Page 107 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Foolish.

The alcohol didn’t force me to make the choice or make me lose all my inhibitions. But it did soften up my edges and made me feel like it was okay to let loose a little. In that way, it was a little like Van, who did the same thing.

And had I not found the text from my dad, I don’t know that I would regret the decision to marry Van on the beach. That’s what I’m really struggling with—my own conflicting feelings about what happened. About Van.

I thought Van was ... trustworthy. I know it was fast—Iknowit. I can'tunknow it. But then—I trusted Drew. And I knew him longer. Better. He still cheated, and I still had no idea.

So, how can I really trust Van?

After Mom died, one of my dad’s favorite things was to tell me how they fell in love. They had the same friend group in college and were just that—friends. But somehow, by the time senior year rolled around and people were talking about jobs and futures and some people were even starting to get engaged, the friendship had blossomed into something more.

“We were friends for years by the time we realized we were in love,” Dad told me more than once, often with tears shining in his eyes. “Friendship is a great foundation for trust.”

Van lost my trust almost as fast as he gained it, proving Dad’s point. Too bad I married him before realizing it.

Why didn’t I just, like, let things progress at a normal pace?

Why did I suggest getting married?

I know what people would think, and maybe this is part of the reason I haven’t even told my best friend. They’d assume I was in a messy emotional place or maybe even that it was some kind of revenge, especially considering the way Drew and Becky showed up at the resort.

But … it wasn’t just an emotional knee-jerk thing or a revenge plot.

I remember how I felt at that moment. Like I had finally learned to let loose in a healthy way. Like Van brought out something in me no one else in my life had seen. I felt safe. Hopeful. Confident.

But if he could marry me without telling me the truth about why he was in Florida, if he could marry me while the deal he and Dad had was between us like a dirty, not-so little secret—I can’t trusthim.

By extension, it means I can’t trust what we had.

His deal with my dad cheapens the simple vows we repeated on the beach under string lights with the ocean’s rough murmur nearby. Van’s failure to come clean undermines everything, casting long shadows of doubt.

Especially considering what Drew did not a week before.

My trust in other people is shaken—including the trust in myself and my decisions.

I can’t shake the niggling sense that I screwed up too by leaving. By not giving Van a chance to explain. By ghosting him completely.

Was he hurt when he found my note?

I rarely allow myself to wonder about this. But every time I do, guilt spears through me.

Because two of us said vows on that beach. And though he kept his deal with my dad from me, IknowVan’s feelings were real.

Feelingsaren’t the problem. It’s the lack of foundation, the lack of honesty and trust, and the decision we both made far too quickly.

Now … I just don’t know what to do about it. Except maybe get this thing annulled, then consider whether there’s something here worth salvaging?

I’m grateful Parker and I drive separately to Mulligans, giving me a chance to mope and think angry thoughts and bathe in regret. Then banish all those things to the dark corners of my mind. No way do I want these slipping out.

I settle at the table next to Parker and order a Diet Dr Pepper, my guilty pleasure when I need a little pick me up. Dad loves to tell me that the chemicals in soda will kill me one day, but I figure we're all dying anyway. Might as well die drinking something I love.

Parker lifts her glass to mine in a toast. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? You’re drinking Diet Dr Pepper and I’m drinking root beer.”

We clink our glasses. “Cheers,” I say.

“Gracie and Bailey should be here soon. Summer ended up bailing.” Parker sighs. “Playoffs are in a few days. Which means the guys are all in weird places.”

I take a sip of my drink. “Like what kinds of weird places?”

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