Page 58 of Jilted

“I bought an economy ticket, though.”

“You probably got upgraded based on your status with the airline.”

I shook my head. “I don’t even have a frequent flier account.”

“Well, then someone likes you. Maybe the gate agent gave you a little present.” He shrugged. “However it happened, this is your seat. So relax and enjoy it.” He held up the flute again. “Would you like some champagne, or I can add a little orange juice and make a mimosa?”

“Ooh,I love mimosas.”

“Get settled in. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

My seating area was almost as spacious as my office, so I wasn’t going to complain about the upgrade for a long flight. Though I did wonder if the secret admirer responsible for this was Wilder and not the gate agent. Either way, I had work to do during the flight, so it would be nice to spread out and not have someone reading my laptop over my shoulder.

I settled in and took out my phone to switch to airplane mode. As I did, I noticed a missed text.

Josh:Hey. I know you probably hate me, but do you think we could talk? It won’t take long.

Ugh. That was not happening—definitely not on this trip. There was nothing left to say. He’d said it all at the altar. I slid the button to airplane mode and tucked my phone away for takeoff just in time to receive my mimosa.

A little while after we hit cruising altitude, the flight attendant served a delicious breakfast—complete with fresh fruit, entrée, warm croissant, and dessert. They even had sugar-free dessert options, not to mention another complimentary mimosa. This was definitely better than the cardboard-box meal I’d paid twelve bucks for on my last flight to Florida. While I spooned rich yet diabetic-friendly cheesecake into my mouth, I opened my laptop and called up the first submission to the wedding contest.

We’d received more than two thousand entries, so I’d enlisted a few of the other staff writers to help sort through them all. Now it was up to me to narrow down the finalists. When I’d decided to read through the essays on the plane, I hadn’t considered how emotional many of them would be. Some of the reasons people wanted a free wedding really tugged at the heartstrings—from being poor to suffering from depression and finally finding her soulmate. There was even a sixty-seven-year-old woman who had been married to a man who abused her for forty years. She’d finally left him and found true love.

I cried reading more than one of them, but it was the last essay that hit me the hardest. The woman’s wedding was all planned—for a year from now. She wanted to win the giveaway because her father had been diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer and likely had only a few months to live. I reread the last paragraph of the letter for a third time, tears streaming down my face.

I had big plans for my wedding next summer—lose thirty pounds, get fit, save for a honeymoon in Fiji, have a bachelorette party in Vegas.But I now realize the only thing important is having my daddy walk me down the aisle. If I win the wedding next month, I’ll happily pay it forward and give away my day next year with everything prepaid.

I wasn’t sure if I felt this one so deeply because the woman’s story reminded me of my mom’s dying wish to marry my dad all over again when she had end-stage cancer, or if it was the mention of a honeymoon in Fiji—where Josh and I were supposed to go. Or maybe it was my lack of sleep on this long flight and my hormones being a little out of whack. But when we landed, I was glad Wilder was still in Italy and wasn’t going to be able to pick me up because my face was blotchy, my eyes swollen, and my nose chafed from cheap airline tissues.

After passing through customs and immigration, I followed the herd of people to get my luggage. A bunch of drivers were lined up behind a metal barrier, holding signs. Wilder had arranged a car, so I looked for my name as I passed. The first three signs were typed, with logos of the names of the car service. When I scanned the fourth one, it struck me as odd that it was written on what looked like a brown paper bag with pen. I had to squint to read the name.Cupcake.

My eyes jumped to the person holding it, and my heart stuttered.

The guy might’ve been wearing a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, but that cocky smile only belonged to one man. Wilder’s face fell when he got a look at me, and he hustled around the barrier and grabbed my shoulders. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I’d momentarily forgotten what a disaster I looked like.Shoot. I would’ve fixed my face a little if I’d known he was going to be here.

“You’ve been crying.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I touched my warm cheek. “It’s nothing. I was reading sad stories on the plane and got upset.”

He visibly relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I smiled. “I’m fine. But what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Italy until late tonight.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I was too anxious to see you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught two women looking our way. One pointed, and the other lifted her phone like she was about to take a picture. Wilder put his head down and turned us. “Come on, let’s get your luggage and get out of here before the paparazzi find out. They’re not as bad here as they are in the States, but they’ve been following me nonstop since the news broke about the team.”

Wilder kept a protective arm around my shoulder, hugging me close as we made our way to the luggage carousel. We huddled in a corner where Wilder could keep his back to the crowd, which meant all of his attention was onme.

He flashed a crooked smile. “What the heck were you reading on the plane that hit you so hard?”

“Submissions to the wedding-giveaway contest. Entrants had to write a short essay on why they should win. Some of them really hit home.”

He rubbed at my cheek with his thumb. “Mascara.”

“If you would’ve warned me that you were coming, I would’ve cleaned up a little.”

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