Page 10 of Kiss the Bride

I swallow down feelings of humiliation when Hunter jogs back to the car, carrying a family-size packet of plain chips, a six-pack of vodka cruisers, and a small sewing kit.

“Are you kidding me?” I wave around the tiny little scissors, comparing the blades to my little finger. “This will take forever.”

“But think about all the time you don’t have to spend rewriting your vows. You can embroider up the new hem on your dress.”

“Or save the left-over fabric to make a sarong.”

“Yeah, set a new fashion trend.” Hunter smiles suggestively, complete with eyebrow wriggling and weird faces until I can’t help returning his smile with a tentative giggle.

“Okay, I can see the tagline now, #runawaybride meets #weddingdressnightmare.”

“Or, #sendhimthebill.” Hunter clasps a hand over his mouth in mock horror, adding, “too soon?”

“I’d love to. I already paid for the wedding. Or at least, daddy helped.” I admit, my logical math brain starting to kick in. “I guess I need to make some calls …”

I need to pull myself together and start a list of all the businesses to call and cancel. I also need to call my family and explain in person. They deserve more than my impulsive video.

I even add calling Mitchel to my mental list and give him a heads-up that no explanations are necessary. I’m not sure he knows how to access our online wedding album, but I’m sure Lina can help him relive the happy memory.

Except, as I remember walking in on them, words fail as more tears fall. My earlier thoughts come back to haunt me, only this time they have decided to play in stereo.

You weren’t good enough for Hunter.

You weren’t good enough for Mitchel.

You weren’t a good enough friend for Lina to keep her hands off your man.

Not good enough. I’ll never be enough for a man.

As the tears gush down and stain the white satin, I pull my purple cardigan closer and try and find comfort in the soft wool. It’s not enough. It’s as if the betrayal of people I trusted to love me has burned into my lungs. It’s not a panic attack, but each breath becomes a fight and one I don’t care if I win or lose.

I’ve never felt so used. Ignored.Irrelevant.

Oblivious to my silent meltdown, Hunter starts the car. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.” And I don’t care.

“People or no people?”

“What do you think?”

“Your parents?” he asks and I snort. Daddy cheated and ended up married to his mistress. Mummy put up with his cheating until she couldn’t ignore it. They might love me, but what if they think Mitchel and I should work things out? Luckily, Hunter doesn’t need an explanation. He knows me.

“Elena or Jess?” My closest friends other than Lina will want all the details and feel compelled to talk things through. If I cut Lina and Mitch out of my life, friends will be forced to choose sides. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with people. I need silence.

“What do you think?” Hunter doesn’t respond to my eye-roll, but when he turns left out of the gas station, I know where he’s heading. Even after spending years overseas, he still kept his keelboat at the Middle Harbour Yacht Club. After we broke up, I used to go down and sit on the bank, just watching it bob in the water, tied to the moor the way I felt tied to Hunter.

“Livia, I’m sorry.” His words come out of nowhere.

I hug my knees tighter, refusing to acknowledge or answer. I should have known my perfect fairytale would only happen in my dreams.

Hunter parks at the far end of the marina. After fumbling to find an old playlist on his phone that I swear we listened to in high school, he watches me slash at my wedding gown, starting with the skirt. My hand is sore from working the tiny scissors by the time I’ve discarded meters of fabric, creating an uneven hemline above my knees which shows off the white sheer stockings attached to the crystal-embossed garter belt.

I don’t care.

Not about the expensive lingerie that will never be appreciated. Not about all the hours of work spent designing and creating the masterpiece of a dress now in tatters. I don’t even care that my life which should be starting as Mrs. Mitchel Hazel is now starting as ex-fiancée and woman scorned.

My phone bombards me with texts and calls.

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