Page 10 of Closer

This time, Levi steps forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Watch your mouth. That’s our sister you’re talking to.”

Gemma and Mary rest their hands on my shoulders. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

“Have it your way then.” Jason stalks off, the crowd parting before him.

Landon approaches me, face unreadable, and I brace myself for another confrontation, but he simply envelops me in a hug.

“It’s about time, little sister. I was beginning to think I’d have to object at the altar.”

He’s known how I felt this whole time?

Landon winks, then turns to address the murmuring crowd, commanding their attention and buying me time to slip away.

My eyes flick to Uncle Marc, disappointment etched into every line of his face. He turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped.

My heart sinks. I’ve let him down, the man who’s been like a father to me. But I can’t live a lie anymore. I can’t marry someone I don’t love. Is that really wrong?

“We’ll handle this,” Levi says. “You should go.”

“What about Uncle Marc?”

“Give him time.”

“Thank you.” I hug Levi goodbye before leaving my mistake of an almost-marriage behind in that venue.

Outside, the sunlight seeps into my skin, a welcome change from the cold dread that had invaded my entire body moments before.

“I can’t believe I did that.” The adrenaline is still coursing through me. “I called off the wedding.”

The girls engulf me in a tight group hug.

“You’re a fucking badass,” Mary says.

Gemma nods in agreement. “We need to celebrate this momentous occasion. Drinks on me, ladies.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for a night out.” I pluck at the fabric of my wedding gown, the layers of tulle and lace suffocating me.

“Nonsense,” Mary says. “We’re all in our fancy dresses. It’s like a goddamn fairy tale, except instead of Prince Charming, we’ve got tequila shots and bad decisions.”

We make our way to find the closest bar that’s open at this early hour in the bustling city. A mere two blocks away, we find one with a bowling ball and flickering neon signs. We step inside, and the people turn, gawking. It’s probably not every day that three women in formal attire come in here.

“What’re you looking at?” Gemma asks. “Haven’t you ever seen a runaway bride before?”

The bartender, a grizzled man with a salt-and-pepper beard, salutes at us. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

“Tequila shots.” Mary slams her hand on the bar. “Keep ’em coming until we forget why we’re here.”

And he does. We stay there, dancing, playing billiard with strangers, and drinking until it’s dark outside. Luckily, one of the hotels owned by Mary’s family is nearby. Although, I suppose it’s not really luck, considering they’ve got one in every significant capital.

Tipsy from the drinks we had earlier, we’re all leaning on each other for support, stumbling through the corridors to our rooms.

“See you in the morning?” Mary asks.

“Definitely,” Gemma says. “And then we’ll leave for our new life?”

Seems like I’m the most sober one.

“I’m already there. I’ll search for a flat for us, and then you guys have to move in. Deal?” Mary holds up her pinky.

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