Page 88 of Made for You

I look into his deep brown eyes and there’s a moment of alarm, because the person who made me for Josh is not supposed to be encouraging me to run away from my groom at the last possible minute.

“Andy...we already talked about this. Stop worrying.”

His voice goes low, urgent. “I have the keys to the getaway car. Say the word, I’ll drive you away. I know it’s been one thing after another for you. This all may feel...inevitable. But this is your choice. Yours, okay?”

“I have chosen, Andy. I’m in love with Josh!” I lick my lips, even though I know it’ll disturb my lipstick. “Not to mention, you designed me for Josh. You should know better than anyone that we’re a perfect fit.” I pause. “Right?”

“What if I fucked up?” He suddenly looks like a scared little kid.

My stomach twists with some premonition. And then I shake my head, because Pachelbel’s Canon is playing on the other side of the doors, and the wedding planner is walking toward us, giving us the signal.

“Relax. You didn’t fuck up,” I whisper, and hold out my arm for him to take.

And if you did, I promise myself silently, it doesn’t matter, because I will make it work. No matter what it takes.

The wedding planner mouths, Go. The barn doors slide open. I smile. Andy’s grip on my arm tightens, but he doesn’t move.

I squeeze him, hard. It’s time. Let’s go.

We take a step. Then another. Everyone is standing, smiling, glowing.

Soon, the minister will say, Who gives this woman to be married?

Andy will say, I give her.

Then I’ll take that step forward. Release Andy’s hand and take Josh’s. And I will belong to Josh as fully and completely as I’ve always wanted.

This moment is my long-awaited dream come true, and I’m not letting any last-minute insecurities of Andy’s take that away.

NOW

I’m lying on the floor of Bob’s truck with a nasty-smelling blanket on top of me when I feel the truck pull to a stop. Bob says a single word. “Cops.”

After talking to Christi and Ally, I told Bob where to take me. I didn’t press him for details about Gianna, or his spying, though it seems obvious that he moved here to be close to us, to Annaleigh. From the boxes marked with Gianna’s name, I’ve surmised she passed. I still don’t know how he got ahold of my baby monitor, but right now I’d prefer not to ask, and anyway, I can guess why he sang to her. For the same reason I do: love. Maybe there will be time to talk at length when this is all over.

I lie as still as possible while Bob rolls down the window.

“Evening, Officer,” he says.

“We’re looking for a red-haired woman. Lives over on HH. The Synth. You know her?” It’s a man’s voice, but thankfully, not Mitchell’s.

“She’s my neighbor,” says Bob easily. “What’s she gone and done?”

“Murdered her husband, I guess. You seen her?”

Light shines through the blanket, like someone is tracking a flashlight through the windows. I don’t even breathe.

“Nope.”

There’s silence, then a grunt. “If you see her, please contact us. She may be armed and dangerous.”

“Sure will. You boys stay safe,” says Bob. There’s a whir—his window, rolling back up. A slamming sound on the side of the truck, like the officer is urging us on. Then a burst of speed. Welcome darkness, and welcome silence.

“Coast is clear,” Bob calls back. “Ten minutes to the motel.”

I free my head from the blanket, relishing how fresh the air feels.

Cars whiz past us in the night. Geometric patches of brightness move across the truck’s ceilings from headlights. My breasts are in serious pain, and I lean all my emotions into Christi’s promise to have a pump waiting for me, then tip my head back against the lip of the seat and try to doze.

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