The Breakup

by Erin McCarthy

  Like my wedding was intended to be.

  Maybe my mother and father were right. Maybe this was what I had signed up for, without even realizing it. Maybe I was breaking my end of the bargain.

  I took the ring off the way I did every night at bedtime and dropped it into a glass bowl on my nightstand without the usual care I took. My finger felt bare without it tonight. Taking it off felt ominous. I wasn’t going to marry Bradley. Or was I?

  I had no idea.

  * * *

  —

  I hadn’t slept all week, and today was my wedding day. I’d had night after night of staring at the ceiling, emotions churning. I couldn’t eat, forcing myself to drink protein shakes because I couldn’t swallow solid food. Everything tasted thick and sour and revolting and I constantly gagged. I couldn’t look at Bradley without darting my gaze in another direction and I was strung out, exhausted, hands constantly trembling.

  With every day, every wedding preparation, every guest arrival, it felt like the noose around my neck was tightening and I couldn’t breathe.

  “Why are you going ahead with this?” Sophie had asked me last night after the rehearsal dinner when I went into the restroom to splash cold water on my face, upset by the sight of my excited grandparents.

  I had no idea. I had meant to dump him on his ass. I really had. But everyone was watching me and my parents’ disapproval hung like a storm cloud over me and I couldn’t help but feel that somehow if I ended my engagement, Bradley won. I would be the loser in this situation in everyone else’s eyes. They would feel sorry for me.

  I was going ahead with it because I didn’t want anyone to know Bradley was cheating. Because it was too humiliating, too painful.

  And because I looked around and saw everyone who loved me gathered, celebrating what they thought was a happy occasion, that my mother and I had invested a hundred hours in planning. That my father had opened his wallet to pay for without question or complaint. I didn’t want to disappoint them.

  Plus to cancel would be to admit that I was an idiot. A stupid, naïve girl who had sailed through life with nothing bad ever happening to me, assuming it never would. I had lived a charmed life for the most part, and I had no skills to deal with something bad. Not something like this. Not this bewildering, shocking, numbing heartbreak and myriad of emotions.

  Bradley might be a cheat, but he had to love me. Right? Otherwise why would he marry me? My father had said he was crying. He loved me, he just had a restless sexual personality. He needed variety, the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline rush of doing something dirty and forbidden.

  Then again, maybe he was just a snake in the grass.

  I was pretty sure that was the simple truth.

  Those were all the things I told myself as I got dressed in my wedding gown. The dress I had been disappointed in at my fitting because it didn’t capture what I wanted it to. Perfection. But now I knew perfection was a myth and the dress didn’t matter. The wedding didn’t matter. I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw nothing but a mistake.

  I looked the part. The quintessential bride. Hair, veil, and makeup on point, dress showing off my body to its best advantage. I looked in the mirror and I remembered being a little girl, trying on my mother’s overblown gown from the eighties, drowning in its lace and satin. The long sleeves, the high neck. Feeling very glamorous and excited for the day when it would be my turn to be the princess walking down the aisle to my prince. My mother would stand behind me and smile at us in the mirror, her hands warm on my shoulders, and she would whisper how lucky I was that I had been born beautiful. How proud she was and how she knew I would have the richest, most handsome man of all because I was so perfectly pretty, with impeccable manners.

  I believed her. But I also wondered who I was beyond my appearance, which was an accident of genetics and not even particularly interesting. I was pedestrian pretty. A basic bitch turned bride. Whose fiancé wanted a good, hard bathroom bang.

  For a second I thought I was going to faint. Everything went black. “Sophie,” I said, reaching out for my sister.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, grabbing my arm. “Are you okay?”

  I turned to her, vision blurring with tears. She looked so pretty in her blush bridesmaid dress. I felt sad that she had been sad that her lobster fisherman hookup had ghosted her, but I hadn’t been able to give her any emotional support, too wrecked myself. “You look so pretty,” I sobbed.

  “What?” Sophie just stared at me for a second, then she turned to all my friends, who were busily putting on makeup, sliding into shoes, fussing with their blowouts. “All of you need to leave.”

  The photographer was snapping shots of my bouquet resting on the table, and I felt the most overwhelming urge to run. Spots danced in front of my eyes and I swore I could hear my blood pumping in my ears.

  “Excuse me?” Kennedy said. “Why?”

  “Because I need to talk to Bella.”

  “Sophie, don’t be OCD right now,” was Kennedy’s response as she curled her hair. “We’re all busy, and what if someone sees us? I’m not going anywhere. Bella doesn’t want that.”

  I did want that. Sophie studied me and I silently pleaded with her. I was going to lose it and she knew it.

  “Get out,” she repeated, turning and waving her arms violently at everyone. “Get the hell out now.” Then she went and did her light switch thing, where she turned the light on and off—it was a creepy and annoying tic she had. Usually she did it to test the flow of electricity, but this time she was clearly doing it to annoy the shit out of everyone and get them to leave.

  It worked. There was grumbling and questions for me. “Do you want us to leave, Bella?”

