It takes me another 0.5 of a second to realize my horrible stepsister signed me up for this. Like it’s some big joke and I’m the punchline.
Absolutely not.
Reflexively, I shake my head and try to step back. There is no way I’m going up there.
“Maisey! Where are you, sweetheart?” the announcer asks, his hand up like a visor, scanning the crowd.
I’m about to make my escape when Patty yells out and waves her hands in the air. “She’s here!”
The spotlights lock onto me a second later. The crowd roars, and people press in around me from all sides. I’m trapped.
I lift one hand to try to signal that there’s been a mistake. I’m not a bride. I’m not doing this. But then there are hands on my shoulders, guiding—no,shoving—me through the crowd like a tide impossible to fight, up to the stage until I’m standing next to the man in the rhinestone-studded tuxedo.
“I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake. I didn’t?—”
“Maisey!” he grabs my hand, locking me in place. “Give it up for our bride, everyone.”
Again, the crowd roars with delight, but I once more try to pull away.
“Come on, Maisey!” Patty yells. “It’s not like you’re going to get married any other way.”
The crowd cheers and laughs. I want to die.
“And now,” the announcer continues brightly as if I’m not burning up with humiliation, “we just need a groom!”
He turns to the crowd, microphone raised expectantly. “Who’s brave enough to marry this lovely lady tonight?”
Silence.
Not a single man steps forward.
Not. One.
There are a few whistles and a couple of drunken laughs. Someone shouts something I can’t quite make out, and it’s probably for the best. No doubt a joke at my expense.
My chest tightens.
Of course, no one volunteers. Why would they? I’m not like most of the women in this club—polished, painted, and beautiful. I’m the girl people laugh at. The one picked last for…well, everything. I’m definitely not the girl men are fighting over or, in this case, rushing up to marry.
“Remember,” the man says, “our happy couple will be spending the night in the honeymoon suite as well as walking away with a wedding gift of fifty thousand dollars!”
I almost choke.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
My pulse stutters. I turn to stare at the man. There is no way I heard him correctly. Fifty thousand dollars is enough to pay off all my billsandmy student loans. Even if I have to share the pot with someone else, it’s still enough money to get me out of the hole I’ve dug for myself. It would mean breathing room.
“Did you say fifty thousand dollars?”
“I sure did, sweetheart,” the tuxedoed man grins and plays to the crowd. “Not a bad wedding gift at all, is it?”
My head spins.
It’s the kind of money that could change everything for me.
All I have to…no!
What am I thinking? I can’t marry a stranger.
