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I ran.
I got cold feet and I ran and I sabotaged everything.
A Chance with Vance has been one of the most highly-rated television shows in the country since it premiered a few months ago. Tonight, all of America is waiting for me to walk down the aisle and give them the fairytale finale they’ve been tuning in for.
But here I am, standing on the platform of my hometown’s train station, battling against an incoming panic attack.
Oh my god. What have I just done?
“Comin’ through, Cinderella. Outta the way,” some drunk dude hollers, kicking my oversized suitcase as he staggers past me in a haze of alcohol fumes.
“Hey, watch it, will ya?” I mumble under my breath, weakly defending the honor of my poor, attacked luggage.
Then I realize that he’s a familiar face—a regular from the bar I used to work at—and I immediately try to hide my face. I’m not ready for all the questions yet. But it’s really hard to go under the radar in a small town like Starlight Falls.
Especially when I’m wearing a freaking wedding dress.
But the man has already forgotten all about me. He’s hunched over a nearby garbage can, noisily emptying the contents of his stomach.
Just as well. I’m not so keen on drawing any more attention to myself at the moment.
Back to the wedding dress. Yes—in my mad rush out of the wedding venue, I didn’t even bother to change clothes. After approaching Vance in his dressing room, returning the engagement ring and blurting out that I couldn’t marry him, I just stuffed my things into my suitcase, threw on a random zip-up hoodie and took off like a bat out of hell before my would-be groom—or anyone else for that matter—could try and talk me out of it.
Needless to say, I earned a lot of stares and ‘interesting’ comments in the past few hours as I jumped into the nearest taxi and boarded the first available train, ditching my impending nuptials like a burglar fleeing the crime scene.
I’m starting to wonder if it was a mistake to come straight here in the midst of my mess. And I’m more than just a little embarrassed over the fact that Nolan Brighton—of all people—is the one I had to call for help tonight.
My former boss. My ever-serious, always-grumpy, irritatingly handsome former boss.
Nolan may not be a beaming ray of sunshine. But he’s a solid guy. Stable. Trustworthy. Dependable.
And hot-as-hell. But I never allow myself to think about that part too long.
I’m definitely not proud about having to turn to him in my lowest moment. But who else could I have called? I don’t have anyone else to lean on or anywhere else to go.And that’s just a sad fact.
Pulling my hastily-packed suitcase behind me now, I wobble across the quiet train station and lower onto a bench facing the parking lot. The white tulle of my wedding gown puffs out all around me.
I’ve never been a huge fan of traveling solo. I chalk it up to being a woman in a world full of creeps. But I put my big girl pants on whenever it’s for something important.And I’d say running away from my TV wedding is ranked pretty high up there. I’ve definitely got my big girl panties on under all these miles and miles of fabric tonight.
I’m inwardly cursing myself for selecting this extravagant silk and lace drop-waist ballgown. I should have gone with a simpler, more low-key style. The only upside is that this dress is secondhand vintage so I won’t have to sell a kidney to pay the production studio back when they come after me down the road.
My mind wanders back to the elaborate wedding venue. The thousands of cream and white roses decorating the elegant hotel ballroom. The chamber orchestra. The massive production crew.
All that money down the drain. Because of me.
Shit. I should have spoken out sooner. I should have never let it get this far.
And I totally regret not having a lawyer review my contract before I signed it. Or at any point before hitching up my wedding dress and running for the hills. Crap.
I am so getting sued over this. By the TV network. By the production studio. By Vance. By all of them.
But that’s a bridge I’ll have to cross some other day.
Heaven knows I have enough problems to worry about in the here and now. I try to swallow but my throat is too tight and my mouth is too dry. I stare up at the pitch black night sky, willing myself not to cry. But the tears come anyway, cascading down my cheeks in long, mascara-tinted streams.
So much for those seven hours I spent in hair and makeup earlier today. I swipe blindly at my wet cheeks with the train of my gown. The lace hem is tinged with dirt from dragging along the ground.
Luckily, there aren’t that many people hanging around the train station at this time to witness me in my pathetic state.The place is practically deserted for the night.