  “Yeah, just give me five minutes,” I managed to say. My hands were shaking. I looked at the photographer. “Naomi, can you do some shots of the guests arriving, please? Thank you.”

  I hadn’t slept or eaten in days and I felt light-headed, nauseous. Like a reed swaying in a light breeze.

  After what felt like forever they finally all gathered their purses, shoes, and bouquets and left the room, the door slamming shut behind them. I grabbed my rib cage. “Soph, I can’t do this. I just can’t.” I shook my head frantically at her, now in a total panic. “I can’t pretend this is all okay when Bradley isn’t even sorry he’s cheating. I can’t even stand the sight of him.”

  Let everyone feel sorry for me. Let them think I was a pathetic loser who couldn’t hold her fiancé’s attention. I didn’t care anymore.

  I couldn’t do this.

  Bile was crawling up my throat.

  My sister asked me the same thing she had asked me a week earlier. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” I glanced wildly around for my phone and my purse. “I need to get the hell out of here before I completely lose it. Please help me.”

  Sophie took both of my hands. “Bella, look at me.”

  I focused on her, taking deep breaths. I was in a cold sweat, my heart racing. I had a feeling this was a legit panic attack.

  “You need to call an Uber and go to a hotel in the next town over. I’ll take care of everything here, okay?” She gestured behind her to the door that led to the back parking lot, meant for brides to enter with discretion. “The wedding planner can handle all the details, it’s no big deal.”

  “Mom and Dad are going to hate me,” I wailed. “Oh my God.”

  “No they won’t. I promise.” Her voice was soothing, her expression caring, which meant a lot to me. It was hard for Sophie to express emotion, and as my younger sister there weren’t a lot of moments where she had offered to comfort me. “You need to do what’s right for you.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. You’re right.” I suddenly realized that if my parents refused to speak to me, that would actually be preferable to marrying Bradley. And avoiding him on our wedd
ing night, since one, he hadn’t gotten an STD test, and two, the thought of him touching me made me want to vomit.

  There was no way I could go through with this wedding.

  It wasn’t about revenge or humiliating Bradley. It was about saving my sanity.

  My dignity.

  Classy and fabulous. I was both, damn it, and I deserved better than this.

  Way better.

  She handed me my phone. I unlocked it and impulsively texted Christian.

  Hi.

  God, what was I even doing? I had texted him like we were strangers on Tinder. He would think I was insane. I hadn’t contacted him all week.

  But I felt like he was the one person who had no opinion or bias in this situation, and he had already seen me break down in a wine-and-sugar implosion.

  Yet today was my wedding day and he knew that. He wouldn’t answer me.

  Sophie was on her phone, texting the wedding planner, I had to assume.

  “Don’t tell anyone yet!” I yelled, freaking the freak out. If they knew I was ditching they would arrive en masse to try to talk to me.

  “I’m texting the wedding planner to let her know you’re having stomach problems and to keep everyone out.”

  For some reason that offended me. “Stomach problems? Oh my God.” It seemed so gross. So undignified. But Sophie was just trying to buy me time.

  My phone buzzed.

  It was Christian.

  Hi.

  There was a pause, then he texted again.

  How’s the wedding?

  I can’t do it. I’m standing here, dressed, and I can’t do it. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.

  I tossed the phone down onto the table and fanned myself. I needed to get my shoes on. They were waiting there, by the vanity, ready for me to step into them as the photographer captured the moment. They were beautiful Louboutins with a neutral mesh embellished with crystals. Blingy and bridal and fairy-tale gorgeous. Slipping them on now was the exact opposite of how I expected to feel.

  Christian texted me.

  Are you going to call it off?

  YES. I am calling an Uber in a minute and sneaking out the back. Sophie is going to cover for me.

  Do you want me to pick you up?

  I didn’t even hesitate.

  Please, yes.

  I realized that’s why I had texted him. I wanted him to rescue me. To come and get me and give me someone to talk to instead of having to go to a hotel by myself. I felt ashamed that I wasn’t strong enough to tell him no. That I wanted him to help me. That I had reached out.

  I had never broken the rules. I had never done something so rebellious, inconsiderate, last-minute, socially unacceptable. It was scary as hell.

  Gathering my phone and my purse, I threw my overnight bag over my head and shoulder. Ten long minutes later Christian texted he was there and I hiked up the skirt of my designer dress and waved to Sophie. I shoved open the back door and ran.

  * * *

  —

  “Christian, you’re a fucking idiot,” I murmured to myself as I sat in my car behind a classic stone church. I had graduated from being attracted to trouble to picking it up in a church parking lot.

  Then she came flying out of the back door of the church, her skirt bundled up in her arms, exposing her legs from the knees down, a veil flowing behind her. She ran in heels like the devil himself was after her, and hell, maybe he was.

  I had been shocked that she had texted me, and even more shocked still to find myself offering to pick her up. But Bella had gotten under my skin. Maybe it was seeing her holding my son so sweetly. Maybe it was her humble admission that she wasn’t good in bed. Or more likely it was the fact that she had come to my mom’s still planning to marry an extreme douchebag and had now seen the goddamn light. I didn’t want her to change her mind and lock herself into a life with such a miserable guy.

