Page 7 of Kiss the Bride

“Livia, then how’s this for honesty? Please stay in the car. Please, don’t do this. Let me do this for you.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

I need to see this for myself. I need to wish the happy couple the life together that they deserve.

I dreamt of floating down the aisle on my father’s arm with a beautiful bouquet of blush pink roses in my arms.

When trying on my dream gown of crushed silk, fitted bodice, and thousands of crystals adorning the train, I never thought to practice how to gracefully emerge from Hunter’s squashy roadster. Practice wouldn’t have made perfect. Even though Hunter slides over the car bonnet, ready to offer his hand, I shake my head.

Some things, I need to do myself, like walking to the gallows.

Some things, I need to see for myself, like my fiancé’s face when he knows we are over.

Some things, I need to do for myself, like drawing a line through my dreams of marrying Mitchel and living happily ever after. Happily ever afters are for other people—not for me. Why did I even hope to believe?

“Allow me,” I say, waving my arm graciously as if welcoming a guest into my home. “I should go first.”

“Livia?”

“I need to do this.” My hand only hesitates a moment before pressing down on the platinum door handle.

Unlocked.Fools who didn’t expect to get caught or a fiancé who didn’t expect to cheat on his wedding day?

The heavy door silently swings open to the Italian marble tiled foyer. I lead Hunter past the suitcases on the left waiting for our flight, and towards the tiled, rounded staircase up to the bedrooms and study.

My size eight heels don’t touch the stairs as my gown brushes past the nude four-inch heels. The bill for the size nine pumps with gel inserts to offset a high instep appeared on my latest credit card statement. I’d been happy to pay for my choice in imported shoes.

Silently, I lead the way upstairs to the unmistakable moaning. For a moment, I try to think of a scenario where Lina might have come here, slipped, and hit her head. She could be lying in mybathroom, moaning in pain, and incredibly fortunate I am here to save her life.

Or not.

A light grey suit jacket is strewn on the landing. Purposely five shades lighter than the groomsman replica Hunter wears like an international model. The Italian wool is carelessly flung aside, disrespecting the thousand-dollar price tag and the hours spent searching for the perfect cut to suit nine male physiques. As I kick it aside, the jacket opens, revealing a white envelope inside the pocket.

Mitch’s vows.

He hadn’t forgotten to write them—only what they mean.

With a perverse sense of self-destruct, I reach for the envelope, before a hand grabs my wrist.

“We don’t have to,” Hunter whispers, pulling me away, still trying to save me from myself.

“Shh, I need to see.” I needn’t whisper. The groans from my bedroom would drown out a landing plane.

Noises they don’t even pretend to hide. Not from the world.

Half a dozen steps later, I see everything.

Two naked bodies enthralled together on my bed, crumpling and christening the burgundy sheets I recently purchased in the bedroom I’d styled for a sneak getaway between wedding and reception. How the hell did Mitch think he’d get away with hiding this?

Had he been thinking of me, at all?

I stand frozen in the doorway, watching the grunting and grinding with a morbid curiousity. Not that they care. They’re too busy to notice either the time—the wedding is due to start in just over an hour—or me.

Me.

The bride-that-was and the best friend no more.

Silently, Hunter yanks me away from my unfolding nightmare but he doesn’t act quickly enough to stop me from unlocking my phone.

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