Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“We’re going with the latter. Now, where are you, exactly?”
“Behind the church. There are two sheds with a hedgerow behind them. I’m between the buildings.”
The crowd roars once again. But instead of the ordinary screams and whistles, they begin to sing the chorus of the most popular song on country radio.
“Guess Sam’s here,” I say, sighing.
“Don’t worry about who is here. Let’s worry about getting you out of here.”
“Therein lies my problem.” I nibble the lip stain that took me six months to pick out. “People are everywhere. I can’t just walk out the gate and onto the street. I get recognized in a wig, hat, and sunglasses, let alone a freaking wedding dress.”
My heart pounds as the weight of my actions sinks in.
Tom will be humiliated. The biggest movie star in the world will be left standing at the altar by the pop star the world is quick to label frivolous. My parents’ fury will be immeasurable. How dare I be so careless with my image when so much of their success is riding on it? My PR team will be inundated with calls and emails. My assistant must stay out of sight until this cools down, and my fans will jump to conclusions and assume the worst about me. About Tom. Critics will claim this was a publicity stunt when it’s nothing more than a woman trying to salvage her future amid a few bad choices.
“Maybe I should just go through with it,” I say, a chill prickling my skin. “The ramifications of this—”
“It’s ten years from now, and you’re on a beach.”
“Can we talk about vacations later?”
“And you look to your left, and there’s Tom,” she says. “How do you feel?”
Sick.
Uneasiness stirs in my stomach. Instead of imagining Tom gazing adoringly back at me, I instantly notice the angry lines around his eyes. His voice sweeps through my head.
“There are calories in those drinks, you know.”
“We’re going to have to talk about you easing up on the music thing when I start filming my next project in the winter.”
“Can’t you choose more conservative costumes? You’re a grown woman, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want my wife out there looking like a whore.”
I grapple with how to phrase that, but Stephanie saves me the trouble.
“Now imagine that you look to the left, and he’s gone,” she says. “How do you feel now?”
Peaceful.
Relief eases the tension in my shoulders and quells the knot in my stomach. I don’t try to answer her this time; it’s unnecessary.
“The ramifications of going back in that church and marrying Tom are far worse than the inconvenience it will cause everyone else if you don’t,” she says. “I’ll support you either way. But your father was just in here looking for you, and while I can stall him for a little bit, you need to decide.”
A shiver runs the length of my spine. A flush stings my cheeks. My heart somehow lodges in my throat, and each beat reminds me of the seconds ticking by.
I can’t do it. I can’t return to that church and walk out as Mrs. Tom Waverly. The thought makes me want to hurl.
“The media will have a heyday with this,” I say, my back pressed against the shed. “I can see the headlines already.”
“Ignore all of that. You’re going to wake up married or not. What’s it going to be?”
My breath quickens. “I’m not.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
A door closes in the background. “Okay, this is the plan.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
“I could borrow a car and pick you up, but someone has to be here to head off your parents and Tom until you’ve made your exit,” she says. “The security team is our best bet, I think. They’re under an NDA, and you hired them, right? Not Tom?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Okay. Let me find one of them and get them to pick you up. You stay put. I’m going to bide you some time with your father. Who should I contact on your team?”
“My agent. Anjelica Grace at Mason Music,” I say. “Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I can.”
“I’m on it. Do you need me to do anything else?”
I take a long breath. “Don’t be the one to tell Tom. Let someone else do it.”
“Got it. Now, hold tight. I’ll have a car there as fast as I can.”
“I love you, Steph.”
“Love you more.”
“Oh! And my engagement ring is in your purse.”
“Got it.”
The call ends. I drop my arm to the side and avoid looking at the phone screen. People are probably already sending texts and looking for me. I can’t deal with it. Not yet.
I’m really doing this. I’m really running away from my wedding.
My head begins to spin with all the immediate decisions I must make. I have to get my things from the hotel before it’s taken over by the wedding party again. Can anyone track my phone? How will I get out of here without alerting the media and bystanders?