Page 21 of Kiss the Bride
“Liv?”
“I hurt all over. How is that even possible?” This time, when she bites down on her lip, I know it’s to stop another wave of tears. She’s looking at me for answers I don’t have. Hell, I’d clean out my trust fund to give her something to hold onto.You paid for her honeymoon, so that’s a start.
“Liv, oh, Liv.” What else can I say? This beautiful woman has every right to feel as fucked over as she does and when she curls into my arms, I have every right to hold her until she doesn’t need me anymore.
My Knight With Sun-Bleached Hair
Olivia
“Yes.” I suck ina breath and pull away from his chest, trying not to notice how fast his heart is racing. For years I dreamed of Hunter asking me to marry him. Asking me to run away with him on my honeymoon didn’t figure on my list of things that would happen today, but there’s no one else I’d rather run away with. “Yes, Hunter Williams. I would love to go on my honeymoon with you. It isn’t the craziest thing we’ve done, and call it a technology detox or a marriageless honeymoon, but I feel like going crazy.”
He stares at me, as if to say,are you crazyor,are you sure?“Come on, Hunt—it’s not as crazy as driving for four hours and camping out all night because we wanted to see lambs being born.”
That had been one of the happiest weeks of my life. We’d driven to a friend of a friend’s farm thinking the ewes would start lambing once we arrived. Instead, we arrived in the middle of chaos and the farmers put us to work. We slept under a tarpaulin at the edge of a field, surrounded by nature. In borrowed clothes that didn’t fit, we worked from sun up until sundown, and at the time, I could see a lifetime of working beside Hunter.
“Do it, Hunt,” I challenge, knowing I’m the only person who is allowed to shorten his name. “I dare you to come to Lizard Island with me.”
“This is Mr. Williams. I’d like to bring forward the booking in the name of ‘Hazel’ and change it to my name.” One phone call and a verbal confirmation from me, and Mitch’s name is removed from my honeymoon booking. We can even arrive a day early. Hunter shows me flight options, and if we hurry, we’ll make the eight PM direct flight from Sydney to Cairns.
“Where are we going to stay?” I’ve always been a detail person, and on a day that turned to shit, I need some certainty about where I’m going to sleep. I don’t need to know if there is one bed or two—I’ve trusted Hunter since before I could walk—but it would be nice to know there is a comfortable mattress, hot water, and a bar. Yes. I need a fully stocked bar.
“Dunno.” He closes another hotel booking screen. “I’ve got us to Cairns tonight and a charter to the island tomorrow.”
“But what about tonight?” I feel the panic rise. All the planning for my wedding and I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight?Breathe, Liv, breathe. You don’t know where the groom is going to sleep, either. And I don’t care.Okay, that felt more honest than it should. I don’t care if Mitch is sleeping on his own, with Lina, or with a harem of sluts looking to comfort him. I’m not married to a lying, cheating bastard, and I don’t care where he sleeps.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“Sweetheart, don’t you trust me?”
I pin him with aare you kidding mestare. “Wrong day to ask about trust.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fair call.” When I reward him with a smile, he adds, “then, can you trust me for one night?”
He has the innocent prep boy look down pat, even though I know he’s the man most likely to get me into trouble—and to make me laugh.
He was also the first man to make me cry. First, but not the last.
In years to come, I’ll laugh about ending a bad marriage before the vows. I can even imagine joking about putting divorce lawyers out of business. Today, it hurts like a bitch, and I want to wallow in the pain of knowing the man I stupidly trusted betrayed me with one of my best friends.
As we drive back to the city and out to the airport, my head throbs with a headache that refuses to break. The tears I refuse to shed turn into rocks pounding against my skull and the adrenaline from leaving the house has left me raw with tsunami-sized waves of emotions. I feel that no sooner than I survive one attack, another hits me from behind. I always thought I was one of the smartest people in the room, but really, I’m a fraud and a fool, and everyone now knows it.
Firstly, my taste in men is incredibly naïve and flawed. Hunter and then Mitch have both dumped me. Well, Mitch wanted to marry me and keep his side piece. But he hadn’t been looking for the forsaking-all-others kind of relationship I thought we had. And now, thanks to my acting without thinking, my humiliation is being viewed by all our family and friends. The only piece of luck is that my camera caught the action without any explicit bits that could get me a criminal record.
Small mercies.
Secondly, all our friends and family know I’ve run away with the best man. Everyone knows Hunter is my ex. Everyone knows it took me years to get over him. They’ll all assume the worst. Hell, Mitch might think I’ve been sleeping with Hunter the whole time. For the record, I haven’t.
It’s just another lump of humiliation to add to my increasing list. I can’t even do the whole runaway bride thing without making a complete fool of myself.
Hunter doesn’t flinch at the cost of parking at Sydney airport, refusing to dump his car back at his place and Uber. I use the last of our bottled water to make minor repairs to my face, borrowing Hunter’s sunglasses as we stride through the airport and check in our bags.
If Hunter can ignore the stares, so can I. After all, it’s not every day you see a man in a crumpled dinner suit, looking like a sun-kissed model, walking through the airport with a woman in a shredded wedding dress and a purple cardigan. It could be a new trend—taking a custom-designed wedding dress and slashing it for a divorce party.Can I have the party without needing a divorce?
“Looks like we have an extra hour,” Hunter says, pointing to the updated flight board. “Wanna go shopping?”
“It’s as if you don’t know me at all.” My joke comes naturally, and I wave my arms at the designer labels crammed into the airport. “Or do you just want to get me out of my wedding dress?”