  Am I known for being Mr. Monogamous? No. But I wouldn’t put it off on my girlfriend if I cheated. It would be my fault and I would take responsibility, not make excuses. And hell, I never cheated on a woman I was involved with, because I was never involved. I just helped women cheat.

  Yep. Fucking saint sitting at church, that was me.

  I started to get out to open the door for her but she called out, winded and hysterical, “Get in and drive!” She yanked open the passenger door, tossed a bag over the seat to the back, and scrambled to get inside.

  I slid back behind the wheel and glanced around to see if anyone was coming out after her. “You in?”

  There hadn’t been a door slam. She was grappling to get it closed, but finally I heard the click. Her head turned toward me. “Okay, I’m good.”

  I hit the locks just in case the door wasn’t completely closed. I would fucking flip out if she spilled onto the road in a wedding dress. “Where are we going?” I asked her.

  “Anywhere.” She pushed the veil back off her face with trembling fingers. “Somewhere where no one can see me or find me.”

  “I know a place.” We had a piece of property that had belonged to my mother’s father that had been used back in the day for fishing and hunting. There was a dilapidated shack on it and an old railroad caboose my grandfather had thought was cool.

  I was driving but I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Bella. She was engulfed in all the trappings of a bride. There was white fabric everywhere, and her hair was curled in long waves. She had on extra makeup and thick, dark eyelashes, and her cleavage was popping. “You look beautiful,” I said, even though it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. But she did.

  She was stunning. Breathtaking. Mouthwatering. Even her anxious breathing just set her cleavage heaving, turning me on. I wanted to yank that bodice down and suck her nipples. Lift her skirt and dive on under there with fingers, mouth, my hard cock. I wanted to yank that tiara veil thing off her head and bury my hands in her hair, tugging her head backward, forcing her to look at me.

  I also wanted to hold her naked in my arms and reassure her that she was enough. Sexy. Satisfying.

  Maybe I was actually going to have a chance to do all of that.

  “What?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “God, stop, you don’t have to give me compliments.”

  I just shrugged. “I don’t have to do anything. I wanted to say that because it’s true. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

  She gave a nervous laugh and said, “Thanks.” Then she threw back her head and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Oh my God, thanks for picking me up. I finally feel like I can breathe. It was like I was choking in there.” She touched her neck and her eyes flew back open. “Have you ever felt like that?”

  “Yeah,” I said shortly. When Ali told me she was pregnant, after I had found out she was still with my brother.

  She lifted her phone up and started texting. “I need to tell Sophie that I’m gone and safe.”

  “Did you tell Bradley?” I asked, curious.

  “No.” She winced. “Does that make me a horrible person? I just couldn’t. I didn’t want a scene. Then my mother would know and flip out and everyone would have an opinion…”

  “I don’t have an opinion,” I told her as I drove back through town. “And I don’t think you’re a horrible person. Maybe if he wasn’t fucking around behind your back you wouldn’t have stood him up at the altar.”

  She made a sound in the back of her throat. “Holy moly, I stood Bradley up at the altar. I’m going to hyperventilate.”

  But she didn’t actually look as shaky as she had when she’d first gotten into the car, and there was color back in her cheeks. Then she actually laughed. She looked over at me and grinned. “I have never in my entire life done something so insane. I feel lighter already.”

  I couldn’t help but grin back at her. “
Good for you. That took balls, Bella.”

  “I have balls,” she said in amazement. Then she ripped her veil off her head and hit the button to send the window down. She pitched the veil out of the car and watched it fly backward.

  “Now you’ve littered too so you’re breaking rules and the law.” I thought it was funny.

  But she seemed to have instant second thoughts. “Stop the car! Go back, go back. Please.”

  “Are you serious?” I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “Yes! I could sell that veil and give my father the money back. That tiara alone cost three grand.” She shot me a pleading look. “Please?”

  “Sure.” I turned into a parking lot and spun back around. The thing had probably been run over already, but if it made her feel better to sell it, whatever. I had to give her props for wanting to give the money back to her father. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, I want to do it.”

  Amazingly, it had landed on the sidewalk and appeared to be untouched. Bella ran over in her heels and snagged it, waving it up in the air triumphantly. I noticed several cars slow down and rubberneck. This whole runaway bride shit was bound to be all over town by the end of the night. Locals liked to gossip about the rich outsiders who had built all over the coast.

  Bella got back in the car and sighed. “Whew. That was close. Okay, so maybe I’m not good at impulsive.”

  “I think you’re doing just fine.” I hit the gas again and headed out of town. “Your phone sounds like it’s blowing up.”

  She must have turned the ringer off, but it was buzzing like crazy on the dashboard.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, ignoring my comment.

  “My family has a camp. It’s a dump, but no one will think to look there. You can stay there for a few days.”

  “Can you stay with me?”

  That gave me pause. I glanced over at her. “What do you want from me, Bella? I asked you that last week and I’m still not sure.” I wasn’t her fucking therapist. I had no answers to her problems.