Page 113 of Fair Trade

I’m ready to demand they tell me what the hell they’re yapping about at a time like this when I realize Coach has tossed a white veil through the open window.

That motherfucker.

I chuckle to myself. I’ll deal with him later.

But for now, I allow myself to smile as I look up at the sky. The clouds part for the first time all day, and the sun breaks through, shining down on us.

“Would you look at that? Looks like a lovely day for a runaway bride.”

I can’t breathe inthis damn dress.

I tried telling Vivian in so many ways that I thought it was too tight.

But my future mother-in-law never listens.

And I never stand my ground.

Maybe I just need some air. I’m sure I’d be able to breathe better if I left this stuffy room that reeks of hairspray and burned split ends. Not sure if my hair will ever return to its natural curl after today’s ordeal.

I push open the door that leads to the back of the church parking lot and leave it propped open so I don’t get locked out.

I don’t know why I was expecting a cool, calming spring breeze when I’m in the middle of downtown, where all I can feel is the heat from the building’s air conditioning unit and all I can hear are the sirens of a nearby ambulance.

If I don’t get a full breath in soon, they might have to circle back and pick me up.

I start pacing but stop when I realize my pointy shoes are giving me blisters. Because of course they are. I look back into the room where my comfy Converses are calling my name.

But I don’t think it would be deemed appropriate for me to get married in my scuffed-up Chucks.

A startled laugh escapes me at the thought, and before I know it, I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, laughing uncontrollably.

How the flying fuck did I get here?

The laughter subsides as silent tears run down my face. I need to reel it in before it ruins my makeup, but I can’t find the strength in me to care.

Gosh, I really need to catch my breath. I’m starting to feel lightheaded, and I don’t need a fainting spell on top of the mess I’ve made.

A wailing noise brings my attention back to the parking lot. Only then do I realize it’s coming from me.

I cover my mouth with my hands. The last thing I need is the paparazzi to get a shot of me having a full-blown meltdown ten minutes before I walk down the aisle.

My father and Damien would never let me hear the end of it.

I close my eyes and knock my head back against the brick wall a few times.

I can’t do this. I never should have let this go on this long.

I’ve had a healthy dose of doubts leading up to today, but last night, something broke inside me. Specifically when Damien and my father cornered me at our rehearsal dinner and told me that I would be quitting my job with the New York Monarchs effective immediately.

Now that I was to become Mrs. Fischer, the wife of a New York senator with clear goals of becoming the next president of the United States.

They didn’t ask. They informed me.

If they’d asked for anything else, I would have done it. I always have.

But the Monarchs are my family. The one place I feel truly at home. With people who love me unconditionally.

And I can’t leave them. I won’t. But I don’t know what to do. The clock hangs over my head, and I’m running out of time.