And at the end of it isme.
Me, who wasn’t supposed to be here to begin with.
Me, who had no idea it wasmy exgetting married here tonight.
Me, who needs to get the hell out.
“Are you alright?”
A voice next to me snaps me out of my trance. A deep, rough voice, like hot sand and gravel. Mere moments ago, that voice was getting on my last nerve.
Now…
“Mia?”
Now, I cling to it with all I’ve got.
I take in the man at my side. Gray eyes, designer stubble—everything a woman could possibly want in a date.
Too bad it’s all fake.
“Mia,” Yulian demands, with all the authority he’s capable of. The authority that, according to the rumors, keeps the Lozhkin Bratva in line. “Answer me.”
“Let me leave,” I whimper, not caring how pathetic I sound. “Please, let me leave.”
But I know, even as I’m asking, that it’s already too late.
He saw me.
He fuckingsawme.
And the groom’s wicked smirk seems to agree.
The music stops. The priest starts talking. The groom’s eyes don’t leave mine for a second.
Fuck.
If this were a different kind of movie, the song would shift into something hopeful. Soft notes, slowly rising in a crescendo, right before the groom’s grand gesture of romance.
If this were a different kind of movie, the priest might be asking the love of my life, who’d look suspiciously like Hugh Grant, “Do you love someone else?”
But this isn’t that kind of movie.
There is no Hugh Grant here.
And that groom—tall, square-jawed, imposing—isnotthe love of my life.
This is my worst nightmare come to life.
“Mr. Bradley James Baldwin,” the priest says uneasily. “Do you take Miss Constance Julia Lovegood to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Pause.
Pause.
Waytoofuckinglongofapause.
Then, my nightmare decides to one-up itself.
