Page 3 of Tea Leaves and Runaway Brides

"You need to call this off," she says flatly.

"How am I to call it off? The wedding is literally tomorrow."

"You fucking deserve better than this," Tina says, anger clear in her voice.

I slip on underwear underneath my towel.

"My father certainly doesn't think so."

"Fuck your father. He's an asshole."

I don't argue. No truer words have been said.

After I wash up, I slip into pajamas and crawl under my bed's covers.

"I just need to get some sleep."

"Alright, babe. Well, I'm here for you in the morning. Okay?"

In my elaborate gown, I'm surrounded by my wedding party, made up of my best friend and a bunch of Steve's cousins. His mother insisted that every single cousin be included, so that only allowed me to pick out my maid of honor. At the time, I thought I was being generous and flexible, but now I can see I was just a doormat for that woman to wipe her feet on.

In the church, the processional begins to play, and one by one, the bridesmaids walk slowly down the aisle. When it's time for the maid of honor, Tina turns to me and gives my hand a squeeze.

"Remember, I support you no matter what your choices are," she says, winking at me, and then turns to head down the aisle.

Dad and I stand out of sight, waiting for the bridal processional to begin. He clears his throat and gives me a firm nod.

"You look very suitable today," he says, and I almost burst out laughing. Believe it or not, that's a compliment coming from my father.

Lohengrin starts, and my father offers me his bent elbow. I slip my hand through it, and he steps forward, but my body feels rooted to the ground.

"Emerson," he hisses under his breath.

He attempts to walk forward again, but my feet are glued to the floor.

"Emerson," he says with a loud, firm voice.

Looking up into his dark eyes, I shake my head. Yanking my arm away from him, I spin on my heel and bolt out the church door.

3

Darius

With the hardware order in the back of my truck, I head down Main Street and turn off on Tupper Lane. Down the tree-lined street, I swear I see a shock of turquoise-colored hair atop a blur of white racing down the sidewalk. When I get closer, I realize it's a bride running from the corner church, with her fluffy wedding dress billowing in the June breeze.

She stops at the corner, whipping her head around, apparently trying to figure out which way to go. Pulling up, I roll down my window.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

The runaway bride looks at me with wild brown eyes, but even disheveled, she's incredibly stunning. She stumbles, desperation written across her face, then her body stiffens when I hear a loud voice yell out, "Emerson!"

Craning my neck, I see a man and several other people running down the church steps. A few of them are in tuxes. One appears to be the groom.

"Emerson!" the older man's voice bellows out.

"If you need to leave right now, I can help you. Get in," I say to the bride.

She looks back for half a second, then jumps into my car and slams the door. I pull away from the curb and keep driving in the same direction.