Page 1

Chapter 1

Audrey

There are probably easier ways to cancel a Christmas wedding than driving into the mountains wearing a six thousand dollar dress.

A text message, for example. Or maybe a tasteful announcement posted online with a cute flowery graphic and a beige background.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, Audrey and Brett have decided not to proceed with their Christmas wedding.

See? That would be simple, perhaps even elegant.

I wouldn't even have to expose the fact that the unforeseen circumstance is my asshole fiancé opening his enormous mouth and giving me several excellent reasons to introduce his testicles to the pointed toe of my bridal shoe.

Of course, I didn't kick my fiancé in the balls.

I just made a hasty exit out the back door, got in my car and never looked back.

Now I’m stranded halfway up a mountain while Last Christmas plays through the speakers for the third time as snowflakes fall across the windshield in swirly romantic flakes that would be beautiful if I didn't just ruin my entire fucking life.

My phone buzzes and my mother’s name appears on my phone for the eleventh time in twenty minutes. I stab at the red button, but her call is quickly followed by my maid of honour, my father and finally Brett himself… as if I might have forgotten the man I was supposed to marry tonight exists.

Unfortunately, his voice is still circling round and round inside my head even when I reject the call.

She’s beautiful. She’s easy.

"Shit, Audrey," I whisper to myself. "What have you done?"

I grip the steering wheel and plant my foot on the gas one last time. The rear tire spins uselessly inside the snowbank I accidentally drove into while wiping at the tears streaming down my face. Another spray of white powder bursts behind my vehicle into the darkness while a tiny town twinkles in the valley below like someone has shaken the world’s most expensive Christmas snow globe.

A wooden sign beside the road says WELCOME TO CHILMORE, which answers one important question and creates several more.

The most pressing being: Where the fuck is Chilmore?!

Right about now, I should be eating chocolate cake, drinking champagne and discovering whether married sex feels any different from the disappointing unmarried sex I have been having.

Instead, I'm trapped on a mountain with no husband, no plan and a dress so tight I may not survive long enough to enjoy either.

I shove the car door open and step out. Snow immediately flies beneath my dress, freezing several intimate places that have already experienced enough disappointment from men today.

Screw this.

Somewhere inside this fucking dress is a zipper I intend to defeat, even if that means I have to strip naked beside the road to do it.

I gather the enormous skirt in both hands and shuffle toward the rear passenger door, which is easier said than done when every step requires dragging half a bridal boutique behind me.

The zipper sits directly between my shoulder blades, because apparently wedding dress designers believe brides have the arm flexibility of professional gymnasts.

I reach over one shoulder, twist my other arm behind my back and manage to brush the tiny metal tab with the tip of one finger.

“Come on,” I mutter, stretching until something beneath my shoulder gives an alarming twinge. "Come on, you stupid—"

I turn around and try rubbing my back against the edge of the open car door, hoping to hook it on something. Instead, I catch my reflection and stare in shock at the sight.

My blonde hair has escaped whatever industrial quantity of hairspray held it together this morning, mascara streaks beneath both my eyes, and my veil is hanging from one side of my head like I lost a fight with an expensive curtain.

“Okay,” I tell the wild-eyed bride staring back at me. “We’re going to remove the dress, put on some pants and pretend today never happened. Got it?”

My reflection looks unconvinced.