Page 12 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

And then he does something even dumber.

Drew grabs my arm.

He circles his hand around my wrist just as my dad and Uncle Bobby walk in, just as Becky picks up an angel statue off a table and lobs it across the room.

This also happens to be the moment Robbie yanks Drew away from me.

I’m not sure who Becky was aiming for—maybe Drew and me both—but Robbie is the one who takes an angel right to the face.

CHAPTER 3

Van

My ears are ringing.My head throbs. And the chaos breaking out in the room around me only makes it worse.

There’s shouting, a crash, and a few outraged screams, like I’ve been dumped into the set of aReal Housewivesfilming. Minus the housewives.

But I can’t say exactly what’s unfolding because my eyes are squeezed closed as I breathe through the pain.

It felt like I took a puck to the face with no helmet. Or maybe a boulder. A wrecking ball?

“Here,” a soft voice says.

A hand cups the good side of my jaw. Something solid and cold lightly presses against my cheek.

I crack open my eyes, and the first thing I see are red lips, curved in a smile. A blinding white wedding dress. And pale blue irises, like the sky in early spring when there’s still frost some mornings.

Amelia wears her emotions like they’re a flag unfurled, visible for anyone to see. I remember that about her the night we met—the unguardedness that made me feel like I could be vulnerable too.

Right now, her eyes hold an apology with a side of gratefulness. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a glint there too, telling me she didn’t forget the way I ghosted her.

Amelia.In the midst of all this drama, centered around her wedding day, she’s checking onme. And pressing ice—no, I realize as I finally tear my gaze away from her, a bottle of champagne—to my face.

“Thanks,” I say, then wince, because talking doesn’t feel so great.

I’ve been hit in the face more times than I can count. But there’s a difference between taking a hit on the ice when I’m prepared for the possibility, with adrenaline and endorphins pumping through me, versus a random blow with whatever hit me.

I glance down. See a small statue on the floor.

Of course—Iwouldget knocked in the face by an angel.

Feels like a colossal sign that maybe I should have minded my own business.

But no, I think, glancing at Amelia again, who’s watching me while keeping the champagne pressed to my cheek. I would do it all over again.

I start to speak, but Amelia shakes her head. “Shhh,” she murmurs, and it doesn’t grate the way it might if a normal person shushed me.

It’s soothing, and as she lifts her other hand to my hair, running her fingers gently over my scalp, I hold back a groan. Because if I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve imagined this exact thing.

Amelia with her hands in my hair, I mean. Not so much the scuffle happening behind us or the cheating groom.

I’m suddenly yanked backwards and away from Amelia. My normally good reflexes are clearly on break, and I land hard on my butt.

“Take your hands off my fiancée!” the groom shouts, looming over me.

This guy.

How didheend up with not one but two women hooked on his line?

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