1
“Ah. Chris. There's no way it's going to fit.”
“Just a little bit further, Jayne. Oh, come on. It’s almost in.”
“I can’t. It freaking hurts.”
“Be patient. I promise you, it’ll be worth it.”
“Maybe for you.” I gasped. “Ouch. It hurts too much.”
“Relax and let me do it.”
Uncurling my toes, I stretched my neck to the ceiling. I held my breath while I let him take over. “Is it all the way in yet?”
“Not quite. Only a little way to go,” his voice strained. “Ah. Yes. I think it’s in.”
“Really?” I tried to wiggle. “It’s too tight. I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Now promise me you’ll wear them to bed.”
Hitting him on the shoulder, I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe she bought the wrong size.”
“It says it’s a seven.”
“That means nothing.” I squeezed my foot into the second candy apple red stiletto all on my own. “Who the hell wears these on their wedding day?”
“Your friend has great taste.” Chris ran his hand down my calf. “I’ve never seen you infuck meshoes. I could get used to this.”
Crossing my arms, I huffed. “You won’t see me in them again after tomorrow.”
Oh, I didn’t know how right I was…
Never run in heels.
I should’ve let the bastard walk away, but I had to give him a piece of my mind.
“Christopher Jackson Noolan,” I bellowed.
He turned around, giving me a death glare. His normally stylish hair, now wet from the heat, stuck to his head in clumps. Yet, somehow his white linen shirt, billowing, and safari khakis, light years away from his usual attire, made him even more handsome.
Picking up the hem of my white dress, I stepped toward him and pushed out my chin. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in Africa,” I declared, feeling the words deep.
His hands shot up in a show of ultimate aggravation before turning away from me entirely.
I ran after him.
I wasn’t finished.
Chris, the love of my life merely three minutes ago, continued to stomp off like a child throwing a fit into thehonest-to-Godjungle. All I’d done was catch the silly bouquet and do what any other thirty-year-old woman would do.
I didn’t make a fuss about it.
It wasn’t like Chris, myon-and-off-againboyfriend of the last ten years had everasked me. Yes, ten years. Two fucking hands worth of ringless fingers. What was I supposed to do? Throw out another desperate hint? Act giddy because I caught some goddamn flowers? Have another conversation about how he thought marriage was overrated?
How did we get here?
Months Ago
