After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. I can’t put it off any longer. People need to know the wedding’s off.
I’m not getting married in a week.
Except…I could.
If…I agreed to my boss’s proposal. Nah, that’s not happening.
His suggestion took me completely by surprise. No way, can I swap out my cheating ex as the bridegroom with my smokin’ hot, sex-on-a-stick boss, right?
He’s insane for suggesting it. I’m delusional for even entertaining it. It makes no sense. None. Zero.
But…what if I did? I swallow.
What if I said yes, married my boss, and somehow, pulled off the most ridiculous plot twist of my life? Then what?
Could I live happily ever after, with a man I barely know? Then again, I thought I knew my ex. Turns out, I was dead wrong.
As for Brody…I can't deny I’m attracted to him. Violently, embarrassingly so. Way more than I ever was to my douche of a fiancé. But marrying him instead of my ex? That’s soap-opera-level far-fetched.
Nope. It’s not happening. I have to face reality. The wedding’s off. I need to start damage control. I must email my friends, tell my parents, cancel everything. Ugh. The thought of it feels like trying to untangle a mess of tinsel. Painful. Frustrating.
But the sooner I start, the sooner I can pretend my life isn’t a glittery disaster zone.
Fine. Fine.
I pick up my phone, pull up my mother’s number on the screen, poise my finger over the call button… But I can’t bring myself to press dial. Damn.
My mother will be so disappointed. They think I'm doing so well in life. That all their hard work in bringing me up is paying off. They’re looking forward to visiting London too.
It’s not even midnight yet, so I decide to call Raya instead.
“Hey, Sis.” Her faceappears on the screen.
In the background, I hear the beat of techno music and see the flash of strobe lights.
“Are you at a club?”
“What?” she yells back. “I can’t hear you.”
I raise my voice. “Where are you?”
“Hold on.” There’s a muffled conversation as she talks to someone, some giggling, then the image goes wonky, as she walks through the club.
The sound of music fades. When she holds up the phone again, the light is dimmer. She must have stepped out.
“Sorry the music inside the club was too loud.” She sounds breathless. “Why did you call? Is everything okay?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” The lie comes out so easily, I don’t have to think about it twice.
I have to tell her the wedding is off.
I steel myself, open my mouth, but no words come out. Damn, why is this so difficult? Tell her already. The words remain stuck in my throat like it’s coated with glue.
“How are the wedding preparations? Hopefully, Keith finally called you back and you’ve sorted the last-minute details?”
Yep. All sorted. I was jilted by my cheating loser ex. Ugh. That should be the name of a rom-com. Only, it’s too pathetic for it to ever be the title of one.
Why is this so difficult?
