Page 19 of Wicked Proposal
I steel myself. I smile at all the right times, nod in all the right places, laugh politely at every joke. Once or twice, Yulian even remembers to introduce me.
Then the announcement rings out.
“Esteemed guests, please make your way to the chapel.”
Fucking finally.The sooner we get this ceremony over with, the better.
We step into a side room fitted with everything a chapel would have: cascades of flowers, lacquered wooden benches, more of that odd mix of fairy lights and naked bulbs from the garden.
We take our places on the groom’s side. For the first time, I realize I have no idea who’s even getting married here.
How does Yulian know them? Is this business, or does he, too, have friends?
But one glance at his emotionless face tells me all I need to know. Whoever’s tying the knot here tonight, he couldn’t care less.
Then I see him.
Tall. Blond. Decked in white from head to toe, waiting for his bride at the altar, his curls slicked down with gel and a lily in his breast pocket, and…
… the face of my worst nightmares.
No. It can’t be.
My palms go clammy. My heart starts hammering, wild, the heartbeat of prey caught out in the open, defenseless, hopeless.
I try to make myself small in my chair, frantically looking around for an exit route, but the other guests are blocking me in.
At that moment, the march starts playing.
If I stand now, he’ll see me,I realize, panic rising through my throat.If I stand?—
But he sees me anyway.
I feel it in my gut—the second our eyes make contact.
The moment I know, irrevocably, how fucked I am.
Because my abusive ex just recognized me.
Brad.
The man I ran away from.
The man I changed my name for.
The father of the child he thinks I lost.
7
MIA
It happens like in the movies.
The nuptial march starts playing. Heads turn at the sound of clacking heels. The roomoohsandahhsat the sight of the bride, walking up to the altar in a cascade of white lilies.
But the guests in the front row, decked out in all the hues of Gaudy Gold and Pretentious Pink money can buy, aren’t looking at the bride.
They’re following the groom’s gaze.
