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“Baby girl, I hate to interrupt but we’re going to miss our plane if we don’t leave now,” Brayden points out quietly.
She glances at her delicate wristwatch. “You’re right. Oh my god, we’ve got to run. Next time you see me, I’ll be Mrs. Brayden Ashmore. Bye, Carson.” She hugs me one last time, and I hope the happiness she feels now will carry through the rest of her life. “I’ll see you next weekend.”
I hesitate. “You’re coming to my wedding?”
Kendra flashes me a grin. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Chapter Nine
ELLA
It’s been a stressful week, and by the time Friday evening rolls around, I feel jittery and shaky and so confused. Today, I said the final goodbyes to my new coworkers. They don’t know that yet. They won’t until Monday. Leaving early has ripped me in two. I’ve really enjoyed the job for the two weeks I’ve had it. Yesterday, I got to meet some of the kids from one of the church groups the organization is helping. Their appreciation was touching and their excitement infectious. I feel like a phony shit for walking out on them all.
Worse, the phony trend will continue tomorrow. I’ll be a fake bride. I’ll fake smile for my fake wedding to Carson before I fake run out on him prior to reaching the altar. He’ll fake being shocked and heartbroken, while I’ll manufacture fake drama the whole tragic night before I truly slink off alone, probably to cry real tears.
Sunday morning, I’ll be back on a plane with my sisters, winging toward my old life in Los Angeles, owing them a crap ton of explanations, and without the man I love.
I don’t know if I can do it.
My sisters arrived yesterday. They both liked Carson immediately, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s awesome—handsome, funny, charming when he wants to be. Eryn and Echo both have given a thumbs-up to Charlotte and said that if they had to part with me for a man, a new city, and a new life, they understand my choice.
I wanted to cry because I can see myself here, too. As Mrs. Carson Frost. Keeping my job and racing to the new home we toured last Sunday afternoon and loved. He put in an offer on the property Monday morning. We found out last night that the sellers accepted. I’m sadder than I thought I would be that I won’t be living in that dream house with him. Someday, another woman will. I’m jealous of her already.
How would he react if I said I might want to stay?
“Are you ready for this?” Eryn sidesteps closer as we all mill around the empty ballroom, waiting for our wedding rehearsal to begin. The hotel is beautiful, and I have no doubt our “wedding” will be exquisite.
I give her my best fake impression of happiness. “Yeah. I’m excited.”
She frowns at me. “You should be. He’s great. Really. If West and I shared half the love you and Carson seem to, we might have made it to our wedding day.”
I swallow down more guilt. Eryn rarely talks about her ex-fiancé anymore. Weston Quaid was a good guy, if a little rough around the edges. He seemed to worship her—right up until the end. “I think you did share love. Twenty was too young to get married, and he got spooked.”
“Because he didn’t love me enough.” She gives me a tight grin as if she doesn’t want me to candy-coat the truth. “But better to know that before we got married than after.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t ease her pain. I have no doubt some part of her is still attached to West. “I know your wedding dress has sentimental value for you. Thanks for lending it to me.”
“It was gathering dust in the closet, so I’m glad someone will finally put it to good use. We’re lucky it didn’t need more than a little hem and tuck for it to fit.”
When I tried it on after the tailor rushed through the few alterations in the last twenty-four hours, it fit as if it were made for me. Even slipping the gown on was both a joy and a sorrow. With lacy straps that hug my shoulders, an embellished bodice that dips to show the right amount of cleavage, and a tulle skirt that’s pure romance, it’s perfect. Or it would be if I were actually getting married.
I’m so torn about this fake wedding. Honestly, I’m torn about my relationship with Carson in general.
“Okay, everyone in their places,” Vasha calls out.
I spy him cutting up with his two groomsmen. Luis, one of the guys he went to college with, is darkly handsome and recently married. His other pal from a previous job, Sam, has a more cool, aristocratic appeal—until he smiles, which seems to be often. In fact, they’re all laughing now, clinking booze in plastic glasses, looking as if they don’t have a care in the world. When my “groom” slants a glance my way, I know instantly he’s got something on his mind.
Nerves knot my tummy. I’m not sure which outcome to hope for anymore—for him to call off this farce right now or tell me he wants to make it real.
“I need my bride and groom,” the wedding planner shouts, motioning me over with a flip of her hand.
I head toward her dutifully, dreading this pretense. Even looking at Carson now hurts. Making love is a bittersweet torture. It’s impossible to believe that in twenty-four hours, I might see him again for the last time. Though we’re in love, I’m worried it’s not enough. What if we say we intend to make our relationship work from across the country? All right, but for how long? What event would change our circumstances? And what happens if one of us gets lonely or becomes frustrated that we can’t be together? Or decides the deprivation isn’t worth the effort anymore and calls to break up? Or maybe stops answering the other’s calls and texts? I can’t afford to fly across the country, and he can’t spare the time away from Sweet Darlin’.
Once I leave, I don’t see us working out. And that’s killing me because I can’t imagine living without him.
“Carson,” Vasha calls again.
She might be five feet tall with long black hair and a round, youthful face, but looks are deceiving. This woman is as cuddly as a tigress. Everyone is a bit afraid of her—except Sam, who keeps eyeing her like he’d enjoy the chance to prove he can more than handle her claws.
Carson lopes in our direction. Vasha huddles us together and gives some instructions that barely register in my racing brain. He takes my hand and nods on our behalf.
“Great,” the wedding planner says, snapping her fingers and signaling to someone we can’t see to dim the lights.
The room falls silent.
“Bride and groom, tell your attendants what they need to be doing. I’m going to make sure the music is ready. Everyone must be in their places in five minutes.”
With that, she’s gone, focusing her considerable attention to some other detail I would never have even considered.
When I spin around to find my sisters and flub passing along whatever I didn’t hear, Carson stops me. He wraps his hand around my wrist and sends me a searching stare. “You okay, sweetheart?”
I’m not sure what to say. “This is harder than I thought it was going to be.”
“Being dishonest with Eryn and Echo? With everyone else?”
“Yeah.” That’s part of the problem, anyway. But certainly not all of it.
How do I tell him I have second thoughts about jilting him at the altar? He’s hinted now and then that we might make more of our relationship someday, but he hasn’t once suggested that we actually get married tomorrow. I don’t want to presume he’s interested in becoming husband and wife. Or ask, only to find out he’s decided that’s a no for him. But I think he still wants us together. He makes love to me every night like he can’t stop touching me, like he can’t breathe without me. I cling to him in sleep because I’m afraid I’ll wake to find him gone. I don’t want to be that woman who’s too insecure to tell the man she loves that she wants more from their relationship, but I’m tripped up by my childhood. If my own parents couldn’t really love me, why should this wonderful man? On the other hand, if I tell Carson I might want to be his wife for real and he wants that, too, someone will have to sacrifi
ce so we can be together. Is either of us ready for that?
Why is this such a tangle?
“Talk to me,” he says softly, taking my hand.
To everyone else, it probably looks like a tender moment between a couple ready to commit their lives to each other. But
