A giggle or two echo from the small crowd, but when the punch line doesn’t arrive, you could hear a pin drop. Meanwhile, Mitchell looks confused.Time to ditch the subtlety.I give the papers a shake and scan the long line of anonymous text message screenshots I’d gotten this morning.
“Apparently, ‘that thing you do with your tongue isuh-mah-zing.’”
“What?”
“That’s exactly what I said. I feel shortchanged.”
“Evie?” He reaches for me, but I pivot away. Balling up the first sheet of paper, I aim it at his head.Bull’s-eye!
“‘I have never had this kind of connection before,’” I kind of yell. “That one’s from Jen. Which is weird, given I’m the one in the damn dress.”
Color leeches from Mitchell’s face right before I bounce another ball of scrunched paper off his head.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” His words come so quick, they almost trip over themselves.
“I’m thinking you’re a deceitful, two-timing, unfaithful piece of shit!”
Cue an intake of breath from our audience. It seems Mitchell isn’t the only one a little slow on the uptake today.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got this all wrong.”
“I have?” I hold the paper in front of me. “So, when you said you ‘couldn’t wait to get your mouth on Jen’s pussy,’ you were talking about her cat?”
“Give me those.” He grunts as he reaches for the papers.
Oh, hell no.I snatch them away. “Do you think Jen’s cat would be into—oh, wait. Jen only has a dog. I guess she has two now.”
I step backward into the aisle, thankful I didn’t choose a dress with a train. Dropping the first printout, I glide between our guests, who are silent and gawping in their jaunty hats and pastel dresses.Is it weird how I’m only just noticing they’re mostly Mitchell’s friends?
“‘I can’t wait to give you my rock-hard eight inches,’” I announce, flicking the next sheet away. “I hope one of you thought to gift that man a new ruler. Whatever he’s using right now is lying to him.”
Someone snickers. Another barks out a laugh. At the end of the aisle, I swing around to face my lead-footed groom, delivering my finale with, I like to think, aplomb.If my mother was here, she’d probably have a coronary.
“This one’s a doozy ... ‘Next time I see you, I’m gonna suck your brains out from your dick.’” I press a pondering finger to my chin. “I do wonder if Jen achieved her aim. Your brains haveobviouslymigrated to your balls, so that’s like, what?” Holding my finger and thumb a little apart, I add, “Four inches to travel, give or take?” Done, I throw the rest of the printouts up into the air.
I see the moment that this all sinks in—the moment Mitch realizes this isn’t a bad dream. The color that drained from his face moments ago comes rushing back with a vengeance. My heart leaps in my chest as, through the flutter of oversize confetti, he begins to move, sidestepping those who’d stop him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am done with this man. Done with this wedding. But please help yourself to the champagne being served in the anteroom. Raise your glasses to close calls and anonymous text messages.” I swing around and tug the door open, my heels ringing against the marble floor as I brush past a server and his silver tray.
Mitchell bellows my name, and a burst of adrenaline courses through my veins.
“Not today, whorey Satan,” I mutter as I pick up my pace, caterers rocking like pins as I bowl past them.
Dammit, I was looking forward to those Thai-spiced prawn canapés.
The sun is almost blinding as I explode from the town hall’s Victorian front doors and almost roll my ankle as I slip on the steps I’d imagined having beautiful wedding photos taken on. I tug off $600 worth of Jimmy Choos, regretfully pitching them behind me.
“Evie, come back!” Mitch yells as the doors bang open a moment later.
I don’t spare him the breath of an answer as I gather the front of my froufrou dress and burst into a barefoot sprint.
“Please, let me explain!”
Not on your life.Andhis lifeis right. I’m not running away because I’m afraid of him. It’s more like I’m afraid of what I might do to him. There is no rationalizing this. It’s just a choice between undignified behavior and homicide, and he’s not worth going to jail over.
Where the hell is the car?The wedding venue is on a busy intersection in a no-parking zone. Not that a 1928 Daimler would make any kind of high-speed getaway.
“Evelyn!” Mitchell bellows with a change of tone. “Get back here—we need to talk about this!”
