly, it’s not the kind of text I ever imagined a man would send his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day. It’s certainly not what I would have hoped to receive from my fiancé. Second, I know why he’s been held up and the fact that I’m relieved rather than furious tells me everything I need to know right now.

My fiancé is going to be late because he’s fucking another woman and he’s just inadvertently given me the go-ahead to skip our wedding.

I gather up the short train of my dress and keep hold of it while I run even though running in a mermaid dress is almost impossible. I have no idea where I’m heading but for the first time in my life, I don’t care. Anywhere would be better than where I am.

2

Ethan

Gage: Are you nearly here?

Me: Almost.

Hayden: Almost to you means something very different to us. How far away are you exactly?

Me: Traffic is ridiculous today.

Gage: Jesus, Ethan, how far?

Bradford: You have the rings, right?

Me: Yes, I have the rings.

I start tapping out a text to my brothers with my ETA but am distracted midway when a blonde woman runs into the hectic Manhattan traffic I’m sitting in, causing a near accident. Taxis and cars swerve to miss her and George, my driver, slams on the brakes. He lets out a string of curse words while I wonder what’s made her put herself in harm’s way.

The sound of horns blaring and people yelling doesn’t seem to deter her. She continues running through the traffic as I watch in interest. I wish I had my camera here so I could capture the escape she appears to be making. Or perhaps it’s not an escape but rather she’s late. For her wedding, that is, because she’s wearing a wedding dress of all things.

She disappears across the street and when I lose sight of her, I go back to my phone.

Me: I’m less than ten minutes away. Maybe fifteen.

Gage: Fuck me. I should have just gotten the rings myself.

Me: This was unavoidable. My flight was late and I don’t know what’s going on in Manhattan today but something has the traffic jammed up.

Bradford: See you soon.

The car starts moving but then jerks to a halt almost immediately. I glance up to find the bride again, this time darting back through the traffic in the direction she came from. She’s got the train of her dress hiked up so she can hold it high enough to not trip on it. When she’s halfway across the street, she abruptly stops and jerks her head to look in all directions, panic etched across her delicate features. Like a gazelle trapped in the concrete jungle.

A text comes in as I’m contemplating what the hell is going on in her life to cause this kind of behavior.

Gage: Don’t be late. Callan’s counting on you being here on time.

Fuck.

I haven’t seen my family in fifteen months and the last thing I want is to be late to my brother’s wedding. I eye the blonde who has managed to singlehandedly cause traffic chaos on a busy Saturday in the middle of Manhattan. She appears to be frozen and unsure of what to do and all I can think is if she doesn’t get herself together soon, my best man duties are at risk. And if that happens, my strained relationship with Callan will also be at risk. Not to mention the fact I promised his fiancée, Olivia, one of my oldest friends, that nothing will stop me from being by my brother’s side while he marries her.

As George rants about the holdup, I exit the car and stride toward the blonde. Her eyes meet mine as I draw nearer, and up close, I see just how alarmed she is. Big, blue, almond-shaped eyes with long lashes that aren’t that fake shit I hate stare back at me, and if I’m not mistaken, they’re screaming for help.

“Have you got a death wish today?” I ask, horns loudly blaring all around us. “Because these drivers aren’t far from anarchy if you keep them waiting.”

She’s a living statue adorned in white lace. Barely breathing. “No.” Her answer whispers out of her on a rush of anxiety.

If there’s one thing I understand the fuck out of, it’s anxiety. This causes me to momentarily forget the fact I’m in a hurry and that she’s the one stalling my journey. I soften my voice and ask, “Do you need help?”

---